Page 41 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter thirty-four

Jonathan

I ’m dreading this trip, even as Molly and I walk down the Jetway at the airport in Cleveland.

Molly’s excited to meet my family, and of course I’m excited to see them, too, but despite all the delicious Christmas foods and desserts Tamara has been tempting me with for the last week, I know that number one on my menu is humble pie. Not my favorite dish.

Dad picks us up from the airport, and we greet each other awkwardly while I introduce him to Molly. I hope once he and I really talk we’ll feel more at ease with each other, but now is not the time for that.

We drive forty-five minutes south to the suburb outside of Akron where I grew up.

Molly marvels at the dusting of snow on the ground, barely enough to cover the brown grass.

She’s never lived up north, so it’s a novelty for her.

I have to admit that I haven’t missed the snow at all in the more than ten years I’ve lived away from it.

I reminded Molly three times to pack her one and only winter coat—which she wears maybe a week out of the whole year in New Orleans—and still I was the one who stuffed it into her carry-on before we left for the airport this morning.

She was glad to have it when we stepped outside at the airport and a cold wind blasted us.

Her eyes went wide, and she nestled right up against my body like she could burrow into me for warmth.

The closer we get to my dad’s house, and my childhood home, the more I recognize.

I notice and catalog the differences—a park I used to visit that has replaced the old wooden playground with a colorful plastic set.

A block that used to be lined with small mom-and-pop shops that now houses a big box store.

A vacant lot where a gas station used to be.

We turn onto a residential street, and now it’s like nothing has changed since I was a kid.

New coats of paint on the houses, maybe a new fence here and there, but the vibe of the small two-story houses positioned at the front of each lot, with postage-stamp backyards behind them, feels the same.

Dad pulls into the driveway, and nostalgia hits me over the head.

I step out of the car. My old basketball hoop is long gone, but the foul lines I painted on the driveway are still there, though faded.

From here, I can see the top branches of the tree in the backyard that I fell out of when I was ten, breaking my arm.

It’s a lot taller—if I fell out of it now, I’d break more than an arm.

After my dad unlocks the front door, we go inside, which also looks pretty much the same.

The photos on the walls have been switched out—in addition to Tamara and me through the years, there are framed pictures of Tamara and Mike’s wedding and my nieces.

I’m surprised to see a photo of me from a couple of years ago, standing at the helm of a boat, my hair flying backward from the wind.

It’s one of my favorites; it was my profile picture on social media for a long time.

And next to that, a print of Molly and me in Las Vegas, dressed up and beaming under an archway covered in white flowers.

It’s the one I texted Dad and Tamara only a few weeks ago when they asked for a wedding photo.

My heart swells and pricks, love and shame all wrapped together. Molly moves to stand next to me, intertwining our fingers, while her other hand comes across her body to grip me at the elbow. How does she always know when I need her most?

“I’ll take care of your luggage,” Dad says. “I actually have some work I need to finish up this afternoon, so Tamara and the girls are expecting you over at their house.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.” I thought maybe I’d be able to sit down and talk to him this afternoon. Rip off the proverbial bandage.

My dad shifts from one foot to the other. “Is that all right?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

The conviction I’m trying to convey must not come across in my words because my dad explains more. “I took vacation time starting tomorrow through the end of the year, and there are just a couple of projects I need to get to a stopping point on before I leave. The girls are eager to see you.”

“I’m excited to meet them.” Molly smiles at my dad, and he visibly relaxes.

“You’re welcome to take my car or you can walk. It’s just one block over.” He motions with his thumb in the direction of Tamara’s house.

“Let’s walk,” Molly suggests.

“Sharon and I will meet you there a little later for dinner.”

It only takes Molly and me a few minutes to walk to my sister’s house. We ring the doorbell, and the door flies open. Tamara greets Molly with a hug, as if they’re best friends who haven’t seen each other for years rather than new sisters-in-law meeting for the first time.

“Um, hello. I’m here, too.” I wave to my sister.

“Oh, Jonny. Hi. I didn’t see you there,” she teases as she ushers us inside.

We hang up our coats on the hooks near the front door.

Looks like Tamara and Mike have redecorated since the last time I was here.

Most notable are three little cubbies near the front door, labeled with my nieces’ names.

They each have their own little coat hook, another hook where Charlotte and Hannah have their backpacks for school hanging, and a shelf low to the ground for shoes.

“Cute,” I comment, pointing to the cubbies.

“Necessary,” Tamara corrects. “This house is chaos.”

As if on cue, three tornadoes spin into the entryway, chattering and laughing in a swirl of energy. My nieces stop in front of us, and I can’t believe how big they are. I swear it hasn’t been that long since I saw them last, has it?

“Girls,” Tamara says, “this is your Aunt Molly. She’s married to Uncle Jonny.” They stare at Molly curiously until Hannah tugs on my arm.

“Uncle Jonny, last time you were here, we played on the trampoline for, like, twelve hours. Do you remember?”

“I do.” My legs and back were sore afterward for days.

“Can we do that again?”

I look at Tamara, who shakes her head. “Remember, we already put the trampoline away for the winter? It’s too cold for the trampoline right now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Her little face deflates, brown eyes drooping.

“We can play something else, though,” I suggest. “Maybe Aunt Molly will even play. How about Legos?” A calm and gentle activity.

“I have a better idea!” Charlotte squeals. “Let’s play octopus, like in Bluey .”

Hannah and Mia light up. “Yeah!” they both scream.

“I don’t know how to play octopus,” I tell them. “What about you, Aunt Molly? Do you know how to play octopus?”

“I don’t,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “But I’m sure if you girls explain to Uncle Jonny how to play, he’ll be a great octopus.”

“What about you?” Mia asks in her tiny voice.

“I actually need Aunt Molly to help me with something,” Tamara says, flashing a grin in Molly’s direction. “But she’s right—Uncle Jonny will be a perfect octopus. Show him the episode so he knows the game.”

“Really?” I say dryly. “Ganging up on me already?”

Tamara steps past me, squeezing my shoulder. “The girls missed you. Plus, I really do need Molly’s help with something.”

“Yeah, right.”

I let the girls pull me into the living room where they queue up a show.

I spend the next ten minutes watching cartoon dogs, who are apparently Australian, make up an increasingly complicated game where an octopus—which I presume will be me—tries to capture the little fishes who want to steal his treasure.

The episode ends, and three very serious little faces stare up at me. “Got it?” Hannah asks.

I nod solemnly. “I think so.”

Charlotte jumps up. “We need treasure.” She pulls a plastic bin of Hot Wheels cars over to the couch. “Now, Uncle Jonny, you hang on the couch, like Bluey’s dad did, and try to stop us from getting the treasure.”

“But you can’t talk!” Mia yells.

“Right,” Hannah agrees. “You can only make octopus sounds.”

The octopus game keeps us occupied for almost twenty minutes before they decide to switch to “keepy uppy” instead.

This involves keeping an inflated balloon from touching the ground.

I leap over furniture and crash into walls in my attempts to bump the balloon back up toward the ceiling. The girls scream with laughter.

We move on to a game they call taxi driver.

They each take turns being the driver, while the rest of us are passengers in the taxi, inventing characters with outlandish requests or destinations.

Hannah says she’s a mom, and she needs a ride to the hospital to pick up a new baby brother for her daughters.

“Hannah!” Charlotte scolds. “We aren’t supposed to say anything, remember?”

“I didn’t say anything!” Hannah shouts back.

I’m about to play referee when Tamara steps in. I glance toward the entrance to the living room where Molly watches me with a smirk.

I disentangle myself from the blanket I’ve been using as a shawl and stand. “How much of that did you see?” I ask Molly sheepishly.

“I’ve been standing here a while, Rita ,” Molly teases. That’s the name Mia insisted on giving me. I was supposed to be an old, apparently “cheeky” woman.

“Well,” Tamara says as she walks toward us. “I guess it was silly to think the girls could keep any kind of secret, never mind a big one.”

I look at Tamara in bewilderment. “What secret?”

“He has no idea,” Molly tells her. “Totally clueless.”

“About what?” I look between my sister and my wife, clearly missing something.

“Amazing,” Tamara marvels.

“See?” Hannah shouts. “I didn’t tell anyone that we’re having a baby brother.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Well, now you did.”

Understanding dawns. “Wait! Tamara, you’re pregnant? With a boy?” I scoop her into a hug. “Congratulations!”

Tamara beams. “Thanks. We were going to wait until after Dad’s wedding to say anything, but we made the mistake of telling the girls, and now I think even our mail carrier knows.”