Matt shut the door behind them. “We need to talk to you and Dad.”
Alarm flickered across the woman’s face, but annoyance quickly replaced it. “You might have warned us.”
“Would you have come?”
The scowl answered clearly enough.
Matt and Dara took his parents’ coats, and then she suggested everyone go ahead and sit at the table. Beth had wisely already poured two glasses of wine for them, not to mention one for herself, and Dara’s heart was in her throat as everyone moved into the dining room.
As soon as the Coolidges and Marleys made eye contact across the room, the temperature dropped. Some families probably would have stormed out once they realized their nemeses were about to sit down at the same table. At least tonight, that rigid small-town code of politeness worked in Dara and Matt’s favor—their parents would sit down, grit their teeth and be cordial, if a bit passive-aggressive, until the meal was over.
Matt and Dara served dinner while their parents avoided each other’s gazes. A few noses wrinkled when Matt and Dara sat next to each other. No one commented, though. It was a round table, after all, and a tight fit in the small dining room. They both needed to be near the door so they could move easily in and out of the kitchen.
Once everyone had sat down, Matt’s dad said grace, which made Dara’s dad bristle, but he politely didn’t push the issue.
No one made small talk. The quiet clink and scrape of silverware on plates punctuated the tense silence.
Dara glanced at Matt. He lifted his eyebrows. She nodded.
Let’s get this over with.
“So.” Matt cleared his throat, startling everyone in the room. He glanced at her again, and though her chest was tight and her stomach was fluttering, she gave him another nod. To their families, he said, “There’s a reason we wanted to bring everyone together tonight.”
Subtle glares shot across the table from both sides.
“We assumed there was.” His mother dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, set it on her lap and folded her hands. “What’s going on?”
Matt inhaled slowly. “To cut right to the chase, Dara and I are seeing each other.”
All those glares shifted direction, and if looks could kill, Matt would’ve dropped dead then and there.
“I beg your pardon?” Dara’s mother growled.
“We’re seeing each other,” Dara said, refusing to back down from her mom’s glare.
“And what about her baby?” Matt’s mother asked, disgust curling her lip. “You’re going to raise some other man’s child?”
Dara’s mom glared at the woman, then turned to Dara. “You have a child to think about.”
“Yes, I do.” Dara pushed her shoulders back. She glanced at Matt, eyebrows up. Do we drop that bomb quite yet?
He nodded.
Nausea tried to push its way up her throat, but she willed her stomach to stay put. Before she could speak, though, Mrs. Coolidge put up her hands. “All right. All right. You’ve made your point, Matthew. My son being unmarried without a family is better than the alternative. We can stop this now.”
“We’re not making a point,” Matt said coolly. “Dara and I are having a baby.”
“So you’re taking in a woman who’s pregnant with another man’s—”
“Quite honestly,” Matt said, “I don’t care who the biological father is. It doesn’t change a damned thing. I love her. And we’re a family now.”
“The Marleys are not—”
“Oh for God’s sake.” Dara slammed her palm down on the table. “Enough with the Marley and Coolidge bullshit.”
Both sets of parents jumped.
“You’re all holding on to grudges because of things that happened decades ago,” She snarled. “No one in this room was even born when all of that happened, and by the time Matt or I understood it, everyone involved was dead. And even if we had known, we had nothing to do with it. Neither of us is guilty by association, and don’t let me hear anyone even suggesting that our baby is.”
“Exactly,” Matt said.
His mother sneered. “Well, this is certainly not what I had in mind when I wanted my son to have a family.”
“Too bad,” Beth jumped in. “Matt’s with a woman you don’t approve of, and I’m not with anyone, and you know what?” She threw up her hands. “Deal with it. Just…deal with it. Our lives aren’t for you to dictate. We’re your kids—your adult kids—not puppets.”
“Of course you’re not puppets!” their mom scoffed. “And I’m dictating nothing. The property is ours to will to whomever we choose. And if this is what Matt has decided counts as a ‘family’, then—”