The lines in Mum’s brows deepen. The faraway look in her eye tells me she’s probably mulling over how long Liv’s been in town and when we started dating.
“I know what you’re doin’, Ma,” I say to break the long pause in conversation.
She narrows her tired eyes. “What?”
“I will raise this child as if it’s my own. Just like you did with me.”
Her throat bobs on a swallow.
“I told Liv. About being adopted.” If I’m to move on, I need to acknowledge that as a part of my life, and I should be able to share that with the woman I love.
Mum smiles but it doesn’t meet her eyes. The simple action is for show. She looks pained, as if she was to stretch her lips any wider into a smile her face would surely crack.
But quiet is better than yelling, for Liv’s sake. This is no doubt a shock to her. Maybe Mum is mellowing in her old age. Maybe she’s getting used to the idea of grandchildren, Finn having already paved the way. She’s held onto my secret for so long I can only hope one day she’ll consider letting it go.
“It’s okay, Penny,” Liv says in a soft voice. “I know the adoption stays in the family.”
The muscles in Mum’s jaw tick.
Bernie gasps.
Dad clears his throat.
Finn drains the water from his glass. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner becomes the loudest thing in the room.
This is awkward as fuck.
I need whisky.
“Daynah, this salad is delicious,” Bernie pipes in, no doubt attempting to shift the tension.
I wink at my aunt, grateful. She’s often the go-between with me and Mum.
“Oh, thank you,” Daynah says. “Roast pumpkin salad always tastes that much better when you use home grown pumpkins.”
Mum doesn’t say another word during the rest of dinner. She moves the food around on her plate. She doesn’t even bite when Finn and I gab about our kids running riot around the farm, going mudding in the back paddocks and riding calves. She has nothing to say when we talk about Christmas and what it’ll look like with two newborn babies in the family.That’s if Liv has popped by then.
Before everyone has finished eating, Mum folds her napkin, tosses it on her unfinished plate, then leaves the room. A collective sigh hums.
She’ll get used to the idea. Right now, she’s in shock.
Will she come around?