Single dad on top comple.., p.28
Single Dad on Top (Complete Series Boxed Set), page 28
Back at the hotel, I quickly look up the VA Hall and the American Legion. These look like very honorable organizations devoted to veterans and national pride. It might be a little dated, sure, but I can see that everyone in the pictures looks friendly.
But they’re all in jeans and normal shirts. The old men wear their ball caps with words on the front describing their service.
Okay, so my couture outfit is all wrong.
Dell didn’t even bring any of his own trademark suits. Just jeans and button-downs.
So I change into something plainer, navy stretch pants and a long loose sweater. This is better. I’m determined to fit in.
This will be fine.
Still, by the time five approaches and Dell requests our car to be brought around, my stomach is filled with butterflies. It’s bound to be hard to meet your future in-laws. But we have a surprise baby and a secret to shield.
I plan to stay glued to Dell’s side.
Hasmund. Hasmund. I have to think and say Hasmund.
“What if I gave you some nickname?” I ask as we wait for the car.
Dell shifts Grace in his arms. She’s fussy, as if our anxiety is fueling hers. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Honey Bear or Sweetie Pie or something.”
This makes a small smile appear. “Honey Bear?”
“I’m just sure I’m going to call you Dell accidentally.”
“Maybe the nickname should be Dellish, then,” he says. “I could be called Dell-icious.”
“Oh, Dell. Hasmund. Honey Bear.” I trip over all the words.
He wraps his free arm around me. “It’s going to be fine.”
“No, I’m going to screw this up.”
“You can call me Doodles,” he says.
I sputter my reply. “Like what Grace does in her pants?”
“Okay, maybe not.”
An SUV pulls up, white and nondescript.
“This us?” I ask.
“Yes, just what I asked for.”
There isn’t a porter to open the door, so Dell does it himself. The valet runs around. “Here you go!”
Dell hands me Grace. “I’ll get the car seat locked in.”
I sit on the front passenger side, Grace on my lap. “You ready for an adventure?” I ask her.
She drools down her chin in response. Teething.
She wears classic pink, a little checked dress with a matching sweater. Is it too much? Can a baby be overdressed?
I’m unsure about everything now.
“All ready,” he says.
He looks like a normal dad, his hair falling from its perfect wave over the exertion of installing the seat. We’re a long way from having a driver, a butler, and people who do those sorts of things for us.
It’s good. It feels real. I pass him Grace and he buckles her in. The seats are fabric instead of leather. The dashboard is simple. A base model car. It seems right. We shouldn’t be ostentatious.
Dell gets behind the wheel.
“You remember your way around?” I ask.
“This town isn’t that big,” he says. “But I have noticed some changes. A few more tall buildings. The park was different.”
“This Legion Hall, do you know it?”
“Like the back of my hand. My uncle Travis was in Vietnam, so the whole family practically lives up there. They do a lot of suppers and events. It’s like the social hub of my neighborhood.”
I settle back in the seat. This will be fine. Like a reception. Food, drinks, people chatting at tables. Nothing I can’t handle.
We drive away from the hotels and office buildings of downtown and out among normal neighborhoods and businesses. I’m eager to see the city where Dell — Hasmund — grew up.
Doodles. I snort a laugh.
“I’m glad you’re feeling relaxed,” Dell says. “We can work this room. We’ll have them all well in hand.”
“Recap,” I say. “We’ve had an on-and-off-again relationship but are committing now.”
“Other facts stay the same. You own a daycare,” he says. “And I work in finance.”
“What about pictures? What if people upload things and comment? Nobody knows Grace is yours.”
“Hasmund McDonald doesn’t exist. They can type that name in all they want.”
“But Arianna Hart does.”
“We’ll avoid giving anyone your last name.”
“But what if someone who knows you as Dell sees a picture?”
“Seems unlikely.”
“But if anybody does…” I glance at the backseat.
He frowns. “All right. I think I’m missing an accessory.” He peers out the window. “If it’s still there, I should see…” He turns the wheel. “Yes.”
We exit the highway and pull into the parking lot of a gas station. The place is enormous and the lot is filled with eighteen-wheelers. I glance up at the sign. Flying J Truck Stop.
“I’m just going to run in right quick,” he says.
I’ve never seen a place like this before. I turn around to look at Grace, but she faces backward and we don’t have a mirror installed. I can see her kicking, though, fingers reaching for the toys hanging from the canopy.
After a moment, Dell emerges from the store holding a ball cap. He tugs the tag off and tosses it in a trash bin as he approaches the car.
When he gets in, I ask, “A hat?”
“Totally in line with the company,” he says, dropping the car into reverse to get us out of the lot. “And will totally keep me incognito in any pictures.”
“Isn’t it rude to wear hats indoors?” I ask.
“Only during prayers and the National Anthem,” he says. “Otherwise, fair game at all times.”
Wow, okay. “I feel like I need a handbook.”
He laughs as we start navigating back roads. “Oh, trust me, there are no rules other than that there are no rules.”
This does not make me feel better. I pluck at the sweater, feeling warm despite the season. Maybe I should run into the truck stop and buy an outfit.
Dell picks up my hand from my lap and lifts it to his lips. “Don’t fret, Arianna. Remember that at the end of the day, we walk away.”
I try to feel more confident with his assurances. But my brain wants to argue. There’s holidays ahead! And a wedding!
I start to think we should elope.
Chapter 11
Dell
When Arianna and I pull up to the American Legion Hall a little after five, it’s clear there is a party in full swing.
Cars are parked all over the lot and in the dirt beside it and along the street.
I stand by the open door of the SUV, feeling a little more concerned than I did earlier. Is half of Birmingham invited to this shindig?
Did the word shindig just jump into my head?
I shake it off and close the door, coming around to the other side for Grace.
Arianna steps out, smoothing her sweater. She looks anxious.
I reach in for the baby and unbuckle her. She’s kicking and waving her arms. A good mood. That’s one less thing to worry about.
The diaper bag gets caught between the seats, and I have to tug to get it out.
“Everything okay?” Arianna asks, coming around the door.
“All good.” I take a second to arrange the baby in my arms and the bag on my shoulder.
Our diverted attention means that when we turn around, we’re blindsided by two pairs of legs and hands, and two shirts thrust near our faces.
One says “Groom” in ironed letters. The other reads “Bride.”
“And look on the back,” says a voice I can’t quite place. There’s a flash of a grin before the shirt flips. The back says “I’m with the ball.” And the other reads “I’m with the chain.” With arrows pointing at each other.
Now the shirt comes down. It’s Aunt Marge. Her lips are a florid orange, just a shade off her fluffy spun hair. “Love ’em or what?”
The other shirt comes down. It’s Daniel Dean, my cousin, Marge’s son. He’s a redneck through and through, his cheek bulging with chewing tobacco, his face rough with stubble, and his gimme cap curved tight over his forehead.
“She’s got a way with an iron,” Daniel Dean says, looking at the shirt. “The backs were my idea.”
I bet they were. I glance over at Arianna.
She has the biggest, fakest, most wide-eyed expression I’ve ever seen on her.
“How…lovely,” she says. “So much work went into them.”
Marge turns her “bride” shirt around. “I messed up the ‘b’ a bit, but bride or ride, it’s all about the same, isn’t it?” She elbows Arianna.
“Yes,” Arianna murmurs.
“This is my aunt Marge,” I tell Arianna. “And her son, my cousin Daniel Dean.”
“Nice to meet you,” Arianna says.
“Great gift, thanks,” I tell them, taking the shirts and tossing them over my arm.
“Oh, you have to wear them,” Daniel Dean says. “Everybody’s expecting it! They’ve all got their cameras ready to go!”
“Oh, I couldn’t risk messing it up!” Arianna says. “I might spill something on it.”
“Nonsense,” Aunt Marge says. She snatches the “bride” shirt from me and drags it over Arianna’s head.
I hear a little yelp. Arianna’s face pops through the hole. Her hair is all over the place, curls springing out from the careful updo she’d put together. Marge tugs the shirt down. It’s tight over the bulk of her sweater and makes Arianna look like a sausage.
She puts her game face on, though. “Thank you,” she tells Aunt Marge.
Daniel Dean steps up to force one on me, then seems to realize I’m holding a baby. “Who is this little critter?”
“This is Grace,” I say evenly. I don’t have to give anything away.
But Marge gets excited. “Yours, hers, or both?” she asks.
My gaze meets Arianna’s. “Both,” I say.
“By gawd, you better get yourself hitched!” she shouts, so loud it makes me blink. “Gotta make an honest critter out of this one!” She turns around to the open front door of the hall. “Wynona, get your tail out here! You’re a grandma!”
Mom sticks her head out the door. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in over a decade, but she doesn’t look much different from a distance.
“What are you going on about? You’re ruining the big entrance!”
“Git on out here!” Marge calls. “You gotta see this!”
Mom emerges. As she comes down the front walk, I can see she’s changed, her face more weathered and lined. Her hair is wiry with gray mixed in the brown. She’s dressed up for her, trading her cut-up T-shirts and tank tops for a blue long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Someone’s pinned a flower on her shoulder. Barefoot, though, as usual.
“Come look at this kid,” Daniel Dean shouts back at her. “Didn’t you know Hasmund had a kid?”
Mom stomps down the steps, her feet slapping against the wood. “Hasmund does not have any kid. He would have—” She stops short when she sees Grace. “Who is this?”
“It’s Grace, Mom. We wanted to surprise you. She’s eight months old.” I pick up Grace’s hand and give it a little wave.
This part surprises me. Mom’s eyes tear up, and she bites her lip. Her voice loses its caustic quality. “Well, look at her,” she says, holding out her arms. “Can I see her?”
I glance over at Arianna, who nods fervently. I pass the baby over, wondering if she’ll get fussy with a stranger.
But Grace has that sober look she gets when she’s taking in something new. She gazes up at Mom with a curious, intense expression.
“Well, if this don’t beat all,” Mom says, her voice cracking.
She smooshes Grace’s cheek against her own. “Beautiful little stinker. Eight months old.” She tilts her head. “So back in April?”
“April 6,” I say.
Mom holds her up. She can’t stop staring. “Just look at her. Marge, you ever seen anything so pretty?”
“Don’t think so,” Marge says. “You and I had nothing but grubby ol’ boys.”
From the entrance to the hall comes “What’s going on out here?”
I would know THAT voice anywhere. We turn to see Grandma Jessie, the mother of Marge and my mom, coming down the ramp in her wheelchair. Uncle Travis, Marge’s husband, pushes her.
She holds a cane despite the chair and waves it around. “What’s this I hear about a baby?”
“You got your first great-grandchild right here, Mama,” Mom says, holding up Grace. “Hasmund didn’t tell nobody.”
“Look at that baby girl,” Grandma Jessie says. “Give her to me.” She passes the cane to Uncle Travis.
Mom sets Grace in her lap. Grace has had just about enough of this and no more gets settled when she lets out a lusty howl.
“Hear them lungs!” Grandma Jessie says. “She’s a Spencer, all right!”
I come forward to take her, but Grandma waves me off. “I done raised two girls of my own. I can handle this.” She jiggles Grace on her knee. “What’s wrong with your daddy, not telling nobody you were born?”
She peers up at me. “I’m going to take my cane to you when I set down this child. You better run.”
I don’t even know how to address half the comments that have been made in the past two minutes. The jiggles work on Grace, and soon she’s giggling and babbling and reaching for Grandma Jessie’s big God’s-eye necklace.
“Well, don’t just stand around gawking,” Daniel Dean says. “I’m starving and Mom wouldn’t let me touch that pig until you saw it.”
“It’s turned all brown and perfect,” Marge says. “Purtiest pig I ever roasted, if I may say so myself.”
“And you may,” Mom says, clapping Marge on the back. She finally seems to notice the two of us. “Well, Hasmund, go ahead and introduce me to your bride.”
Arianna puts on a pleasant expression, her curls all over the place, the T-shirt stretched over her clothes. She’s a trouper.
“Mom, this is Arianna. She owns a daycare in New York.”
“Call me Wynona,” Mom says. “My friend Rhonda down the street owns a little daycare herself. Operates it out of her house. I ’spect you two will have a lot to talk about.”
“I’m sure we will,” Arianna says. She shakes Mom’s hand. “I enjoy being around children.”
“Got plenty of those around here!” Marge says, shoving Daniel Dean. “And sometimes they turn twenty-four and still don’t leave home!”
“Aw, Ma,” Daniel Dean says.
I take Arianna’s hand in mine. Uncle Travis starts pushing Grandma Jessie, still holding on to Grace, back up the walk. We fall in step behind them.
Arianna plucks at her shirt. I know she doesn’t want to go in wearing it, but she’s stuck. The least I can do is show solidarity. I let go of her and pull my shirt over my head.
When in Alabama, you do what your mama tells you.
Chapter 12
Arianna
I’m pretty used to feeling inadequate in situations. There was high school, where nobody would date frizzy-headed, low-self-esteem me.
Then college, where I got some begrudging respect for my family name, but the boyfriends were more about social climbing than wanting me for me, and I never felt comfortable around anybody. I was always…less.
But even with all that, I’ve never walked into a party wearing a ball-and-chain T-shirt where every single person in the room thinks I got knocked up and tied down the father on purpose.
I’m trying to feel fine.
Dell and I walk in to a headache-inducing blast of cell phone camera flashes. I hope his hat helps hide him.
Despite our determination to stay together, we’re instantly separated by a sea of huggers.
I’m drowning in perfume and the smell of fried food and beer. Arms come around me from every direction. It’s an endless parade of them.
They say random things like “Glad to meet ya” and “Can’t believe Hasmund’s come home finally!” Their voices become a long ramble of words. I hug and nod and hug and nod.
At one point, I spot Dell’s head across the room, but I can’t get to him. There’s fifty people between us, easy, plus something else.
The pig.
It’s on display in the center of the room, still stuck in both ends by the rod on the spit. I have to turn away from its face.
Now, I love ham. And pork chops. And my hips are no doubt rounded out by a fair share of bacon. But seeing the pig itself is another thing altogether.
I might have just become a vegetarian.
With the initial rush of greetings past, the bulk of the crowd drifts toward the beer keg.
I think I’m free and can find Dell, but then I’m surrounded again, this time by a half-dozen women. And questions start launching like rockets.
“What do you do, dear?”
“What sort of name is Arianna?”
“Have you set a date?”
“Will you get married here in Birmingham?”
“How did you two meet?”
I answer as best I can, following our script and scanning the room for Grace. There’s plenty of little kids running amok. Just no wheelchair, and no baby. I feel a brush of panic starting to sweep across my belly. I’ve been separated from her too long.
Daniel Dean jumps up on a counter and bangs on a cowbell. “Attention! Listen up!”
When everyone turns to him, I slip through the crowd toward Dell.
“Seen Grace?” I whisper when I get to him.
He points toward the back of the room. “She’s the star of the show.”
I look that way. The Legion Hall is dark paneled and expansive, two big rooms partially divided by a kitchen with large open walls for serving. Antlers and framed flags and proclamations cover the walls. The light is yellow and a bit sickly.
Grace is still on Dell’s grandmother’s lap, but they’ve been rolled onto a small stage with flags on either end. A steady line of admirers approach to see the baby, completely ignoring Daniel Dean’s rousing speech.
