I noticed that Mom had brought out Great-Grandmother’s crystal and silver, which she only did on special occasions. As everyone sat down, I decided it was best to just get it out there, face the firing squad.

So I cleared my throat and said, “Um, you guys, I have an announcement.”

My dad gave me the eye. “Don’t you mean we have an announcement?” he said, gesturing toward Amelia.

She smiled nervously. “Sort of…” She trailed off and mumbled, “But it isn’t what you think.”

“Mom, Dad,” I started, “I don’t know if you remember, but Greer and I had embryos frozen before she died.”

Dad took a sip of his scotch, and I could tell he had no idea what was coming next. Mom shifted her head. Her antennae were on high alert.

“Well, I just heard that those embryos had been considered abandoned…”

I trailed off, and Elizabeth said, “Oh, Parker, darling, that must be devastating for you.”

Mom nodded in agreement. “So hard, sweetheart.”

Dad and Mr. Saxton did not seem to share their emotions.

“Well, no,” I said, realizing this train was going to go off the tracks quickly. “Actually, I have decided not to destroy them. I am going to have them.” I cleared my throat again. “Using a surrogate.”

Mom’s face went white, Dad’s scotch stopped midair, and total and complete silence fell over the table. It was horrible. But it was worse when they all started talking at the same time.

Mom was saying, “Parker, no. Absolutely not. That is ridiculous,” as Elizabeth said, “I know it’s a new day, but this is a little much,” and Dad chimed in, “I think you’ve taken this mourning a little too far. Man up and move on,” and Mr. Saxton was saying, “Son, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”

Then they were all chattering wildly, more to themselves than to me, and all I could really catch was, “lost his mind?” and “no idea how much work!” and “babies need mothers.”

Amelia and I shared a glance, and I wasn’t sure what to do now. Should I interrupt? Slip out? While I was formulating an escape route, Elizabeth broke through the chatter. “So what does this have to do with Amelia?”

Bomb number two, ready for detonation.

“Well, Mom,” she said quietly, “I am going to be his surrogate.”

Elizabeth slammed her hand on the table and stood up so quickly her glass fell over. “You most certainly are not, young lady. I will not have it.”

No one else at the table reacted, but I knew from five minutes’ prior experience that that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. At that exact moment—perfect timing as always—Mason bolted through the door, making a lot of noise, in a pair of gym shorts, a T-shirt, and filthy tennis shoes. He grabbed a plate off the sideboard, heaped food onto it, and, with half a roll stuffed in his mouth, said, “What? Is this a funeral or something?”