Page 119 of Shattered Cradle (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“And you were cramming for exams,” I recall. “How did Mom convince you to come?”

“It was Dad who convinced me, actually,” she says. “He called and told me that I’d been studying too much. That I’d burn out and forget everything I crammed for. I needed a break.”

I laugh. “So he guilted you into coming.”

“He knew that I wouldn’t respond to pleading,” she says. “And he was right, as usual. That trip did wonders for my concentration when I got back to the books.”

“He credited himself with your 4.0 GPA.”

“I’ll bet he did,” she laughs. “But I’ll let him have it.”

“You know the weird thing about that trip?” I ask. “I don’t actually remember much about the Grand Canyon. What I remember is the drive there.”

“The stupid Winnebago that Dad rented,” Mia chuckles. “That thing was giant.”

“Mom nearly had a conniption when he pulled it into the driveway.”

“I’m pretty sure he was planning on buying it.”

“Oh, he definitely was. He told me. Made me swear not to tell Mom, though. I think he had this grand old retirement dream of the two of them puttering around the national parks in their golden years.”

“I can picture it already. Mom forcing them to find a local church to visit every Sunday. Dad buying the tackiest souvenir he could find from every state in the country.” She lets out a long sigh. “That should have been what happened. They deserved that.”

“It wouldn’t have lasted long, though,” I say. “Mom hated traveling and Dad would have wanted to be around for the grandchildren.”

Another silence, and I realize that this is potentially treacherous territory as well. But Mia doesn’t ask about my pregnancy. She doesn’t say anything at all.

“Have you spoken to Rob recently?” I ask, unable to hold the question in any longer.

“He’s been… distant lately,” she says.

Her tone suggests that she has no idea what happened at our lunch the other day. I decide not to be the one to tell her.

“But to be honest, that’s my fault, too,” she says. “I’ve been so busy with wedding planning.”

“Oh.”

I want to be able to ask about her wedding and feel happy for her. But I can’t muster up the feelings. I avoid it the same way she is avoiding talking about my pregnancy.

It’s strange to navigate so many explosive conversation topics when talking to Mia. We used to be able to talk about anything, no holds barred. Now, our relationship is a minefield.

“I should call him,” Mia continues. “See how he’s doing. I’ve had this wedding to distract me, but Rob hasn’t had anything.”

“Right.”

“I actually have to go,” she says suddenly. “I have to meet the florist at noon and then I have another appointment with the caterer.”

I hide the disappointment in my tone. “Of course. I get it. You’re busy.”

I expect her to hang up, but strangely, she hesitates. “Um… Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“The wedding is next week,” she says.

I take a deep breath. “Oh.”

“I know things between us have been, well… you know.”

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