“They’ve been married for three and a half months, Mom.”

“Ryan’s already thirty, though. And Queenie doesn’t have to work, so it’s not as though they need to worry about financial stability, which is usually one of the reasons so many people put it off. That’s what happened with you and Gordon. You were both so absorbed in your careers you waited too long. I don’t want the same thing to happen with Ryan. He’ll make such a wonderful father.” She sighs and starts slicing a cucumber for the salad. “I can’t wait to be a grandmother. It’ll be nice to have little babies around again. And you’ll be such a wonderful auntie.”

I bite back the nasty retort sitting on my tongue like a bitter pill. These pregnancy hormones are making me edgy and prone to snippiness. And stupid tears. It’s like being a teenager all over again, minus the perky boobs.

I can’t imagine a better segue than this. Ideally, I’d like to tell my parents at the same time, but my dad’s reaction to everything is pretty much the same: either that’s nice or that’s too bad. I love him, but he’s the most passive man on the face of the earth.

Well, here goes nothing.

I set the pastry blender down and wipe my hands on my apron. “Actually, you’re going to be a grandmother by early next year.”

She stops what she’s doing. “Is Queenie pregnant already? Why didn’t Ryan tell me?” She reaches for her phone, which is sitting on the window ledge.

I put my hand out to stop her. “Queenie’s not pregnant, Mom.”

“Oh my heavens.” She makes the sign of the cross. “Please tell me Gerald hasn’t gotten someone pregnant.”

“Probably pretty unlikely since the only women who can tolerate him for more than half an hour are related to him,” I mumble and instantly regret it.

“That’s not nice, Hanna. You know it’s not your brother’s fault he is the way he is.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry.” I need to get a handle on the mean vibe I’m throwing out there. Gerald is just Gerald. And we love him no matter what.

“So what is this you’re talking about? Are you thinking of adopting? Or maybe fostering? Do they allow single women to do that?” This is what my mother does: ask seven million questions and never let you answer one before the next one pops out of her mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt, needing to get it out already.

For once in her life, she doesn’t have a cheeky response. At least not right away. It takes about three seconds before her lips pull together as though she’s sucked on a lemon. “That’s not something you should joke about, Hanna.”

“It’s not a joke. I’m fifteen weeks.” I fight to keep my cool.

“How in the world is that even possible at your age?” She blinks several times in a row.

“Lots of women have babies well into their forties these days, Mom.” Although forty-six is definitely on the late side. I try my best to be calm and patient, but I’m starting to feel like it would have been a lot better to have someone on my side here with me. Even Paxton would have been a good buffer. Anyone outside of family members to force my mother to think before she speaks.

“Just because other women do doesn’t mean you should! Is it even safe with your history? You know what happened with little Tammy Van Wallen’s baby and she was only thirty-six, a full decade younger than you!”

“There was a history of chromosomal abnormalities in her family.” I could really use a glass of water and maybe a chair.

“Why would you put yourself at risk like this, Hanna? Have you forgotten what happened the last time? I can’t see you go through that again. It was devastating for all of us! Whose baby is it even? Are you and Gordon getting back together? After everything that happened? Why would you do that without even telling me about it?” Her hand goes to her chest, as if the idea that I would make this kind of decision without her is mortally wounding.

I cross over to the kitchen table and take a seat. My legs feel unsteady, and my throat grows tight. “I’m aware of the risks. And yes, I’ve seen my doctor. I’ve had all the tests, and so far the blood work and the ultrasound show that the baby is healthy. And no, it wasn’t Gordon.”

“How long have you known, and why didn’t you tell me until now? And who in the world is the father? I didn’t even realize you were dating anyone!” She crosses her arms, her hurt clear on her face.

This isn’t how I expected her to react. I assumed, maybe naively, that I would have her full support. So this aggressive inquisition is both frustrating and unnerving. This isn’t about her, and yet, somehow she manages to make it that way. “I’ve only known for a little while, and I thought it would be best to tell you in person rather than over the phone.”

She breathes heavily through her nose. “I would have gone with you to the doctor. You still haven’t told me who the father is.”

“Jake is the father.” I feel like I’m holding my breath, waiting for the axe to fall.

“Jake?” She makes the lemon-suck face again. “Is he someone you met at work?”

“No, Mom.” I could not be any less excited to explain this. “Jake, Queenie’s dad.”

Her eyes go wide and she blinks. And blinks again. “You’re pregnant with Ryan’s father-in-law’s child?”

“It was an accident.” I don’t know why I say this. It doesn’t matter that it was unintentional. It’s happening. I’m having a baby with Jake. End of story.

“An accident? I can’t believe you would do something so thoughtless! Poor Ryan. How is he going to handle this?” She presses her hand to her heart again and gives me the disappointed look I got three decades ago when I had to tell her I was pregnant the first time. “Did you think about the position you’re putting him in by doing this? My poor baby, I can’t even imagine how he feels.”

“He already knows.” My blood feels like it’s boiling. I know I need to calm down. This much stress isn’t good for me, or the baby, but my mom’s lack of support and three decades of baggage are a lot to manage. So I burst like a dam.

“And newsflash, Mom: Ryan is not your baby! He was mine. I carried him in my belly. I gave birth to him. He’s my son. And I know you like to live in a world that revolves around you and all the fantastic things you did for him and how you’re the reason he’s so goddamn successful, but I think you’re forgetting who it was who drove him to all of his hockey practices as a kid. I’m the one who woke up at five on Saturday mornings and took him to ice time. I went to all of his games. I was there every step of the way, too.” I drive home the point by stabbing the counter with my finger.

“In fact, he took his first steps with me, not you, because you had book club with your friends. But I never told you because I didn’t want you to be upset that you missed it, even though I missed a million of his firsts and you told me about every single damn one! So you can cut the shit and the poor Ryan, poor you garbage. I don’t need you to tell me about all the things that can go wrong. I’m more than fucking aware.” I know there’s going to be fallout after this, but she needs to see this isn’t about Ryan.