Page 39 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
What a good girl.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
MIRABETH
“If I could, I would’ve taken a shot or two or five before we left the apartment,” I tell Conrad during our walk across the field.
He adjusts our two new camping chair carriers over his shoulder, squeezing my hand. “Me too.”
I eye the crowds gathered around each of the four fenced baseball diamonds. “How long do these games typically last?”
If I have to meet and chit-chat with any more new people, I’m going to lose my dinner. I drag my feet, causing Conrad to slow down to match my pace. It’s not that I don’t want to see his nephew play, but knowing Tripp, Brad, and Alisa will be there sucks what little energy I have left after fighting and making up. Plus, I’m embarrassed about the conclusions I jumped to about Alisa. I’ll never tell her that I thought she was a bottom-feeding hoe for hitting on a married man, but I sure do feel guilty for it. Kinda.
“Longer than you want. That’s what the snacks are for,” Conrad says, nodding to the insulated lunchbox of the safely stored peach cobbler and hand-whipped cream he made for dessert.
I make a face since I don’t even want tothinkabout food for the next week after Conrad stuffed me full of homemade chicken and dumpling soup, even though I told him eating for two is a myth—or at least that’s what it said on theWhat to Expect When You’re Expecting a Felon’s Babywebsite that I read when curiosity had gotten the better of me.
Brad’s jaw tightens the same way Tripp’s does when we join the family at the farthest diamond from the street where we parked in front of Conrad’s parents’ house. Sondra hops up and pulls Conrad and me into a group hug, smothering me with her big hair, while Alisa waves from over Sondra’s shoulder, helping to set up our camping chairs beside theirs. When Alisa tries to sit in the middle, Brad motions her to the farthest chair from us on the left and takes her seat instead. He ignores the questioning look she gives him.
“Dad,” Conrad says, giving a chin nod to his turd-muffin father, who barely murmurs back a greeting.
Sondra sighs and pulls us down into our chairs on the right, offering up a selection of chips and dip she’d brought.
“Thank you, but no. I’m so full, I can barely breathe,” I say, the scent of hot dogs and popcorn in the air already churning my stomach.
I pinch the front of Conrad’s three-sizes-too-big, green, button-down jersey from his high school baseball days to pull it away from my torso. Discreetly, I slip a hand underneath to roll down the tight waistband of my white bike shorts so it’s no longer digging into my waist, and I rub my stomach with relief. It was much to Conrad’s delight to once more pick out my clothes, and his eyes had turned watery again as soon as I was dressed and had given him a little spin.
Sondra’s eyes light up when Conrad scoots his chair closer and lays his hand atop mine. The smirk he sports beneath his ball cap is prideful for what he’s done to me, and he’s beenespecially smug since he pulled the plastic tote of baby clothes from beneath the bed and cleared a drawer for them in our “closet” while I ate dinner. With so little space available, we’ll have to discuss moving into a bigger place before the baby comes, but we have plenty of time for that later.
Alisa leans forward to peer past her husband. “I’m glad y’all could make it.”
“Interesting shoes you’ve got there,” Conrad says in greeting, keeping his hand where it is on my stomach, giving Alisa a stink face to let her know what he really thinks of them—or at least pretending to think.
Alisa frowns, looking down at her popular brand of white sneakers.
I feel bad enough about my immature response to his promise of being mean to her that I silently shake my head at Conrad so he won’t go so far as to say anything about her recently highlighted hair that’s pulled back in a big, wavy ponytail.
Brad shoots up out of his chair, clapping his hands encouragingly when it’s Drew’s turn to bat. “Let’s go, O’Byrne! Keep your eye on the ball!”
The t-ball lands on the hard-packed dirt with a thud on Drew’s first swing, the lightweight bat just barely making contact with the top of it hard enough to knock it off the fixed stand. Some of the nearby parents groan and grumble unhappily, shooting our group a few scowls, when Drew completely misses the ball on his second swing.
“Nice try, nice try!” Brad threads his fingers through the tall chain link fence, pressing his face against it, and shouts, “Feet wider than your shoulders, son, just like we practiced! You’ve got this!”
Twisting his little face up with concentration beneath his large, maroon helmet, Drew sticks out his tongue and takes histhird and final swing. You’d think he’d just knocked it out of the park with the way Brad pumps his fists in the air when the ball slowly rolls down the foul line and out of bounds four feet away.
“That’s my boy!” Brad yells, then sniffles and thumbs his nose. “The next Nolan Ryan!”
I’ll admit, I get a little swept up in the moment and follow the rest of my in-laws out of their chairs toward the fence, even letting out a small hoot while clapping my hands when Drew jumps up and down with excitement on his way back to the dugout, having struck out.
I even get a little teary when Conrad curls me under his arm and says, “In a few years, that’ll be our son or daughter up there.”
Though he’d said it quietly with his lips pressed to my temple, his hand snaking back to my stomach, Sondra’s eyes go even wider behind her glasses. She skip-hops back to her chair, pulling her phone from a side pocket, then scurries off with it held to her ear, looking back over her shoulder from time to time.
What an odd duck.
The whole family is.My family.
