Page 124 of Wistful Whispers

Twinkling lights dance behind fogged windows. Inside, the noise hits first. My family doesn’t do quiet holidays. Someone’s baby is crying—probably my cousin Lucia’s. My dad is laughing like a man who’s had two glasses of wine and plans on having seven more. The smell of garlic and chorizo makes my mouth water—and the caramelized cinnamon wafts from a giant bowl Rosa is setting on the table.Arroz con leche. My comfort food.

My mom looks up from behind the bar and immediately points at me.

“Late,” she calls, smiling.

“It’s Christmas,” I protest. “Time is a construct in an Irish household.”

Seamus chuckles behind me. “She reminds me every time we leave my family's house.”

“Chellie.” My mom makes her way around the bar, pulling me into a hug and holding me for a beat longer than usual. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

She pulls back, narrows her eyes. “Are you?”

I don’t answer.

Seamus distracts her by kissing her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Delgado.”

“You’re too handsome.” She swats him with a towel. “You make us all suspicious. Go sit before I get out my rosary.”

Lucas emerges from the office, scrolling his phone. “Why are you glowing? Either you're getting married or you're pregnant.”

I choke on air.

Seamus slides into his seat like this is the most normal night of his life. “Can’t it be both?”

Lucas lowers his phone and stares at me. At Seamus. Back at me.

“What did you say?” Rosa appears at his side, wooden spoon in hand.

“Nothing,” I croak.

“Definitely something,” my dad says, appearing with a bottle of wine and five glasses. “She has the ‘I’m about to make an announcement and ruin dinner’ face.”

I cross my arms. “I do not.”

“You do,” Rosa says. “You always have.”

“Chellie?” My mother’s voice is soft now. Her eyes are wide.

I glance at Seamus. He nods, like this is one more thing we do together. Like telling my family I’m pregnant is no more terrifying than making tea or choosing a name or holding my hair back while I throw up every other morning.

“Fine. I’m pregnant,” I say.

For a second, the room doesn’t move.

Then my mom gasps and says, “I knew it,” while my dad shouts something in Spanish I think loosely translates to “buy more wine.”

Lucas chokes on his drink.

Rosa leans against the wall and grins. “You’re glowing.”

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“Kidding.” She gestures to my glass. “You're drinking sparkling water with lemon. Could you be more obvious?”

Lucas raises his glass. “To the next generation of chaos.”

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