Page 40 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
When Alisa approaches Brad with a wide smile, lifting her arms for a hug, Brad turns away and hugs his father instead. Tripp’s features have softened with pride for his grandson. I’ve never seen so much emotion from either of the two men—though, to be fair, I’ve only met them twice. Alisa sucks in her cheeks and tries again, finally settling for rubbing Brad’s back, before slumping in her chair silently, confused and crestfallen, until it’s Drew’s turn to bat again.
As draining as it is to sit out in the evening heat and humidity beneath the still blazing sun, plied with cobbler until I’m about to burst, the noise reaching an ear-splitting level when one of the t-ballers actually hits the ball hard and far enough away that she’s able to make it to the first and then second base, I find myself enjoying the game. More so, I enjoy Conrad’s big, warm, thankfully healed hand stroking up and down my bare thigh. The icy silence from Conrad’s brother and father, not so much, but I do my best to ignore them as much as they ignore us.
At the end of the game, which Drew’s team lost by double-digits, our strange, strained little family makes our way across the field and street to Conrad’s parents’ house for a pit stop at the restroom before Conrad and I head home.
“Oh, I was hoping y’all would stay for a bit,” Sondra says, waving us away from the front door to sit at the dining table while the family digs into a post-game treat of root beer floats and popsicles. She hums and sits on the edge of her chair beside me, her smile growing broader by the minute, darting a look past me to the front door.
I nearly knock over my float that I’ve only barely sipped from when the front door opens with a crack against the wall. Sondra lights out of her chair, and high-pitched squeals ensue as Sondra and the new guest hold hands and jump around in a circle.
Before I can pick my jaw up off the floor, another woman, younger this time but with Sondra’s fiery hair, sprints inside the house, out of breath. “Got stuck in traffic. Tell me they haven’t left already.”
I push away from the table to stand, the same as Conrad does.
“Bridget!” Conrad laughs heartily and picks up his older sister, spinning her around while she hugs him tight around the neck. “How the hell have you been?”
Now there’s a proper greeting from a sibling you’ve only occasionally seen over the past five years. I hope my kids are like that with each other.
“Put me down, put me down. I want to meet her,” Bridget says, knuckling Conrad’s hair, standing as tall as her brother.
“Me first! I need to see my babygirl,” Mom says, dodging the siblings with the kind of smile on her face that I haven’t seen since Dad passed.
I immediately burst into tears—my new MO; they just keep coming out of me—and cover my face with my hands.
“Oh honey, oh sweetie, I know, I know,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around me, rubbing my back.
“You tricked me,” I choke out, probably snotting all over her vibrant pink tank top. Good.
“I know!” she exclaims happily with a laugh.
I curl my hands under her arms to hug her around the middle, needing her no matter how mad I am. “You left me!”
She strokes my hair. “Hmm, that, well, ok—that I am sorry for, but it was a necessary evil.”
“How?” I step away and turn my back, taking comfort in Conrad’s arms instead. “Why?”
“That,” she says, joined by Sondra as they bump shoulders with a shared grin.
“What?” I ask.
“That.” Mom points at us, and Sondra giggles.
“You need to use more than one word, cavewoman,” I say grumpily.
Mom clicks her tongue with a playful huff. “I left so you two would get to know each other. Otherwise, you’d have hidden outat the house instead of giving Conrad a chance and falling in love with your husband.”
All very true.
“Then I have you to thank, Nurse Perkins,” Conrad says, reaching past me to shake Mom’s hand.
“You can call me ‘Mom’ or ‘Kyra’ now that you’re no longer my patient.” Mom bobs her head side to side twice. “Well, I’d let you, even if you still were.”
My jaw hits the floor again. “Wait, you two know each other too?”
“Of course we do!” she says, like it should have been obvious. “How else do you think I was able to pick the right inmate for my babygirl?”
I blink. “So Conrad wasn’t randomly-assigned to me?”
Mom tuts. “As if I’d let you marry some random man. Pshaw.”
