Page 34 of Single Mom’s Secret Diary (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)
Avery
I ’m still stewing in my dad’s comments as he puts together lunch, boiling a fresh pot of water, and the homemade noodles he has sitting under a towel go in. We sit in silence as they cook.
Do I love them? Maybe that’s an easier question than I’m letting it be. Am I afraid? Yes. I’ve been afraid this entire time. Afraid of feeling something similar to that fairytale week in Cancún with Ezra—something more and real—and having it ripped away from me again.
Dad drains the noodles and sets three plates of artfully twisted spaghetti topped with his homemade sauce, sausage, and a meatball the size of my fist. A slow grate of Romano cheese and a sprig of basil complete the meal.
I miss this when I’m not here. It’s like eating at a restaurant, and even though his meals are simple, they’re always beautiful. Tasty. Fulfilling.
I help him set the table as Charlie washes up, and we sit to eat. The meatball is dense but soft and covered in a rich tomato, garlic, and parsley sauce. The sharp cheese adds the perfect accent. But as I chew, something sours in my mouth.
It’s not the ingredients, though.
This confirms that something’s wrong, but the more I chew through the odd flavor lingering on the back of my tongue, the more suspicious I become of the culprit.
The last time my tastebuds were off like this was ten years ago… shortly after my trip with Sophia for Spring Break. About a month after, to be more specific.
Oh, God.
Pressing a hand to my stomach as it churns, I excuse myself to the bathroom, snagging my bag on the way. Once I’m locked inside, I bend to the nausea and turn on the taps, running my wrists under cold water until the sickness passes.
I splash cold water over my face before I fish out the pregnancy test I bought last weekend. The moment I woke up with heartburn three days in a row, I’d given in and gotten one.
And now, I’m done fighting the inevitable question looming before me. It’s time to find out the truth.
I pee on the stick and set a timer on my phone as I wait.
Then, I stare at it as it counts down. I can’t bring myself to do anything else.
Except worry over the possibilities. Whose it might be. How we will handle it. If we will handle it together, or if I’ll be on my own again.
What both of those options look like.
It’s so many unknowns, all at once. I’m overloaded and ready to crawl out of my skin by the time my phone beeps. I don’t hesitate. I’ve been antsy for this moment.
Turning the pregnancy test over, the clearly printed Pregnant appears on the small screen. Well, there’s no guessing how many blue lines there are.
My stomach roils again, but this time, I puke up everything my father’s fed me.
The doorbell rings as I’m washing my mouth out. It can’t be for me. None of them know where my father lives. Who else would come looking for me?
I swish more water through my mouth, spitting out traces of acid.
“Avery?” Dad calls.
Trepidation creeps in, but I wipe my mouth on a towel and come back through the kitchen to the front door. I’m braced for one or all of the men, but when I spot the small, middle-aged Asian woman on the stoop, I know exactly who she is.
She’s holding a bag full of containers. They jiggle when she points at me past my father’s shoulder. “Time for us to speak.”
This must be Ezra’s mom, Mai.
“Yes. Why don’t you come in?” I gesture her inside and my dad out the door. We gather toward the kitchen when Ezra’s mom stops in her tracks.
Charlie looks up from his plate, his broken arm propped on the table in its cast.
She gasps, hand going to her chest as she mutters something I can’t understand. I step up beside her, winking at Charlie, who smirks. “Would you like to meet your grandson?”
Mai marches over to the table and puts her bag down in the empty space. Pulling things out, she looks at him and shakes her head. “You look just like my Ezra at that age. Nine?”
Charlie perks up. “I’ll be ten soon.”
I peer at my dad, who’s silently taking in this exchange. He reaches a hand out to me, and I take it, letting him reel me into the kitchen to give them some space. We’re being ignored, anyway.
I’m handed another cannoli. Like my dad knows. He’s too observant. I crunch into it as Charlie tastes a little of everything he’s offered. Mai tells him about everything she brought while I sit here, wondering what the fuck?
How did she find us, exactly?
When they’re through, she pets his hair. “Will leave for you.”
“Cool. Thanks, Bà .” And he’s up from his seat. “I’m going to finish my tournament on my iPad while you and Mom talk.”
I laugh. Talk about observant. He’s too much my boy sometimes.
When Mai turns to me, there’s a glimmer in her eyes, and her hand is back against her chest.
“Would you like a cannoli and a cup of coffee?” Dad offers. He’s much better at the niceties than I am, but it’s been a day, so I’m not feeling too nice.
Mai nods and pins me with her sharp gaze. “Why do you keep me and my son from my grandbaby?”
I blink at her, understanding a bit more how Ezra isn't put off by my abrupt inquiries. “I didn’t know how to find him?—”
“Yet you still wait after finding him again. Very disrespectful.”
I shake my head, folding my arms over my stomach. “Your son and I have trust issues.”
“Psh. Does not matter when you have a child.” She bats my answer away like it's a fly.
Anger simmers as I narrow my eyes at her, and Mai narrows hers back.
“It matters more when there’s a child involved.”
The pang of new life low in my belly makes the cannoli creep back up. I wasn’t being careful enough. Again. I should know better by now.
All of this stress is not helping.
“No. He is not dangerous to Charlie. Personal feelings are for you and him. Not Charlie.” She waves her hand. “You listen. Yes?”
“Sure.” Not like I seem to have a choice in the matter.
“You are the girl he mooned over in college. Was never the same after. No girl was good enough. No girl was you. And now, he has you again, you throw his heart back in his face. Again. What does this teach Charlie? To run from his problems? To remain a child and not grow up? To take easy way? Is that how you raise him? Let me tell you how I raise my Ezra.”
I take the hot chocolate my father offers me, and he gestures for us to sit back at the kitchen table where our lunch has been abandoned. And she tells us about the things he’s done to take care of her.
The odd jobs as a teen, getting a scholarship to go to college with his hockey skills, working on the weekends while he was away to send cash back to her, getting injured and earning his degree.
Opening the candy business based on her favorite treats back home.
The ones she missed so much but couldn’t afford.
Ezra moved her out of their small apartment and in with him as he started to build. She quit one of her two jobs, then the other. He offered her her own house, but she stays and cleans and cooks for him because he is such a good son.
He never brought home girls. Didn’t go out to party. Mai gives us countless examples of Ezra going out of his way to appreciate her.
I remember how he did that when we first met. How he’s been doing it since we stumbled upon each other again. So why did he blunder this one so badly?
And then to sic his mother on me so unexpectedly?
Dad pats my hand and tips my cocoa up for me to finish it. I comply.
I’ve been sufficiently brow beaten.
“How did you find me here?”
Mai holds her hand up, then scrolls through her phone to show me a few text exchanges between her and Ezra.
She’s run off, and I can’t find her.
She’s not at home, and she’s not answering her phone.
This can’t happen again. I’ll never recover.
She won’t believe me, but I’m in love with her.
I suck in too big of a breath and have a hard time letting go of it. My panic must be in my face because she reaches out to pat my hand like Dad usually does.
“I work for long time in restaurant. The cook knew Dominick Caruso enough to point me here when I asked. Only took two cases of Vang Dalat to get address.”
I laugh disbelievingly.
Mai smiles at me for the first time, and it lights her up most beautifully. “Now you know. You believe me. And you call me M? .”