Page 48 of The Devil Gets His Due

He grins. “I got a pretty good idea when you pushed for a movie about a ‘sexy kidnapper.’”

I kick him. “Hey, do you want to check out that class Julie suggested on Saturday?”

I’m now twenty-five-weeks along. That we are at the point where we would take parenting classes makes things feel very real to me. I’m going to be responsible for a real, live baby in a very short period of time, and he won’t be here for it.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, this weekend is a little busy. My great aunt is coming in from Boston.”

There’s something cagey in his manner that alarms me. “She’s not, like, staying with us, is she?”

He shakes his head. “No, she gets in Friday morning. I figured I’d take her to the Getty and—”

I throw a hand to my face dramatically, as if I’m Scarlett O’Hara in a swoon. “TheGetty? God. Tell me you weren’t assuming I’d come along for this.”

He rolls his eyes. “How could I not when you’re such a good sport about everything? And what the hell is wrong with the Getty?”

I push myself upright. “No onereallylikes museums or art galleries or churches, Graham. It’s just an excuse to get dinner and drinks. You know, ‘hey, let’s meet at the Getty, and grab a drink afterward.’”

“I’m pretty sure there are people who actually enjoy museums and galleries.”

“Boring people,” I reply, grinning at him. “Okay, maybe this all lines up.”

His gaze rests on me in a way that looks an awful lot likeinterest, though I can’t imagine why. “I can’t wait to hear what you think I should do with myninety-year-old great-auntinstead of the Getty, then.”

“Does she drink? I’d start there and see where the wind takes you.”

He sets his phone down and turns toward me. “So my great aunt is flying across the country, and your suggestion is that I take her to a bar. For theday.”

I hitch a shoulder. “Well, she’s Irish and from Boston. I doubt it’ll be the first time she’s spent a day in a bar.”

His mouth moves as if he wants to laugh. “That’san offensive stereotype.”

“If I’m wrong it’s only because she was too busy spitting out one baby after the next to get a day in a bar to herself.”

He shakes his head. “Keeley…Jesus. That’sanotheroffensive stereotype.”

“A, I can say these things because I’m Irish. And B, how many kids did she have?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

I laugh. “More than six, then?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Eight. It’s still a stereotype. But anyway…it does involve you a little. She’s flying out for a party at my mom’s house.”

“What does that—”

“The party is so everyone can meet you.”

My jaw falls open. “Me?” I repeat, suddenly nervous. Because Graham’s family is huge. Three brothers, two stepsisters, assorted spouses, and significant others. Including my best friend, who knows exactly how much of this is fake. “Graham, what thehell, dude? When were you going to tell me?”

“I just found out.” He wraps a hand around my foot, and I wonder if he’s planning to hold it hostage until I agree. “Right before you got home. Look, I know it’s a lot, and believe me, I hate lying to my mom about all this but…it’s what you wanted.”

I feel the briefest sting of guilt. Itiswhat I wanted, simply because of the grief I’d get from Shannon and the very strong possibility she and Graham’s mom will meet at some point in the future. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to ask.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh, “but only if I can wear the Tulane sweatshirt.”

He glares at me. “One of these days that sweatshirt is going to fucking disappear.”

The funny thing is he sounds jealous. As if he cares about me, regardless of whether or not I’m having his child. He squeezes my foot, now pressed to one of his very muscular thighs, and I wonder what it would be like if that was actually the case.

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