Page 18 of Stepping Into Tomorrow

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Can you at least let me finish moving in before you try to marry me off?”

“Oh, of course. Put that away. Dinner is almost ready. I made your favorite—mole poblano.” Her mother smiled.

“You shouldn’t be carrying something that heavy,” Eli scolded, pulling the box from her hands.

“It wasn’t too heavy,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow.

After she’d told him about the baby last week, he’d gotten quiet, and then asked her a million questions. He’d stayed glued to his tablet after that. A quick peek over his shoulder revealed his research was all about the do’s and don’ts during pregnancy. Since then, he’d been overprotective of her, going as far as hiding the caffeinated coffee and throwing out their lunch meat. People with Asperger’s could get obsessive over certain subjects. For as long as she could remember, Eli had been obsessed with boats and fishing. I hope his interest with pregnancy is just a phase because of the baby.

“Can you make sure the chicken is cooked all the way, Abuela?” Eli asked.

Her mother’s brows pinched together. Oh, dear. If there was one thing Catherine Noveas was sensitive about, it was her cooking.

“Of course it will be cooked properly. Have I ever let you down before?”

“We’ll break out some of my good tequila tonight to celebrate your return to us,” her father announced, walking back into the room and going for his liquor cupboard.

“Mom can’t drink,” Eli insisted.

This wasn’t how she’d wanted to do this.

Her parents turned to her, question in their eyes.

“Why not? Is there something wrong? Are you sick?” her mother asked.

Eli turned to her. She’d asked him to promise to let her tell them. But it was unfair to have him shoulder such a burden for long.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence blanketed the room. The only sound came from the slow bubbling of her mother’s mole sauce simmering in the pan.

“I’m gonna go put this away,” Eli mumbled, carrying the box down the hall to the closet-sized room he’d be sleeping in for the near future.

“Robert . . . but you . . . you don’t look that pregnant,” her mother said, obviously trying to make sense of the situation. Because it would never cross her innocent mind that Isabella would have sex with someone so soon after her husband’s death.

“It’s not Robert’s.”

“Dios, mija.” Her mother clutched the fabric at her neck.

Tears burned the back of Isabella’s eyes as she braced herself for her parents’ disappointment. They hadn’t known about Robert’s struggles before his ALS diagnosis. They’d thought she and Robert had been happily married all these years.

Two strong arms enveloped her as her papi hugged her close. She melted into him, soaking in the love and support as her mother spouted her disbelief in a string of Spanish.

Papi kissed her forehead. “Are you okay, mija?”

“I will be. I want this baby. And I know it will be hard for a while, but I also know I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You’re Isabella Noveas. You can do anything.” He squeezed her tighter.

When he released her, her mama had poured herself a shot of tequila. She tossed it back before she shook her head. “Who is the father? When do we meet him?”

Here was the hard part. “I don’t want to say until I’ve had the chance to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t even know?” her mother cried. “Tell me this is a man you’re serious about.”

Were they judging her for being intimate with a man only six months after her husband passed? It wasn’t their fault. If they knew the truth, they would understand—maybe. But she couldn’t bear to ruin Robert’s reputation with them, even if he was dead. Robert was a great man. He just couldn’t love me the way either of us wished.

Isabella swallowed, her hands trembling as a wave of shame tumbled over her. “I haven’t gotten the chance to tell him. I just found out recently. And no, Mama, it wasn’t serious.”

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