The low hum of a car engine approaching made her stop. She gathered her bouquet and stood, turning to look at the driveway, hoping maybe it was Jake. She was surprised to see her mother’s car. And there was someone in the passenger seat. Claire’s stomach dropped as the car came to a stop.
She ran over to the car, and her father enveloped her in his arms. “Dad,” she whispered against his chest. The need to cry engulfed her. He was the very person she needed to see right now. Her father smoothed her hair and leaned back to look at her.
“Is it really selfish of me to say I’m so happy you’re home?”
He shook his head and smiled at her, the creases around his mouth deepening. “I think you’re allowed, given everything that’s happened around here.”
“Hello, Claire,” her mother called out. She turned around slowly, cautiously. Her mother was holding a white box with string tied in a knot on the top.
“Hi, Mom.”
Her mother patted her hair and stood a little taller. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” she said, squinting against the bright sunlight.
“We were hoping maybe we could sit and talk.”
Claire’s stomach tightened. She had been dreading this moment. And now it was even tenser because she was also going to have to deal with her father. She saw the insecurity in her mother, the way she was standing, the hesitancy in her voice. “Sure, why don’t you come in?”
Her father squeezed her shoulder and the three of them walked into the house. When they had settled in the kitchen, her tulips in the sink, her mother opened the box and pulled out a large piece of cheesecake topped with bright-red strawberries. Claire’s eyes went from the cake to her mother’s face. In all her life, she had never seen her mother hold something so decadent.
“I thought maybe we could share a treat together. Your father is home, and becoming grandparents is something to celebrate,” her mother said with an awkward smile that made hope bloom in Claire’s heart. Her mother stood to get forks and then gingerly settled across the table from her again. Claire looked over at her father. This was too easy. Way too easy.
“Are you happy you’re going to be grandparents?” Claire stared at her father.
“We are very, very happy, Claire,” her mother said, her eyes filled with more emotion than Claire had seen in her entire lifetime.
“I’m glad.”
She clasped her hands together nervously as she looked to her father. “Dad?”
“Do you love Jacob?”
Claire nodded rapidly.
Her father nodded. “He’s a good man.”
“I never knew you had such a close relationship.” Claire stood to open the window over the kitchen sink, needing some fresh air. A warm blast of sunshine-filled spring air greeted her and she took a deep breath before sitting down at the table.
“I know him very well. One of the finest men I’ve ever met. And I’m proud to have him as a son. If you get around to accepting his proposal,” he said with a wink.
Her heart ached. “You’ve seen him?”
He braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I did. And he showed me around that house and told me you refused his marriage proposal.”
“A lot has happened since then.. How did he look?”
“Worried, but I think he’ll figure it all out.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Her father smiled and patted her hand. “Be patient and have faith in him. Right now, I need some of that cake,” he said with a wink.
“Would you like some cake, dear?” her mother asked hesitantly.
“Thank you, but I really don’t feel like anything sweet. Actually, the thought of dessert has been making me queasy lately,” Claire said with a little smile.
“Oh, I remember when I was pregnant with you, all I craved were salads and carrots.” Claire resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Seriously. Salad and carrots? Her mother quickly looked away, as though she were caught in a lie.
She was very curious to see if her mother was actually going to take a bite of the rich cake. Claire’s father had already polished off half his slice. Her mother glanced down at the cake and then back up at her. Claire raised her eyebrows in a silent challenge.
Her mother pursed her lips and slowly picked up a fork. She could have sworn she saw sweat begin to bead on her mother’s brow. Then her mother sat up a little taller in her chair and sliced through that piece of cheesecake flawlessly, like an Olympic diver into a pool. And then she raised it to her lips, paused, and slipped it into her mouth. Chewed it. Slowly. Swallowed. And then she smiled primly, blotting the sides of her mouth with a napkin.