Page 22 of The Arrangement 23 (The Arrangement 23)

“I tried. Stuff kept happening—”

His mouth is on mine, kissing me hard, smiling while he does it. “I love you. I am so crazy, fucking in love with you. You have no idea. None. I feel like my heart is going to explode with glitter.” He’s up on his knees and laughing. He takes my hands and stands us up in the middle of the mattress. “Do you see what you do to me?”

“I didn’t do this. You’ve always had the Lucky Charms guy living inside you. No wonder why you never talked to anyone. That seems a little bit cray cray, Sean.”

“Only good things come in green tights.” He barks a loud belly laugh.

“I’ve never seen you act like this. Has there really been a repressed happy guy in there all this time?” I place my hand on his heart.

His voice is deep, filled with mirth that’s warm and full. “I have no fucking clue, but it feels like I could do anything right now. Avery, my God…” He inhales sharply and jumps. When his feet hit the mattress, I fly upward. If the ceiling weren’t nearly twenty feet tall, I’d hit my head. We’re all giggles, holding hands, and laughing until there’s a loud crack at the foot of the bed and the bed frame snaps, making us topple over.

Sean, blue eyes glittering, leans over me. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“Yes, but you broke the bed. Your mom’s gonna kill you!” I tease before we deteriorate into laughter.

Then there’s a knock at the door and a voice asking if we’re all right.

Sean jumps up, grabs a robe, ties it, and throws open the door. Constance is standing there, bleary-eyed and hair a mess. “What on earth was that sound? The ceiling shook. Sean?” She meets her son’s eyes at the same time he grabs her shoulders, forgetting himself, and pulls her into a bear hug.

Sean releases his stunned mother a moment later. “I’m going to be a father and the baby is going to call you Grammy.” He waggles his eyebrows at her and then bounds down the hallway hollering, “I gotta tell Pete!”

I’m still sitting on the broken bed smiling after him, wearing one of Sean’s t-shirts. Constance glances at me. “I told you he was ready.” She hides a knowing smile before arching her eyebrow and looking at the bed. Then says, “I don’t want to know what you two were doing in here.”

“It’s not like that. Hey!” She’s gone, closing the door before I can explain.

Sean whoops from the end of the hall, his voice echoing back toward me. I’ve never seen him so happy, never heard that much inflection in his voice, ever. It’s as if his bindings finally broke free. If there was one thing holding Sean down, it was Sean Ferro. Joy eradicates fear, fries it up until there’s not a drop left. I saw the emotions splayed on his face, fighting for control. Today joy won and fear lost.

Today will be different, and I can’t stop smiling about it.

CHAPTER 21

The strangest things happen when you least expect them. I worried about Constance ripping my mother’s frail emotional state to shreds. I mean, the woman was barely talking. Mom retreated so far into herself to survive the terrors that met her daily for months on end. There was no break, no time to gather herself and rebuild her mental state during that period. The doctor warned me that she’d need a lot of patience and understanding. Trauma victims tend to behave differently, and the slightest thing could set her off and cause her to regress—a turn of phrase, a sight, or smell.

I walk on eggshells around her, but not Constance. At first, I berated Constance for it, but she didn’t listen to me. She explained, “Acting as if she’s broken will only keep her that way.”

Constance is a paradox of a person. She’s fierce and kind with my mother. I don’t understand how she’s both at once, but it doesn’t send Mom back to the darkness. I watch the two of them together and know they’ve shared more time talking than they let on. They seem to have more in common than a grandbaby and the misfortune of meeting the Campones.

When morning breaks, I’m green with nausea. I roll out of bed trying not to wake Sean. An eyelid opens, and a groggy voice asks, “Are you okay?”

Nodding, I tug on a robe and explain quickly. “Morning sickness. It’ll pass. Go back to sleep.”

Sean watches me for a moment. I feel awful, but his eyes say I’m a goddess. “I love you.”

I smile at him, wishing I could say more but then feel my throat tighten and rush to the bathroom. After that settles down, I decide that getting sick with something in my stomach would be far better than dry heaving.

I head down the hallway to the kitchen. It’s barely five in the morning, but there’s a light cutting through the darkness. When I round the corner and enter the room, the sight surprises me.

Mom is wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. Her dark hair is tugged into a high ponytail with wispy curls sticking out. There’s a dusting of blush on her cheeks, and a sweep of mascara on her lashes. Sleep is long gone from her eyes. She’s clinging to a cup of coffee, holding it in front of her and inhaling deeply. There’s a soft smile on her lips. She’s happy at that moment. There’s no need to wonder if it’s a fake attempt to be content just then. There’s something about the sweep of her shoulders and the light touch of her fingers on the mug that tells the story on her face is real. She’s far from all better—I’ve heard her wake in the night, screaming.

There’s a long way to go, for both of us. Restlessness woke me and it didn’t begin with morning sickness. Dreams churned into fear which twisted everything until I had a knife in my hand and watched Marty’s eyes become lifeless. The dream repeats every time I close my eyes. Out of all my sins that one I regret the most. I was wrong about him. Marty played his hand so well that I couldn’t tell which side he was on until it was too late.

Sitting opposite from Mom is Constance in her blood red dupioni silk robe. It has a floral pattern woven into the thick damask. Velvet lined lapels extend down to a thick scarlet sash tied tightly around her narrow waist. Constance’s hair is a mess, one side flat with the other side still kempt as if she slept on that one side all night.

They stop talking and turn to watch me. Mom smiles. “How’s my baby this morning?”

Constance smirks and adds, “You look awful. Saltines are on the counter.”

Mom glances at me again and corrects Constance. “She doesn’t look awful. Avery’s glowing.”

“Because she just vomited,” Constance replies with a flick of her eyes. “Make sure you brush and floss every time you wretch or your teeth will rot. Then the dentist will tell me he thinks your bulimic and the newspapers will have a field day and blame me.” She rolls her eyes and then sips her coffee.

Mom nods in agreement before she sees me still standing in the doorway and lifts her mug. “Do you want some coffee, honey?”

I shake my head and go straight for the box of crackers before sitting down next to both of them. I pull one out from the plastic wrapper and suck on it. Constance glares in disapproval. I glare at her and take the cracker from my mouth.

“Yes?” I dare her to say one more comment on dental hygiene or morning sickness.

“Nothing, dear.” She smirks at Mom and takes another sip of coffee.

I ask my mother, “What do you have planned for today?” I shove another cracker into my mouth and slouch forward. Constance’s perfect posture makes mine seem like an aerodynamic granny.

“We’re planning to go shopping. Constance made us an appointment at one of those little boutiques. I want a poet’s shirt with lace.” She grins broadly and wiggles her fingers just below her chin, indicating a lacey neckline.

Constance snorts. “You’re lucky that style made a comeback or we couldn’t be seen together. If I have a hippie friend, people will talk. Suddenly everyone will think I’ve gone soft.”

I laugh from behind my crackers, “No one will ever think that. Like ever.”

Constance puffs up, proud. “Well, it doesn’t matter what other people think.”

“Oh really?”

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