Page 59 of Unexpecting

″I’m sorry?” And I was. I don’t like anyone mad at me. No matter what I feel for Terri (and even on a good day, I’m not sure), she’s still my mother and technically will be my baby’s grandmother. I should have called her.

Terri snorted at my lame apology. “I’m sure. Any reason you felt the need to keep me in the dark about this?”

″I—” This was one of those times when a lie wouldn’t help and telling the truth would only make things worse. Normally, I’d go with the lie, try to smooth things over as best I could. Today—with me still pissed at J.B. and feeling nauseated—well, the lie didn’t come out quick enough. The truth did, though. “I didn’t think you’d give a damn,” I told her a little too bluntly for the usual conciliatory daughter. This was the bitter, resentful daughter having a bad day.

Terri made a face like a fish gasping for breath; had she been a fish, I’m sure she would have been gasping for water. Either way, I had a horrible feeling that I probably make the same expression when someone is telling me off. “How can you possibly say such a thing?” she gasped. “I’m your mother.”

“Because it’s true,” I told her calmly. This too was a first. During confrontations, I’m more likely to become emotional and start to cry than stay calm and cool. “That’s what I think. And Libby, too. When we were growing up, you were always so busy with your boyfriends to pay much attention to us. I don’t call that mothering.” I gave her an indifferent shrug. “It’s no matter now. It’s just the way things are. Both Libby and I learned the hard way that others come first with you. Yes, I should have called, since you are my mother, but I hadn’t done so yet because I didn’t think you’d care. And frankly, I’m sick and tired of being the only one in this world that is happy about this baby!” Now my voice was raised. I was not being fair, taking out my bad mood on my mother, but right then, I didn’t really care how unfair that might be.

″I didn’t realize that’s how you felt,” Terri replied stiffly. Her eyes rested on the bottles of wine in the store—anyplace but on me. “Well.”

Nausea rose dangerously in my stomach. “Sorry.” What else could I say?

″I see.” Terri finally looked at me, and I was sickened by the expression of devastation on her face. I caused that. I felt horrible.

″Mom,” I began, but she held up her hand.

″Casey, I know I wasn’t the best mother to you and your sister growing up, and your father made things very difficult for all of us. But after—” she took a deep breath. I thought she might be on the verge of tears, but she straightened her shoulders and fought them off. “I thought you were adult enough to realize I did my best. And however I raised you, it turned you into the women you and Libby are today. Maybe I’m biased, but I think I did a good job since you turned out pretty well.”

″Oh,” I told her, feeling very small.

Terri nodded. “Well. Congratulations. I’ll let you get back to work.” Without another word, she walked out the door.

Didn’t I feel like crap? I wanted to run out the door after her, but just then another customer came in, and since I was the only one there this morning, it was up to me to man the fort. I stifled a yawn. I had a horrible sleep last night.

″Morning,” I said to him without my usual verve and friendliness. At least I think I greet people with verve and friendliness. Not this morning, though. Not after ripping my mother a new asshole. I’m truly a horrible person. I’ve screwed up J.B.’s life, I screwed up Brit’s wedding, I practically made my mother cry, and all because I selfishly wanted a baby.

I’ve actually never told off anyone. And telling Terri off didn’t make me feel empowered or take a load off my chest. No, I felt like shit. My mother came in to give me a mild scolding for being inconsiderate and not calling her, and I basically gave her the award for worst mother of the year. Nice, Casey.

The customer was most of the way around the store. I’ve watched people when they come in: they start with the shelves of white, move to the fruit wines, which no one really lingers at, then the sparkling, the reds, and finally the cooler with the chilled bottles before hitting the cash register. This guy was finishing the sparkling by the time I got to him. I finished another yawn—what’s with me this morning?—before I got to him.

″Can I help you find something?” I asked, with a fake smile determinedly fixed to my face.

″No, well, I’m looking for a bottle of wine.”

″You’ve come to the right place,” I tried to joke, but my heart wasn’t really into it. Plus, I was beginning to feel really ill. “Red or white?”

″It’s for dinner.” He looked at me shyly. He seemed familiar. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a baseball cap. Very cute, with dark blond hair and sort of a squashed-features-Matt Damon face. It was nice I could appreciate how cute he is even while feeling sick to my stomach.

″What are you serving?” Where do I know him from? He’s too young to be a friend of a friend. Maybe from Coop’s restaurant? He’s cute, but familiar too. It was starting to bug me.

″Steak, I think. Or salmon.”

″For steak, I’d go with a nice, full-bodied red.” I pointed to a row of bottles. “The Cab Franc is always nice. Or the pinot noir—a favourite of mine, but very rich, almost chocolaty. For salmon, my first choice would be white—possibly a chardonnay, depending on how you cook the fish.”

″You sound like you need the whole menu.” It didn’t seem to turn him off. In fact, now he was paying more attention to me than the variety of wine I was showing him.

″It would help. To pick out the right bottle. Or you can pick the wine first, and then create the menu around it.” I hid another discrete yawn.

″I guess I don’t really know yet. My girlfriend’s doing the cooking.”

″Ah.” Now why did that simple statement make me feel like I was about to throw up? The thought of food, or because he had a girlfriend? He looked at least ten years younger than me, and hey, I’m a pregnant woman now. So long, casual pickups, especially when the baby belly starts poking out. Darn. “Are you wine drinkers?” Back to business.

″Not really,” he admitted. “I do the beer thing, and Evie likes vodka. But her parents are coming so… are you okay?”

″Sure,” I said. Suddenly I really couldn’t stop yawning, and my stomach lurches were going crazy. I needed to finish this sale pronto. “Then I would go with this—it’s a nice New Zealand sauvignon blanc.” I led him over to a shelf. “Can’t really go wrong with this.” He picked up a bottle and scanned the back label. “Can you excuse—”

″You were on the subway the other day,” he said suddenly.

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