Say Forever(34)

"Didn't you have breakfast, dear?" she asks.

My jaw drops as my stomach growls again. "Uh, I had a huge breakfast."

"Well, you are eating for two." Mom winks and pats my stomach.

I scratch my head. "Yeah, but this baby is only the size of a peanut."

Mom's green eyes twinkle with laughter. "I gained most of my pregnancy weight early on with all you kids. My stomach was like a bottomless pit." She starts toward the kitchen and I follow. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."

My heart slams when we pass beneath a pale gossamer curtain and into the dining area. The place looks like a winter wonderland, aglow with twinkling lights and fake snow. The walls are draped in more gossamer curtains, and sparkly snowflakes of every size hang from the ceiling. It's breathtakingly beautiful, and my mom did it all without my help.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asks with a lilt.

"I thought I was supposed to help." I hate that I sound like a petulant child, but I can't help but feel hurt that she'd left me out.

"Oh, dear, I know how tired you've been lately." Mom pats me on the hand, speaking in soothing tones like she's trying to quell a child on the verge of a tantrum. "I worked on this for the past two days. You would never have been able to finish it in time, especially in your condition." She nods toward my stomach, which, unfortunately, chooses that very moment to let out another loud rumble. Mom walks over to the buffet against the wall and picks up a big ball of clay. "I saved the sculpture for you. I figured you could make it look like a snowman. The boys would love that."

My shoulders slump when I think back to my junior year in college when my sculpting teacher told me my work had no depth. My assignment had been to mold the bust of one of my parents. I'd chosen to sculpt The Cobra, the lesser of two evils. I figured her image had no depth because it was a reflection of what was on the inside. Either way, I survived that course with a B minus, thanks to tons of extra credit.

I take the clay and let the weight of it settle in my hands. I've always loved the way it felt when I pressed my fingers into the soft, yet firm substance. Maybe I can sculpt something small, but I'm still terrified it will look like crap.

"I've never been that good at sculpting."

Mom frowns, and the pity reflecting in her gaze is so humiliating, I feel like hiding behind those gossamer curtains and never coming out.

"The boys don't care if it's not Michelangelo. Just maybe Frosty the Snowman or Rudolph."

"Okay." I barely mouth the word as I absently nod. My stomach rumbles so loudly this time, I feel like I'm caught in an intestinal earthquake.

"Let's get you some food." Mom tugs hard on my hand, pulling me through the kitchen doors without another word.

I heave a sigh. I had all of these designs in mind for the dining room, but mom's wonderland is pretty awesome. Still, I wish I could have contributed more than a clay snowman. Not only has this pregnancy rendered me a tired eating machine, it has rendered me useless.


***


Dinner is amazing thanks mostly to Andrés's homemade gravy and warm, buttery tortillas that practically melt in my mouth. Yes, our personal chefs decided to skip the biscuits and make homemade tortillas, which Doc said were far better than anything his Mexican grandmother ever made. I believe him, too. Andrés is an amazing cook.

My Frosty doesn't come out too bad either, even though he leans a little bit to the right. Andrés dubs him The Leaning Tower of Snowman and then Gio decides to knock off his head with a turkey leg.

I decide not to be bothered by it. Today is still by far my best Christmas ever, because the people I love most in the world are sharing it with me. The food is great, and my mom and stepdad bought me a beautiful winter coat and matching boots plus an awesome SLR digital camera, complete with zoom and a macro lenses.

My mom loves the personalized gift I made her, a scrapbook with all my childhood pictures that I "acquired" from my adoptive mom's house while she was at her weekly pluck and color appointment. I also give her a beautiful silk scarf, green to match her eyes. We bought Doc several kinds of exotic teas, since he's into that stuff. They give Andrés a San Antonio Spurs sweatshirt and a blue and silver daddy diaper bag packed full of bottles and newborn diapers. Andrés graciously thanks them, despite their hint that they want him to take an active part in raising the baby.

Then Mom winks at me while proclaiming loudly she hopes Andrés will get to use the bag often. I can feel the heat from Andrés's embarrassment radiating in waves. As I lean into him, I feel like I'm pressed against a furnace. I am only slightly miffed by my mom's hint. After all, Andrés does work way too many hours, and I've been worrying more and more that he may be too busy to help with the baby.