“Mmm-hmm. Bring me the disbelievers. We shall feast upon their trepidation!”

I stared at Mom. I blinked.

Without a word, I picked up my phone to text Jack the plan.

Leaf, Devi, Morgan and Erin all offered to come be my backup for the meeting. I went with Leaf for no other reason than he was a big dude and maybe, just maybe, that’d slow Jack’s dad’s roll. Leaf showed up a half hour before the Ianellis and immediately popped into the kitchen to sous-chef for Mormor. It was interesting to see my usually unflinching grandmother nervously fluttering about in her blue dress. She didn’t say she was worked up, but she couldn’t sit still. Every time she sat down, she immediately thought of something else she should be doing and sprung up again.

Mom, who’d just finished vacuuming, whispered to me, “Stay out of her way. She’s turbo right now.”

In a way, I was glad for it; if Jack’s dad was as bad as Jack suggested, we’d need her sass. I didn’t like the idea of Mormor being stressed, but...well. A stressed Mormor was a pointy Mormor.

Pointy was good sometimes.

Mom finished picking up the living room, straightening the tree skirt under the Christmas tree and putting out drink coasters. Leaf delivered the tray of meat, cheese and crackers that he’d assembled to the coffee table. I set the table. We were all quiet, lost to our thoughts. Leaf, dismissed by Mormor, came to help me fold napkins and put out silverware. He’d worn nice khakis with his off-white button-down shirt and black shoes. We were all dressed up—Mom in her pink blouse and black slacks from work, me in a floral-print dress that tucked in under my boobs and flared out and over the bump to call as little attention to it as possible. It was a futile endeavor. My kid was large and in charge, but hey, I’d managed some tights and a pair of shoes that weren’t sneakers, so at least I looked cute.

I’d gotten to the point that shaving my legs was off the table. I couldn’t bend to get to my calves. It was tights or revealing that the great North American yeti was real and living in New England.

The Ianellis pulled in five minutes early. Mom went to the door and held it open for them, smiling. Mrs. Ianelli came in first. She was small and delicate, with pale brown hair she’d cut into a chin-length bob, green eyes and a Christmas sweater to go along with her jeans. She held a cheesecake in her hands, and she smiled at Mom.

“Caroline,” she said.

“Astrid. Please, come on in.”