Page 35 of Saving Grace
“I’ll give you a free shot,” says Declan. “My wife has more than shown me the error of my ways, and your plate was more than full growing and birthing the most perfect addition to our family. So, I am profoundly sorry, to the both of you, for stepping in shit that was none of my business.” He looks thoroughly chastised, even though he’s the one offering the apology.
Drew looks dumbfounded, but their parents, and even Kristen, look pleased.
If I had to guess, this was part of why Mrs. Flynn called a family dinner. This kitchen has heard all of our ups and downs, all the good and bad of our youth. And now, our adulthood as well.
While family meals used to be weekly when we were kids—as in, it didn’t matter what sports, school assignments, or social plans we had, everyone was expected at the table whenever family dinner was scheduled—Drew had told me years ago that they’d stopped having them as often once I left. Looking back, I wonder if we had them because they knew more about my homelife than they ever let on.
Probably.
By the time I was fourteen, I was sleeping over at least three nights a week. Drew’s parents never asked if my mom knew where I was. Never questioned it when I showed up for dinner or if I was on the porch swing when Mr. Flynn headed to the barn as the sun came up.
Hell, most days, Drew even brought lunch to school for me. He was two grades ahead of me, but our high school only had one lunch period. We ate together on a bench in the school courtyard most days. Our own little oasis.
As my focus comes back to the meal on the table, I realize Drew has already started filling my plate before cutting the loin into bitesize pieces.
“I can cut my own food, you know.”
“Mhmm. Or I can do it for you,” he says as he passes it to me. “Eat up, sunshine. Give baby girl some tasty homemade southern comfort food in her next feed.”
My cheeks heat at his casual mention of breastfeeding while a feeling of rightness and desire settle in my belly.
It’s peaceful, eating dinner with this family. And when Mrs. Flynn brings out two homemade banana puddings, I’m done for. From-scratch banana pudding is far superior to any other dessert.
“This one is for you to take home, sweetheart.” She motions to the one with foil over the top. “There’s no merengue on it, extra wafers added after it baked, just like you prefer.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” I sniff, dabbing the corner of my eye. “Swear you guys just want a waterworks show tonight.”
“Nonsense. And tell that brother of yours he can’t have any. He should’ve shown up for dinner if he wanted some.”
A snort-laugh bubbles through the tears. Gavin decided to hang out with Kelsey tonight since they’ve both been busy with work.
Three servings of banana pudding later—don’t judge, I haven’t had any in a decade—Kaia starts to get fussy for the first time. A glance at the oven clock lets me know it’s been almost three and a half hours since I last fed her. Drew is already scooping her into his arms and settling a pacifier between her lips before I can shift to my feet. “Did you pack a bottle or do you want me to occupy her until we head out so you can nurse at home?”
It’s like acknowledging the time triggers my letdown, the heaviness in my breasts suddenly demanding to be nursed or pumped. Then I glance at the hopeful look on Drew’s face, and it makes the decision easy. “The thermos with what I pumped earlier is in the insulated pocket of the diaper bag. The bottle is in the side pocket. I’ll go handle this so you can feed her againlater if you want,” I add quietly, trying to keep the conversation between us.
“You sure? If you’d rather nurse, do it. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Your weird boob contraption thing doesn’t look too appealing. Looks more like some kind of nipple torture device.”
I cover my face with both hands and groan as Kristen and Mrs. Flynn try to stifle their own laughter. This man is seriously discussing my breast pump at the dinner table in front of his dad and brother, who both look mortified, by the way.
“Go before I die of embarrassment,” I say as I stand and drop a kiss to our beautiful daughter’s dark curls before discreetly snagging my manual pump and pouch from my purse and disappearing to the front porch swing. My solace.
“What did I say?” he asks before I’m out of earshot.
“I need ear bleach,” Mr. Flynn mumbles, which leads to the ladies finally giving in to their fits of laughter.
I can’t help but laugh with them. Something about this house, this family, soothes the rough edges and further solidifies my desire to make the most out of this life and our circumstances.
***
Once I get my equipment and liquid gold and stored away, I step back into the house and risk a glance at the remaining family. I guess Declan followed Drew. Yeah, Kaia is definitely in for it when she gets her first crush.
Mr. Flynn is busy loading the dishwasher and divvying out leftovers, but both Mrs. Flynn and Kristen are watching me from the back porch.
“What?” I ask, suddenly embarrassed at being the sole focus of their attention. Yet, I still make my way to the rocker next to them.
Mrs. Flynn shakes her head, a sad smile taking over her thoughtful expression. “We just missed this. You.” She reaches over, taking my hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. “The two of you were always so good together.”
I startle. “I’m not—I mean, we never…”
