Page 55 of Love Bitters

Imogene

Sitting around the guys' dinner table after our next book club meeting, I'm lost in my thoughts about what was revealed this afternoon. It seems like I'm learning something new about one of my friends every meeting. Poor Penelope was hounded by Blythe until she finally gave in and honored her promise from the last one. It's amazing the things one can learn about a person if the time is taken to ask it.Come to find out that as happy-go-lucky as Penelope pretends to be, she's got secrets just as dark as the rest of us. Better to have loved and lost is an old saying that needs to be retired, and any of us within our little group would agree to that in a heartbeat. Penelope is young and gorgeous, and I never would have thought she'd face losing someone the way she did. Falling in love with practically your soul mate, only to be dumped because he chose a different life.

We're all sitting down to dinner when I drop the bomb that's been on my mind for a while now. "I think it's time that I told my parents."

Everyone freezes in place. Thatcher looks ridiculous with his thumb halfway to his lips, obviously caught right before licking it.

Before allowing that to sink in, I add, "I kind of already made dinner plans with them for tomorrow at their house. I'm not saying you have to be there or anything. I just wanted to let you know so that there's no worry when I don't come straight over after work."

"Do you want us there?" Wes asks, gripping his glass.

I shake my head. "You really don't have to go. It's probably going to last a couple hours and be awkward as hell. Plus, my mother is going to have a field day with this, so the atmosphere is going to be interesting. Not to even mention the questions that'll likely be worse than the Spanish Inquisition."

"That's not what he asked, babycakes," Ollie says from the doorway of the kitchen. "Do you want us there?"

"Yes," I reply, quickly biting my bottom lip before adding, "no. I do, but it's going to be bad. I don't want any of you to have to suffer her close-minded prejudices."

Evan snorts softly. "You act like you don't have two boyfriends who had to come out of the closet in their life."

I let loose a sigh. "That's exactly what I mean. If she catches wind of that, then there will just be something else for her to nag on."

"Maybe you guys should sit this one out?" Wes suggests.

Locking gazes with Murph, I can tell we're thinking the same thing by theinfinitesimal shake of his head, so I decide, "No. We either do it together or I'll go by myself. It's not fair to exclude them because of her prejudices."

"What time is dinner then, so we can all make sure we're there," Murph says, tossing me a wink across the table. We get squared away with a time and where we're meeting, and I have to fight my need to fidget the entire time, thinking about the two sides of my life colliding.

After dinner, I volunteer to help Thatcher with the dishes, and none of the others bother trying to stop me. Likely because they know I want to talk to him, and this seems to be the only way I can catch him without making it conspicuous.

"How have things been going?" I start while loading the dishwasher as he hands the plates over.

He shrugs. "They've been alright. What about you?"

Talking to him while not knowing where we stand is making my stomach squirm with butterflies. "About the same, you know? Think you'll be free to go with us to dinner tomorrow?"

"Murph said we'd be there, didn't he?" he retorts sharply.

"Yeah," I start, but he cuts me off.

"I'm not doing this tonight," he snaps. "Whatever intervention they have you running on me or whatever this is, I'm not doing it."

Tossing the dish brush in the sink and slamming the water off, he stalks out of the room, leaving my jaw on the floor while I try not to burst into tears. I didn't know it was bad enough for me to be attempting an intervention. If that's the case, then it's worse off than I thought it was, and I need to ask one of the others what's really going on. It's hard to believe that all of this has to do with me and the baby.

"Don't take on his problems, Im," Wes says, coming around the corner into the kitchen. "There are a lot of things happening all at once, and we've just got to deal with one thing at a time as it comes."

"Is he okay?" I ask. "Should I be more worried than what I am?"

Wes shakes his head in denial, but something deep down tells me that he's not admitting the whole truth. Like he said though, one thing at a time. Maybe if I manage to survive this dinner tomorrow and keep the guys alive, then we'll team up on Thatcher and fix whatever's broken.

"Come on, babe," he says. "Let's go to the couch, so I can give your shoulders a good rub down."

"You sure this isn't just a ploy to try to see the baby move?" I tease.

His head tilts back with his laugh, and he admits, "Maybe, but at least you get a free massage out of it."

"In that case, I'm so down," I tell him, returning his grin.

The next day, I pace the floor in my apartment, wringing my hands for at least an hour before the guys show up. I’d called my mother back yesterday evening and requested that she make enough room for the five of them. There were a few questions, but all in all it wasn't too bad. Which isn't necessarily a good thing. It means she's saving the hard questions for when we’re trapped at her table. A knock at the front door has me nearly jumping out of skin, then immediately, I feel the need to puke. Thankfully, it's just nerves and not actual sickness. I've noticed that’s slowly been getting better over the past month. Smells aren't affecting me as badly as they were, and I can actually eat something other than peanut butter which has been losing its appeal lately too.

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