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“Is there a reason the fact of your father’s ignorance might induce me to kick you out of the apartment?”
“No.” Her hands fell to her sides and she inched to the breakfast bar. She gave him one more cautious look before sitting down. “I have good reasons for not telling my father about losing my job.”
He pushed a cup of coffee to her. “And for not telling him that you’re pregnant.”
“That, too.” She wrapped her hands around the mug, but didn’t drink any coffee. Karl waited. “I’m not going to tell you what those reasons are right now, no matter how silent you are.”
His laughter surprised them both. “The tactic loses some of its effectiveness when you put it so baldly.” That he was continuing to help her didn’t disturb him—she was pregnant and he didn’t believe in punishing a child for the sins of the mother, whatever the sins she was hiding might be—but how little he cared about her secret scared the hell out of him. Her attractiveness wasn’t enough to justify his feelings. He liked her, simple as that. “At least tell me that you’re not keeping a secret from me because you did something illegal.”
“I didn’t do anything illegal.” The matter-of-factness with which she said those words left a myriad of other secretive possibilities undenied.
“Does the secret have to do with why you were fired?”
“I don’t want my dad to know I’m pregnant because I don’t want him to have extra incentive to come looking for me.” Topic of conversation seemingly changed with the vague answer, she reached for a bagel, but Karl wasn’t satisfied.
“Because?”
Vivian put the bagel on the plate with a sigh. “Because he’s trouble, and I’m too old to go on thinking it’s fun.”
“Shouldn’t it be a parent’s prerogative to know if they’re going to be a grandparent?”
“Have you told your parents about me yet?” she asked.
“Parent. My dad died when I was sixteen.”
“I knew that. I’m sorry.”
“The people responsible for his death are the ones who should be sorry. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“But I’m not the only one keeping secrets from one of the baby’s grandparents.” She looked out the window before reaching for the tub of cream cheese. “My dad is better off not knowing.” Scrutinizing her bagel as she smeared it with cream cheese, she continued, “He wouldn’t care that much anyway.”
Interesting. She had the same tells when she was lying to herself as she did when lying to other people.
He took his time choosing his bagel and spreading it with cream cheese, enjoying her wary looks as she tore small bites off hers and chewed them slowly. If she didn’t want to continue worrying about what would happen if he knew her secrets, she should spill them and get the pain over with.
His coffee was barely hot as he washed his breakfast down before changing the subject. “Speaking of a parent’s prerogative and whether or not she knows about you, my mom planned a family dinner for tomorrow.”
* * *
VIVIAN COUGHED, BUT managed to choke down her mouthful. Couldn’t he have waited until after I’d swallowed before laying that on me?
“Am I invited?” Did she want to be invited? She didn’t want to be a dirty secret locked up in a basement somewhere, but meeting Karl’s family had seemed less scary when it was an abstract idea. Or when bumping into his brother-in-law at the library without the chance to escape or the opportunity to worry about it beforehand.
“We’re married and you’re carrying my child. I think that makes you family. Or do you plan to hide from my family like you’re hiding from yours?”
How nicely Karl evaded the fact that he’d been hiding her, as well. “Hiding from my family is an exaggeration. My father could probably find me if he tried.”
His shoulders fell, but he didn’t sigh in exasperation at her. Since she was exasperated herself, this was a bit of a surprise. “There are aspects of your life you don’t want to tell me right now,” he said. “That’s fine. Not great, but we’re strangers in a rough situation and I’m trying to be understanding. But don’t outright lie to me.”
“Fine.” She put down her bagel and looked him straight in the eye. “It’s not an exaggeration, and I’m hoping he doesn’t try, but not for the same reasons you’re keeping me from your family, I’m sure.” What she had to say next would be harder to admit to, but she wanted him to understand, even if she couldn’t tell him everything. “My dad’s fun, but he’s not responsible. I need responsible.”
“Did he do something illegal?” His voice expressed simple curiosity, but there had to be more behind the question. Vivian didn’t believe Karl ever asked anything out of simple curiosity.
“What’s your time frame?” She pushed her half-eaten bagel away, no longer hungry.
“It’s not a trick question, Vivian. He either did or he didn’t.”
“Maybe it’s easy for you, but you’re a lawyer and you spend your time looking for evildoers. This is my father we’re talking about. He’s lazy and looking to make a quick buck involving the least amount of work. Combine that with Las Vegas...” She shrugged. “There are a million things he could have done that are wrong without being illegal.”
And that was just Las Vegas. If she assumed that every time they had moved in the middle of the night it had been because her father was escaping the law...
Of course, on a few occasions he might have been escaping his partners in crime, not the authorities.
“You should tell your father the truth.”
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she had meant it to, causing Xìnyùn to whistle from the next room. “When I’m settled, I’ll tell him. Until then...” An offensive tactic seemed to be a better idea right now. “What are you going to tell your family about me?”
He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It was cold, which was probably why she hadn’t touched hers. “At dinner will be my mom, my sister Tilly and her boyfriend, and my sister Renia and her husband, Miles. You met Miles at the library. I don’t know if his daughter, Sarah, will be there.”
“I’ll get you another cup of coffee,” she said, reaching out for his mug.
His hand was cool when it grabbed her wrist. “Don’t. If I want another cup I’ll get it myself.”
“I’m just trying to be nice.” I’m still in your apartment, eating your food, without a job. And now we have this secret hanging between us.
“When you’re offering just to be nice, I’ll let you get me a cup of coffee. Until then, you’re doing it because you feel beholden to me and I’m not interested.” He let go of her hand and she missed the cool touch of his palm on her skin.
Which was nuts. They weren’t a couple; they were a couple of people stuck having a baby together. She would get a job and her own insurance, they would agree on divorce terms and child support and she would never feel his touch again. He was a domineering pain in the ass, anyway. Because you feel beholden. Assuming jerk.
But because he was right, she asked her question again. “What are you going to tell your family about me?”
“The truth.”
“That we met while drunk, had sex and woke up married?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile, marking this morning as the first time she’d heard him laugh much less give any indication he could smile outside of Las Vegas. And she couldn’t help notice that his hazel eyes twinkled when he smiled. “An edited version of the truth.”
“Could you—” how to ask this question without sounding like she was trying to hide even more “—not tell them about the baby?”
The corners of his mouth fell as his smile turned suspicious. As he should be, Vivian thought, only not with regard to the baby. “Any particular reason to keep it a secret?”
“I’d always heard it was bad luck to tell anyone before the third month.”
“Miles knows—or at least guesses. He saw the book.”
“Just between us for now. Okay?”
* * *
KARL DIDN’T USUALLY lie to his mom, but he knew how to keep something from her. He’d hidden his impending divorce from her almost until Jessica had served him with the petition. It wasn’t something he liked doing—his mom had been angry about the secret of the divorce for months—but he made it a habit not to answer questions people didn’t ask. It hadn’t occurred to his mother to ask if he was getting a divorce. However...
“Is she pregnant?” his mom asked in a whisper as she handed him a platter of sauerkraut pierogies to take to the dining room.
“Why do you ask?” If he could avoid answering the question, he wouldn’t have to lie to his mother. He didn’t want to. But he understood Vivian’s reluctance to share the news—though his reasons were different. The fewer people who knew about the pregnancy, the fewer people who would insist on showing him adorable baby booties and maybe the fewer chances he’d have to think of all the horrible ways children die. As long as only he and Vivian knew about the baby, he could ignore the risk childhood posed to a child whenever he wasn’t around his wife. Or so he told himself.
His mom grabbed the waistband of his pants, preventing him from walking out of the kitchen. He sighed in response. Some days, you are still five years old to your mother. “You married a woman I’ve never met. What am I supposed to think?”
“Mom, even if she were pregnant—and I’m not saying she is—I wouldn’t tell you until she was three months along. It’s bad luck.” At least Vivian had been kind enough to give him something to tell his mother while he lied to her.
“What do you know about this woman you’ve married? Where’s she from? What’s her family like? How do you know if you have anything in common with her?”
He removed his mother’s grip on his pants and turned to face her, surprised when her expression held fear. “We’re here for family dinner. You can ask her all the questions you want. Get to know her. You’ll probably like her.”
I do. More than the curve of her lips and line of her neck. He could relax in Vivian’s calm presence. She had a quiet, efficient manner and he found himself watching her move about the apartment instead of enjoying his view of the Chicago skyline. He had even changed the chair he sat in while in the living room so he could watch her knit or play solitaire.
“She’s just—” his mom halted “—different, and I’m not sure she belongs.”
Of all the things he expected to come out of his mother’s mouth... “Are you saying you don’t like Vivian because she’s not from Chicago, not Catholic—” at least, he didn’t think she was “—or not white?”
“I just think marriages work better when the couple shares a common background.”
He set the pierogies on the counter in exasperation. “You complain about Tilly and Dan not even planning a wedding yet—”
“‘I’m building my business’ isn’t a reason not to get married,” she interrupted.
“And you’re a devout Catholic wishing your sister could marry her longtime female partner.”
“She’s my favorite sister. Their relationship has lasted longer than most marriages I know.”
“Vivian and I have done what Aunt Maria and Josie can’t do and what Tilly and Dan haven’t cared to do. Be happy about that.”
“I just wish I knew her.”
“No, you wish you’d had the chance to approve of her before I married her.” Like you approved of Jessica because the two of you wanted the same things out of me, and they weren’t what I was willing to give. The marriage you approved of led to divorce. And Jessica and I had a lot in common.
He picked the pierogies up off the counter and headed through the living room to the dining room and the rest of his family.
In the dining room, Vivian was laughing at the anecdote of Dan panning Tilly’s restaurant and then picking her up at the Taste of Chicago, each unaware that she was the chef to whose restaurant he’d given a bad review. Instead of being an uncomfortable story, Tilly’s lively hand gestures and gift with words made it one of their best party stories. Karl slipped into the chair next to his wife with the odd feeling that the family table was finally complete. Until tonight, hearing Vivian chuckle at Dan’s tales of the ribbing his friends had given him over the review, Karl hadn’t known something had been missing.
* * *
THE CAR RIDE home was uncomfortable. Vivian’s enjoyable chat with Karl’s sisters had come to a screeching halt when his mom had entered the dining room with roast pork and twenty questions. Vivian had smiled and tried to remain pleasant, while avoiding the questions she thought were none of the woman’s business—and inappropriate to be asked at a get-to-know-you dinner.
“Everyone seemed very nice,” Vivian remarked to the passenger-side window and cars they were passing. By everyone, she meant Karl’s sisters, his brother-in-law and Dan. She hadn’t expected someone as straitlaced as Karl to have a sister with wild blue hair, and his other sister, Renia, while reserved, had an undercurrent of real warmth.
Qualifying her statement seemed rude, and she could be polite to Karl, who had watched the interaction between her and his mother with interest but hadn’t done anything to interfere. Just because she came from mysterious people and a state that Easterners couldn’t distinguish from Iowa, didn’t mean she didn’t know how to be polite.
“Did you enjoy the food?”
“Yes. It’s the first time I’ve ever had pierogies. Probably the first time I’ve ever had Polish food that wasn’t kielbasa from the grocery store.” The only thing the sausage they’d eaten for dinner had in common with the vacuum-wrapped oval from the meat case was the name. Then there had been the cucumbers in a light sour cream dressing. “It was all delicious.”
“No Polish blood in you?” His question was lightly asked, but she’d been asked that question about ten different ways over the past two hours.
“I didn’t realize you were also obsessed with my ancestry.” Being offended warred with her fear of losing the little stability she had managed to grasp.
And she’d thought better of him.
“Of all my mom’s questions that you avoided answering, that’s the one I care least about. Tell me why you got fired and why you’re hiding from your dad, and I won’t bat an eye when you tell me that your grandparents are from Jupiter.”
“Is that why you didn’t stop your mom from combining dinner with a security clearance interview?”
He didn’t sigh, but she could feel the frustration come off his body in waves at her remark. “Vivian,” he said finally, “I haven’t known you very long, but you don’t strike me as the type of person who wants a man to rescue her just so he can prove he’s not neutered. You were holding your own. If you had needed to be saved, I would have done so.”
“What do you call me living in your apartment, eating your food and using the transit cards you leave on the table?” Suddenly she needed the parameters of their relationship defined. If he didn’t see her as helpless and dependent, how did he see her?
“Providing you with a helping hand isn’t the same as a rescue. If I were rescuing you, I’d have done this whole thing differently.”
“How?”
“I’d have a suit of armor and horse,” he said with the same flat tone with which he said everything else.
Something between a snicker and a sigh escaped her mouth. She hadn’t told his mother anything about her heritage because she was offended that it seemed to matter. When Karl said he didn’t care, she believed him.
Besides, if she offered him some answers, perhaps she’d win a reprieve from the questions about her father and why she was fired. She didn’t know that much about “her people” anyway. Her father had a habit of alienating people, even family. Maybe especially family.
“The last name and most of the blood on my father’s side is Chinese, but there’s some Mexican and Sicilian in there, too, I think. There were lots of different ethnic groups working on the railroads, fighting forest fires and mining out west. My mom’s a hundred percent Chinese, though.” She let the silence consume the oxygen in the car and extinguish her fear. “Would your mom like me more if I had Polish blood?”
She didn’t want to care what his mother thought, but this was his baby, too, and that woman was the baby’s grandmother. If the baby’s grandmother couldn’t get past her nonwhite skin, well...well, she’d figure out something. She always had.
“It would give her something to hang on to until she got to know you better. Being Catholic would work just as well.” Her leather seat creaked as she turned from the window to look at her husband, but the darkness swallowed his expression—if he had one.
She turned back to the window, disappointed in his answer and disappointed in herself for caring. “The Mexican and Sicilian parts are probably Catholic.”
She started when his hand rested on her knee and squeezed. She’d touched him once or twice, but he’d steadfastly avoided initiating any contact with her since putting his hand on her back as they’d left the library that day. She’d noticed that he watched her when they were in the apartment together—whether out of suspicion, curiosity or some other emotion she didn’t know and his expression didn’t reveal—but he never touched her.
“It’s not about you. My mom is mad at me for marrying someone she doesn’t know and didn’t get a chance to approve of, first. Since I am otherwise the golden child, she’s not used to feeling disappointed in me and her disapproval is landing on you. She’ll get over it, and you shouldn’t feel that you need to put up with it. If she continues, I’ll tell her to knock it off. Or you can opt out of future family dinners. Attendance isn’t a requirement for my help.”
If she hadn’t been staring so intently at his expression, she wouldn’t have noticed the slight lift of his mouth when he said “golden child.” As it was, she wasn’t sure she believed her own eyes. She ticked off her memories on her fingers, a laugh, two smiles and a touch all in the span of a couple days.
But the hint of a smile disappeared as quickly as it had come when he continued talking. “I don’t know if that helps. I’ve never been—”
“Anything but the perfect man all mothers dream their beloved daughter will marry?”
He laughed. If she wasn’t careful, she might have to take off her socks to keep track of the number of times she got a reaction out of him. “I was going to say ‘on the receiving end of a mother’s interrogation,’ but we can let your statement stand.”
“How your mother feels about me doesn’t matter in the long run, I guess. I’ll get a job, get my own health insurance. We’ll have a baby and get a divorce. You’ll be free to marry a Polish Catholic girl your mom has known since birth.”
Karl didn’t respond. But neither did he remove his hand from her knee until it was time to get off the freeway.
