Page 56 of Love Bitters

"Ready to go?" Murph asks as I open the door for him. He looks delicious in dark jeans and a button-up tucked into them. We'd joked last night, saying maybe we should've had him show up in uniform to keep things civil, but we'd decided that might be a hostile approach. Either way, now he has me wishing we weren't going to this dinner for an entirely different reason.

The longer I go without answering him, my eyes roaming over his body, the wider his smile grows until I finally reply, "Not really, but we don't need to be late."

With a nod, he waits patiently as I grab my purse and lock up the apartment before we walk out to the car together. Both his truck and Evan's car sit idling, waiting for us. He leads me over to the passenger seat with Evan before going to hop in his truck with Thatcher and Wes. I do take a second to admire the two men in the car with me, noting how dashing they both look in slacks and dress shirts. Evan gives me a quick kiss on the lips as Ollie reaches up from the backseat to plaster one against my cheek at the same time. I have to keep myself from running a hand through the former's perfectly styled dark locks, looking like he just left a damn salon. Ollie's burgundy ones are casually but purposely left wavy and parted to one side. They both look good enough to eat, just like Murph did. All of this damn sex we've been having has driven me to wanting it all the time now.

"Ready for this, love?" Evan asks, resting a hand on the top of my thigh for support.

I bite my bottom lip gently before replying, "As ready as I'm ever going to be. Is it still an option to cancel? We could just bring the baby by their house one day and be like surprise, you're a grandparent."

Both of his dark eyebrows rise in question as those steel-colored irises dissect my expression. Silence is the same thing as an answer in this case, leaving me to decide which place we'll be arriving at with the end of this ride.

"Let's just get this over with," I say with a long sigh, snapping my seat belt into place. Earlier, I'd chosen one of my better dresses out of my closet. The deep plum material has a stretch to it, making it good to show off the baby bump that I couldn't hide if I tried. I even went as far as to put a slight curl in the bottom of my hair like I know my mother used to do. It's a style that I had grown to hate, but I realized today that it's not one that disgusts me anymore. Especially once Evan's fingers come up toplay with the curls.

Other than when I have to give directions, the ride is quiet. I'm not much in the mood for talking, and they must feel it. By the time we're pulling into my parents’ driveway, I'm ready to puke and wishing I would've made the other choice. I almost vote that we make a run for it while we can, but then I see the curtains in the front window shift and know that we've already been spotted. So much for that plan.

It takes me a second longer to roll out of the car than it does them, so we end up walking up the porch steps together. And wouldn't you know it? My mother, the wonderful person she is, makes me ring the doorbell instead of just opening the door even though I know she's been standing on the other side since our feet hit the pavement. I'm already sweating nervous bullets, and having to stand in the summer heat just adds to that misery.

When the door finally swings open, it reveals my mother in all of her prim and proper glory. She's pulled out all the stops, dressing like she's headed to church after this. I'm going to hell for thinking she may need it once dinner is over. If we live that long.

"Imogene," she greets with fake enthusiasm, outstretching her arms for a hug.

It's all a show, but I'll play along if it means we get this over with sooner rather than later. Stepping into her embrace, I have no chance at hiding the bump between us. I get to four, counting the seconds in my head, before I see her eyes widen with surprise. Then I get to watch her chin drop, popping her lips apart. Smiling at her, I hope that she'll take this at value and not be herself for once.

Recovering quickly, she averts her gaze from me and my belly as she introduces herself to my guys since "I seem to not have enough manners to do so." Then she invites them inside to the formal sitting room where my father reclines with a paper in his lap. After introducing them to my father, she announces that dinner will be done soon and that I should help her in the kitchen.

Successfully isolating me away from them, she comments, "What have I told you about wearing heels, Imogene? No man likes flat cavewoman feet." I'd roll my eyes into last week if I didn't know the sitting room is within earshot. They all definitely heard her chastising me for my apparentfat Stone Age feet. My back goes as ramrod straight as my belly will allow as I steel myself for that being the first of the many insults I'm going to incur tonight.

"It came as a surprise to both your father and me that you decided to pick up the phone and plan a visit with us since we haven't seen you in months," she states, going to take a casserole out of the oven. "We assumed your job and new apartment were taking a lot of your time and had decided to give you time to settle in properly. Finish tossing that salad there in that bowl. Your father said not to worry, that you'd come home eventually, probably empty handed and needing your bedroom back."

For years, I’ve grown used to her supervision mixed in with the slights, but the little added tidbit on the end there about my father hits a nerve. It takes all the maturity I have in my bones to not gather the guys and leave right this second. Rather, I try to take it in stride and do as she says while letting her get the feelings off her chest.

"It's been months, Imogene," she babbles. "You put me in the position of lying to my friends, so they wouldn't know how badly you were treating us. I don't like being there or lying."

"So tell the truth," I mutter.

"Don't give me sass, young lady," she chides. "Your father and I raised you to be a smart woman with a good head on your shoulders. Somewhere during college that just took a turn for the worse if you ask me. Too much freedom for a young adult. You should've gone to a school close to home. That way you could've stayed in church."

And directly under your thumb, I want to say to her, just barely containing it. I let her prattle on for the next little while until we're setting the table and calling the boys in for dinner. My father has no doubt been grilling them the whole time. It's apparent neither the secret of the baby nor our relationship were spilled since he's jovial and not at all looking like he's ready to commit murder.

We make it all the way through salad and onto the tender roast and casseroles before my mother starts again. "I'm mighty curious as to why Imogene invited you over with us tonight. Not that I mind, of course. Every one of God's creations is welcome here. Just please tell me you aren't her roommates or anything of that sort."

That's the worst she can come up with? She might as well start praying now if she wants that secret spilled.

"We aren't her roommates, ma'am," Wes answers, turning that charm on her. If I'm not mistaken, a slight blush comes to my mother's cheeks when he does.

"Thank heavens," she says, pressing a palm against her chest.

That charm works on her all the way until dessert when my mother sets her church famous chocolate cake on the table and starts cutting slices and setting them in front of everyone. Patting my shoulder on the way by, she drips syrupy sweetness when she says, "I think you should skip dessert tonight, Imogene. Your clothes seem to be a little tight."

My stomach jumps into my throat, and I hate that my gaze drops to the table out of habit to avoid the guys’ expressions. On my left, Thatcher slides his hand across the top of my thigh underneath the table, making it difficult not to cry. Evan on my other side, slides his cake in front of me, and it's my breaking point.

"You would think that after over twenty years of you nagging me about my weight, you'd be exhausted by now," I snap, lifting my chin to look her in the eyes when she sits back down.

She huffs a fake laugh with a wave of her hand. "Don't be so rude while we've got company. You know what I meant."

"I'm twenty-five weeks pregnant, Mother," I announce.

From the corner of my eye, I watch my father's fork slowly lower back to his plate while my mother's lips purse out of anger or disgust. One of the two. Her intent is transparent now, and here I was thinking I was just making it up in my mind. She'd been planning to simply avoid the entire topic the rest of the evening.

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