Page 20 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

“But I wanted to!” he snaps.

Despite how harsh he seems, I can’t help but smile at that. I haven’t known him for very long, but it seems absolutely typical of him to dress up his kindness in a grumpy face. At this point, I’d expect nothing else from him. I’m learning that it’s his way of caring — to do things for people. He might not be good at saying what he’s feeling, but the more I get to know him, the more I can see the ways that he lets it show that he cares.

“All right,” says his mother, finally hanging up the phone. “John’s going to be here in fifteen minutes with Sophia and the kids.” Jackson scowls more darkly than I’ve ever seen before.

Then his mom turns to me. “I’m Tegan, by the way. I won’t stand for any of that ‘Mrs. Kerr’ business. Tell me, have you got any preference for food, or allergies? Dislikes, likes, favorites? Things so awful you’ve sworn never to look at again?”

It’s like she’s staring into my very soul. I look away, knotting my fingers together. “Um… I don’t really eat shellfish. And I think I might be allergic to cat hair, but that’s about it. I’m quite easygoing.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m going to make my baby boy’s favorite lunch ever, all the way back from when he was a kid.”

“Ugh, do you have to?” huffs Jackson, folding his arms.

“Yes, I do. I’ll be damned if you don’t still love my pesto gnocchi.” As an aside to me, she adds, “That was his favorite growing up. He’s always had expensive tastes.”

Jackson grumbles at that. “I’m not like John. I can’t eat a peanut-butter-jelly sandwich every day for the rest of my life.

“Jackson,” Tegan scolds gently, “you two shouldn’t fight.”

“Mom, I’m not three. You don’t need to tell me. And anyway, he’s not even here!”

Tegan doesn’t say anything to that, but the look on her face is clearly expressing the sentiment if you’re so big, why don’t you act like you’re an adult, then?

“All right, kids, I’ve got a lunch to whip up. Make yourselves at home. Jackson knows where everything is.” She reaches out to squeeze Jackson’s arm again, then bustles off to the kitchen.

Throwing his face into his hands, Jackson groans, “I’m so sorry about this. I swear it was just supposed to be flowers. I should have known she’d do this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It’s nice to get a bit of mom attention.”

He freezes suddenly, clearly remembering the fact that my mom isn’t around. I shake my head at him fondly. I didn’t say it for pity. I said it because it’s true. “Come on, let’s sit down. Fighting will just make it harder.”

Even though he doesn’t seem happy about the idea, Jackson slumps down onto the couch and flicks on the TV. We barely get to decide what to watch before the doorbell rings, though. “Answer that, please,” yells Tegan, and with the world’s biggest sigh, Jackson gets up, leaving me all alone in the big living room.

I look around, taking in the tasteful décor and neatly framed photos. All the pictures are of her kids, mostly Jackson doing sports and family portraits of what I guess must be John and his wife and kids.

I’m so curious to see what kind of person Jackson’s brother is. From the sounds of it, they’re the kind of siblings who spend all their time fighting, and that’s caused a rift that time isn’t fixing. They’re not at all like Matt and I, who are so close that it would take an event on a scale that I don’t even want to contemplate to break us up.

I get to my feet as John and his wife enter the room, followed by Jackson and two small children. “Hello,” I say, putting on my very best rehearsed smile, realizing just how much I’m encroaching on their family time.

John looks between me and Jackson and raises both eyebrows hard. “Jackson’s girlfriend?” he asks.

I shake my head, and quickly, before Jackson can follow through on the black scowl that he’s wearing, say, “No, I’m a nurse. I’ve been looking after your brother; he’s had an injury.”

“A nurse? All right, Jackie — nice going!”

Clearly Jackson hates the nickname as much as I hate the idea of everyone thinking we’re together, because every time someone says it, he grinds his teeth together and clenches his fists like he’s holding himself back. “I’ve had an elbow injury,” he says tersely. If he doesn’t calm down, I’m going to worry about him bursting something.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” says John’s wife, stepping forward to try and smooth over everyone’s ruffled feathers. This clearly isn’t the first time she’s done this. I feel bad for her, being in the middle of this. She smiles at me and says, “I’m Sophia. It’s lovely to meet you,” then she comes over and hugs me. I pat her on the back gently, not quite sure how I’m supposed to respond.

“We weren’t meant to be staying long,” mutters Jackson.

“Hello, you two,” says Tegan, entering with a huge, steaming bowl of food that she puts down on the table. The second it’s down, she rushes over to hug her second son, and then adds, “And hello to my favorite grandchildren.” She crouches down to their level, and they both tackle her down in a hug. “Have you said hello to Uncle Jackie’s new friend?”

They both shake their heads shyly. I crouch down too, grinning at them. “My name is Freya,” I say with a wave. I get two blank stares in reply.

“This is Carrie and Paul, four and three,” explains Sophia.

I nod understandingly. “I was on pediatrics for a little while,” I say. “But I mostly just stick to general these days. The kids were really cute, but the parents were a nightmare.”

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