Page 67 of Waiting for Tuesday

His lips hovered over mine, and his grip tightened on the back of my neck. “Bees I can handle.”

The little girl yelled from up on the porch again. “Uncle John, are you coming?”

He smiled against my mouth then lifted his head to look into my eyes. “Are you ready to meet my family?”

I pulled in a deep breath, knowing this was the biggest mistake of my life.

Never.

“I’d love to.”

Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

Tuesday

* * *

John tookme by the hand and guided me up the long walkway toward the cabin. The essence offamilypractically oozed from the large wooden logs that held the two-story home together. It was bigger than any cabin I’d ever been to, surrounded by a redwood porch that was filled with at least a dozen people.

I gripped the strap of my bag as we walked toward them. Enormous oak trees framed the path on either side of us, reminding me of the places my mom and I stayed at when I was a child. The area felt majestic in a sense, the gaps in the trees casting bits of filtered light through their huge extending branches. This was the place John had told me stories about. His family cabin. The place he stayed every summer as a child.

“Why are we here?” I whispered, suddenly quite aware of what I was wearing. When he said comfortable, I took him literally, but now I was about to meet his parents with wild hair, big glasses, and overalls that were two sizes too large. My only saving grace was that unlike his request, I had opted for panties.

He squeezed my hand, taking his normal long strides that were twice the length of my own. “It’s my mom’s birthday.”

I hurried my steps to keep up. “Iseveryone here?”

He shook his head. “The others are probably inside.”

I groaned. “Oh God…”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, they’ll love you.”

His tone was so amused, so sure of himself that it made me look up. “Why do you think that?”

He squeezed my hand and pulled me so close our legs brushed. “Because I do.”

It was a simple statement, said without any speck of humor, and it filled my chest with excitement and guilt at the same time. They were two emotions I never thought would go together, but they did, whirling around, moving toward my stomach and making me sick.

Soon we were climbing the six steps to the covered porch, and I tried to stuff down all of the feelings. The guilt, my heartache, and especially the nausea. I was almost twelve weeks into my pregnancy, and the whole Internet was in agreement I should be feeling better, but since hearing the news four days ago, my stomach hadn’t felt settled for even a second.

A woman with dark blond hair was waiting for us at the top of the landing. Her smile was large and bright, and deep creases framed the corners of her light blue eyes. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She took my hands and smiled at me. “My name’s Lucy Eaton. I’m John’s mother.”

“Tuesday,” I said, having a hard time not withering in a puddle on the floor. For the first time in my life, I could relate to being a mother. And if I were her, I would hate me. I would hate me with every bone in my body. But her eyes were warm and told me she didn’t hate me in the slightest.

She moved to John next, pulling him into a big hug that showed how close they were. Her tiny frame was completely encompassed by his.

“Happy Birthday, Mama,” he said.

She squeezed him tighter, closing her eyes briefly before opening them again. “I’m so glad you made it—and I like her already,” she whispered, though her tone wasn’t hushed enough to be private, and she winked at me, making it obvious she meant for me to overhear.

She pulled away a moment later, and a cluster of people waited for us on the deck. There were his two sisters, Penny and Margaret, a whole handful of cousins whose names all came so fast I couldn’t catch any of them, their spouses, and six other children. The smallest one was Shelly, who belonged to Penny, and who immediately put a death grip on John’s leg. Her little three-year-old arms didn’t appear to be letting go anytime soon.

She turned to face me, her face turning in a horrible frown. “Who are you?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

“I’m Tuesday,” I said softly, meeting her tiny face.

Her head bobbed up and down with each step as John moved across the deck to the entrance of the house. “She’s my girlfriend, Shell.” He laughed a little and squeezed my hand as if to assure me she didn’t bite.

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