Page 60 of Mismatched

Anton has given up gesticulating and grabbed a paper and pen.

“I suppose,” my mother says with obvious disdain. “Family holidays are so challenging.”

I nearly choke on the water as I sip. “Yes, they are.”

And then Anton steps in front of me, holding a paper with these words scrawled in black ink: Let’s do it.

I look up at him, confused, mouthing, do what?

Anton flattens his mouth into a line and scribbles, Thanksgiving in Ohio.

I gape at him. He’s lost his mind.

My mother prattles on, oblivious to our dispute. “You know, while you’re here, we should have a family portrait taken. Our family is growing. Despite you and Anton.”

I jab the mute button on the screen and hold it up between my husband and me. “You want to spend a holiday with her? Has this year not been bad enough?”

”You’d of course need to get your hair done, Lydia,” Mom continues. “We can’t have you looking the way you did at Celia’s wedding.”

Anton grits his teeth and glares at the phone, clearly aware of the terribleness of his suggestion. But when he meets my eyes again, they’re oddly resolute. “You’ll be fourteen weeks by then. It’ll be the perfect way to announce.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I can do that without flying to Ohio.”

“Of course,” Mom goes on, “you and Anton may stay with me again, in your old bedroom. Since you and Celia have such a hard time getting along.”

My husband and I stare at each other like she’s in the room with us. I dig my nails into my palms.

“Think about it,” Anton says in a whisper, despite the phone being muted. “We go out there, make the announcement, they fuss over you, then we come home. If you call her or post the news online, your mom will insist on seeing you and fly out here.”

I press my lips together, groaning when I realize he’s right. It will be bad telling her in person, but better than having her descend on us here. First, she’ll gloat. Because she’ll be getting something she wants. Then she’ll parade me in front of all her friends, announcing it like she’s the one giving birth. But Anton’s right. After that, we could probably leave. There’d be nothing else for her to do but wait for the main event. I close my eyes, wondering if we could just lie to her about the whole thing until after the birth. I can’t imagine going through labor with my mother anywhere nearby.

“Do I have to answer her now?”

Anton makes a face. “Do you want her to keep calling?”

I let out a deep sigh. “I hate when she feels like she’s won.”

He comes closer and takes my hand, laying the sonogram photos on the counter in front of us. “Look, she’s not my favorite,” he agrees. “But she is the only grandparent our baby will have...”

His voice drifts off as he says this, and for a moment I get scared this will trigger him somehow. Make him pull away, right when he’s the one thing I desperately need.

Instead, he reaches for me, pulling me close to him. So comforting and reassuring with that one gesture, it’s clear he meant what he said. We’ll do this together.

“Lydia? Hello? Are you even listening?” My mother snipes through the air.

I fumble to un-mute. “Yes—sorry, Mom. You cut out for a minute. What were you saying?”

“I said it would be nice if you came out Tuesday instead of Wednesday. Then I could bring you and Celia to my book club.”

Anton’s grip around me tightens and he leans toward the phone. “We’d love to come for Thanksgiving, Marion. Thanks for the invite. Lydia and I both have commitments that Tuesday, but we’ll fly out Wednesday. Oh, and we don’t want to impose, so we’ll be staying at a hotel.”

My mother is silent for an entire five seconds. Much as she loves to railroad me, she’s never successfully done it to my husband.

“Lovely to hear your voice, Anton. I’ll let Celia know.”

There’s another pause, and I chime in. “We’ll book the flights now. Can’t wait to see you, Mom.” Anton hangs up before she gets in another word, and I sink back into his arms. “Thank you. She just...” I don’t finish my sentence, but I know I don’t have to. My relationship with her is complicated, but Anton knows that better than anyone.

He nuzzles my hair. “How’re you feeling?”

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