Page 44 of The Write Choice

Before that thought can fully take shape, my phone buzzes a few times in rapid succession. I don’t reach for it right away because I know that rhythm well. Brandon has bad news for me. Not bad enough for a phone call, but bad enough that he’s trying to break it to me in pieces. I decide to finish my coffee before I have to deal with it.

It must not be too bad, because my phone only buzzes five times while I’m sipping.

Brandon:

So. Don’t hate me.

My parents want to come for dinner tonight.

But it won’t be that bad. They can occupy the kids.

You don’t have to do anything special. Seriously. I’ll grab meat and veggies on the way home. I’ll take care of it.

Mom wants to bake cookies with the kids for dessert? So at least there will be entertainment for us, too.

I snort. Maria Conley is not the cookie-baking type to say the least, which means it’ll be more work for me to keep both her and the kids from shedding tears. But I decide to take Brandon at his word about dinner. Normally, I’d immediately start cleaning and making some elaborate and impressive meal, but he’s clearly trying here. It’s not like he doesn’t know his way around the kitchen. He just hasn’t been home in time to showcase his cooking skills in a while.

I’m sure his mother will have a few jabs for me. She always does. But, if Brandon is taking care of everything else, maybe this will be tolerable.

I type back: Okay.

He sends: Sorry about this.

I frown, typing: No worries. This is partly why we moved here, right?

The three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, then disappear and reappear two more times. I raise an eyebrow, and my foot starts tapping against the bottom rung of my stool while I wait.

You’re amazing, Cat.

I blink at the message, reading it over and over. I respond quickly with a kissy-face emoji, then lock my phone. But I think about that message all day. And every time, I smile.

Chapter 13

Brandon

My mother accosts me immediately after I walk into my office. She does not suggest we should have dinner tonight; she demands it. I don’t even have my coat off yet when she swoops in talking about seeing the house and her grandchildren. And cookies. There’s so much talk of cookies, I’m wondering how long it has been since she’s had a carbohydrate.

“Your kids are getting older,” she explains. “I’m getting older. It’s something grandmas should do with their grandchildren. And we all know Katie isn’t baking cookies with them.”

I dip my chin to give her a warning look. “Mom,” I say sternly.

She looks at me pointedly. “Is she?”

“Not the point.”

My dad swings his arm around her shoulders. “Generally, when you’re trying to be invited to someone’s house, you avoid insulting the hostess.”

Mom looks indignant. “She’s not the hostess. She’s my daughter-in-law.”

“That doesn’t make it better.” I scrape a hand down my jaw.

“Whatever. I want to spend time with my only grandbabies now that you’re settled in. I haven’t seen them in so long.” Her addition of “only” is another jab, this time at my brother, but we all let that one slide.

I can’t keep them away forever, and Katie has seemed to be in a good mood these past few days. My mom is who she is, but Katie can generally tolerate the backhanded comments when she’s happy. Now might be as good a time as any to have them over.

“Okay.” I sound more resigned than I mean to. “I’ll text Katie.”

My parents leave my office in an excited flourish, and I fire off several texts about the situation, trying to break the news into bite-sized pieces to make it all easier to swallow.