“Are you sure?”
Lucas answered for all of them.
“We want to see his face.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds slightly sinister.”
Jack grinned.
“Not sinister.”
“Scientific.”
I laughed despite myself.
That evening, I accepted Ethan’s invitation.
I wrote only one line.
Thank you.
I’ll be there.
Grace.
He replied ten minutes later.
Glad to hear it.
Natalie is looking forward to meeting you.
I almost admired the arrogance.
Two days before Christmas, Ethan’s mother called me.
Margaret Caldwell.
I had not heard her voice in eight years.
“Grace.”
“Margaret.”
There was a pause.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“That’s good.”
Another pause.
She had never been good with discomfort.
Then she said.
“Ethan told us you’re coming.”
“Yes.”
“I think that’s mature.”
I almost laughed.
“Thank you.”
“Natalie is lovely.”
“I’m sure.”
“She’s a surgeon.”
“Impressive.”
“They’re very happy.”
“I’m glad.”
Margaret hesitated.
Then.
“I hope there won’t be any unpleasantness.”
There it was.
The warning.
“Why would there be?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“I don’t.”
She lowered her voice.
“About the old pregnancy story.”
My entire body became still.
“Story?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I told you I was pregnant.”
“And Ethan said there was no proof.”
“I offered proof.”
Margaret sighed.
“Grace.”
“It was eight years ago.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think Christmas is the time to reopen old accusations.”
I stared at the wall.
“Then perhaps Ethan should not have invited me.”
Silence.
