“We’re not holding you responsible for him, kiddo. Don’t sweat it,” my mother said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “We’re cool. Right, Sara?”

“Yeah! Yeah, it’ll be okay. I’ll text you, Jack. If you need help—”

“Nah. No. It’s not like that. He’s not... He’ll yell but that’s it. I’ll be okay.” Jack muttered a Merry Christmas at us before escaping the house. The four of us remained in the living room watching the Ianelli SUV leave the driveway. No one said a word until Mormor tutted, crossed the room and slipped on her shoe. She put it back on her foot and stomped her way to the kitchen.

“It’s a Christmas miracle, everyone,” Mom said, motioning for us to follow. “Free cheesecake.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ham dinner was pretty great. We were short three people, but that just translated to me getting more leftovers when the feed urge struck again. I worried Mormor would be upset that she’d put in so much work only to have our guests storm off, but she took it in stride.

“My cooking is reserved for those who earn my labor. Mr. Ianelli didn’t earn it,” was the prim reply.

Then she slapped another helping of potatoes on Leaf’s plate.

Mormor liked to feed Leaf in much the same way Leaf liked to feed me. They shared that pride about cooking. She started inviting him to Sunday family dinner with us after that, which worked out well because Leaf’s dad worked three weekends out of four each month. Leaf took to bringing dessert, often some kind of layered pastry. Once he even commandeered her kitchen so he could make milk dumplings on the stovetop. They were cinnamon flavored and delicious and I told him I wanted to be buried in a vat of them when I died.

He kissed my forehead and told me I wasn’t going to die.

It was sweet, if not overly optimistic.

For Jack’s part, he kept in touch with me despite the man my mom had taken to calling Nimrod Father. The night of the disastrous first meetup, I was putting away our dinner dishes and he texted me to apologize on behalf of himself and his mother. Both of them were eager to hear updates about the baby. They’d do so independently of Nimrod Father if need be—he said that his father didn’t have to be involved if I didn’t want him to be.

I promised I’d let him know how things were progressing, and that we’d figure out what needed to be done closer to delivery time.

I sent him pictures of Cass’s assembled nursery. He responded with, That’s so cool.

It really was.