2 Weeks 'Til Eve (2 'Til Series Book 3) (19 page)

Sunday, December 10
^th

“You’re up bright and early on a Sunday morning,” her
mother pointed out, beating her to the kitchen as she had every day since arriving.
She was sitting at the table, mug before her, gazing out at the sprawling
backyard that was a pristine sheet of snow all over again. Just a light
dusting, enough to fill in the bottoms of paw prints and footsteps that had
exposed the yellowed grass underneath from Magnus and Cara carousing about.

“I thought it would be nice to get a head start on the
day,” Catherine said tightly, wishing she could do so alone. Especially this of
all mornings, when her mother was probably chomping at the bit to go to church,
seeing as how she’d raised her daughter that way. Elizabeth Hemmings was active
in church groups and church events and genuinely enjoyed her Sunday mornings
there, while Catherine Marie used to drag her feet about getting ready, complain
about having to wear a dress, scuff her best shoes getting out of the car and
almost always nod off in the pew.

Since the moment her parents had arrived in town, her
mother had pointed out every church they passed by, admiring their architecture
or land or the beautiful front doors, and she otherwise talked church by using
them as landmarks, noting that something was a few blocks from this church or
just past that one, a not-so-subtle dig into her daughter’s spiritual
tendencies. Because people like Elizabeth Hemmings knew not to discuss politics
or religion; just lay on some guilt.

“I made you a pot of decaf, by the way,” her mother
said.

“You didn’t have to do that. Everyone else likes their
caffeine.”

“I picked up an insulated carafe yesterday and planned
to give it to you for Christmas, but I thought that now is the time to actually
get some use out of it. Soon enough you will be able to join us regular coffee
drinkers again. Anyway, I made a pot of each. Yours is right over there—”

—Four miles from the closest church. The one with
the beautiful arched stained glass.
Catherine almost chuckled to herself at
the thought as her eyes followed her mother’s gesture toward the brushed
stainless carafe next to the coffeemaker.

“It should still be nice and hot,” she added.

For eight and a half months Catherine had not only
suffered from caffeine withdrawal, but from the joy of coffee at all. She
occasionally ordered a decaf out, and once or twice made some instant, but
she’d refused to spend the money on a single-cup coffeemaker and had never even
thought of such a simple solution. But then again, she was not Elizabeth
Hemmings. “Now
that
makes my morning,” she said with a smile that jumped
to her mother’s face as well. “And considering what they say about limiting caffeine
while you’re nursing, I think it is going to come in handy for a while.”

“So you’re going to nurse?” her mother asked,
surprised.

“I’m planning to. Georgia and Lacey both did. And Drew
did with all of hers too. It seems only natural. And frugal. Why buy the cow
when you can milk it for free,” she joked as she poured herself a mug. “You
know, living on our one income, like we are.”
Touché, mother.

“I really wish I had nursed all of you, but it wasn’t
popular back at the time.”

“You did with Josephine.”

She nodded. “People were coming back around then. And
it really was a wonderful bonding experience.” Her gaze slipped faraway, her
fingers caressing the handle of her mug like she was stroking baby-fine hair.

Catherine doctored her coffee, giving her mother a few
moments. After she got it just right, she waddled to the table and set her mug
down, lowering herself carefully into the closest chair. “I feel like my hips
are going to fall out of their sockets.”

Her mother turned her attention back to the present.
“I remember that feeling. It’s the final stretch.”

“Only a week left.”

“Hopefully. I can’t believe how far you’ve come so
quickly—”

Wait a second, back up, hopefully? What’s that
supposed to—

“You know, a year ago I never would have guessed I
would be sitting in my daughter’s kitchen expecting yet another grandchild.”

“I bet you figured Lacey and Connor would have five
before I had one.” Slightly bitter.

“You and I both know that Lacey would never have five
kids.” Taking the safe route across Lacey’s career-driven path rather than down
Catherine’s admittedly longstanding single and hopeless avenue.

“I guess not.”

“I don’t know that they even plan to have a second.”

Catherine shook her head. She and Lacey were closer
than they used to be (she admittedly wouldn’t have had a wedding to speak of
without her sister-in-law’s help during those last crazy days when everything
was falling apart), but they were still a world away when it came to their
hopes, dreams, and daily lives. They got along well, but they weren’t exactly
girlfriends, which was probably good because she needed to maintain just enough
distance that she could still side with Connor if they ever broke up—bros
before hoes.  

“How is Georgia doing these days?” her mother asked, a
fitting question, lumping Georgia into a discussion about Lacey. Ever since the
two had had their daughters within weeks of each other, they had become close—close
enough that Elizabeth Hemmings should probably be asking her daughter-in-law
this question. As far as Catherine knew, the four of them double-dated
sometimes in a weird and sort of icky, almost incestuous way. Georgia was like
her sister and Connor was for better or worse her brother and Lacey and Thomas
were like two sides of the same coin. Maybe they were into swapping—a thought
that made her throw up a little in her mouth. 

“Fine, I guess.” Noncommittal.

“Living this far away from each other must be hard
after all the years you were so close.” She could feel her mom searching with
her eyes and her words—Elizabeth Hemmings had missed her true calling as a
psychologist.

“It’s not so bad.” And it wasn’t, actually. They both
had their own lives. Very different lives. Georgia Love was a stuck-up
Mommystein from the Sophie Watts School of Perfection. She should have known
this would happen. The house. The status. All of it had gone straight to
Georgia’s head even before Catherine moved out here and married Fynn and
started plowing forward on her own way to happily ever after.

“How about Nell? She’s just about a year old now,
right? Do you think they’re going to have another?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t she have trouble conceiving?”

What is this, twenty questions?
“Kind of,”
Catherine shrugged. She remembered her friend drowning her sorrows over it,
acting like it was
so hard
having sex all the time—something that at that
point in her life Catherine hadn’t been having at all, so admittedly she was
less than sympathetic. In fact, she would have traded places with Georgia in a
moment because her husband, Thomas Love, was no slouch. And an orgasm or more a
day was nothing to complain about. What she wouldn’t have given to have
something so hard to do.

“The Lord continues to work in mysterious ways,” her
mother sighed. “Sometimes what you want most seems out of reach, while for
others who don’t seem to want it at all, it’s just suddenly right there.”

She let the words sink in, turning them, trying to
find the jab within them. The pointed lesson. And there it was: jealousy. All
around. Her thoughts about Georgia. Maybe Georgia’s thoughts about her. Could
that be, though? Here she was, falling into her future like she was deaf, dumb,
and blind to the risks, and she was
happy.
Not unlike Tara, she
realized. And then there was Georgia, who had pre-thought and pre-planned and
signed a prenup and she was—what exactly?

“You have been so blessed, Catherine. Truly. Deeply.”

“I know,” she choked out.

“Even though I worry about your unorthodox ways and
your tendency to leap well before you look, now I know you will be alright. Shortcuts
terrify me,” she said grimly. “I like things to be safe and sure and
straightforward. I like to be in control. You know that. But now that I’ve seen
all of this with my own eyes, I realize that Fynn will take care of you and
love you for who you are… And I know that you never would have met him if you
were like me. You’re simply… unafraid.”

“Mom, I’m terrified! I don’t know the first thing
about what I’m doing!”

Elizabeth Hemmings shook her head, denying her. “You
are right where you belong, doing exactly what you should be doing. With Fynn. With
Cara—”

“And Eve.”

Her mother’s eyes widened.

“It’s a girl.”

“But I thought you didn’t know,” she whispered.

Catherine saw the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes. “We
weren’t intending to find out, but then—” She stopped, not wanting to share the
particulars since it was neither here nor there at this point. That was between
her and Fynn and she’d made it up to him last night.

“I can’t believe it’s a little girl. If I had been
guessing—” But she waved it off, reached her hand across the table. “You are
going to be a wonderful mother.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you already are. Cara adores you. She relies
on you. You were meant to be in her life and she in yours. In just a few short
months you’ve become her… everything. I know because she knows.”

Floored. If not for the fact that every movement was difficult
right now, she probably would have fallen out of her chair—but for the grace of
the law of inertia.

A buzzing sound shattered the moment and Catherine labored
up to check her phone that she’d left charging on the counter in the kitchen
the night before.

Tara: Can we talk?

She texted back: Busy right now.

Tara: Have time later?

Catherine: ?

Not the nicest response, but true. She definitely didn’t
have time if this was just going to be a continuation of everything they’d
argued about yesterday. She had more important things to do than try to reason
with the unreasonable.

“Who’s that?” her mother asked, nodding toward the
phone.

“It’s nothing. Just Tara.”

“Just Tara?” A pointed repeat. “Does she need you for
something? Because your father and I don’t mind watching Cara if—”

“It’s truly nothing.”

“Where are we going?” Cara asked from the backseat.

“It’s a surprise,” Catherine answered.

“What kind of surprise?”

“The good kind,” Fynn assured her.

“Should I close my eyes?”

“I don’t know if it’s that good,” Catherine chuckled. They
were actually leading Cara to her interrogation, hoping to get at the
information she had so far refused to give up. If there was anyone who could
get her to talk, they figured it was Santa himself.

They’d left her parents back at the house, where her
mother was content to spend time wrapping gifts in her own wrapping paper and
using her own tags and bows and scissors and tape that she’d picked up as if
her daughter lived a life void of such things. And her father was happy not
having to do anything for a change.

Catherine gazed lovingly at Fynn’s strong profile, then
glanced over her shoulder at Cara strapped in the back. Just a happy little
family out for a drive. It was an overcast day, allowing for the Christmas
lights decorating houses and buildings around town to shine in spite of the
hour, creating a magical scene that renewed her hope for the home stretch
toward the holidays and Eve’s arrival—the final push, pardon the pun.

“The mall,” Cara breathed in awe as it came into view.

“Said like a true woman,” Fynn sighed.

As they pulled into the massive parking lot, it seemed
that everyone had gotten the memo about the mall’s extended hours. The lot was
already full and it wasn’t even noon.

“I’d hoped this would be relatively painless at this
hour,” Catherine grumbled.

“Life is real, not ideal,” Cara said sadly.

“What the—” Catherine stopped herself. Obviously Cara was
spending way too much time with Gramma Lizzy these days. In fact, she was so
enamored with her that she might just try to hide in her luggage and fly back
to Chesterton to live.

“Ooh, can I go on the rides? And play on the jungle
gym? Oh, and get a cinnamon bun as big as my head? That’s how Pop-Pop says they
measure them here.”

Catherine smirked. All of that was well and good with her.
The former two requests sounded like perfect jobs for Fynn while she shopped
for Cara, after they figured out what she wanted, that is. Then they could meet
back up for the last stop….
As big as your head, you say? Score!
 

“Hold on little lady, all in good time.” Fynn copped a
cowboy drawl. “First we have to giddyup to the North Pole.”

“The North Pole?” Her eyes were trained on the
building, calculating just how that was going to happen.

“Well, not the
real
one, but this one
is
built by elves each year,” he clarified. At least by workers dressed as elves.
Someone somewhere along the way must have realized that it added to the
authenticity of Santa’s Village.

“Oh, I know all about mall Santas,” Cara said, as if
she’d been around the block more than a few times.

“You do?” Fynn prodded.

“Yup. They aren’t real.”

“Not real, you say,” he nodded, taking it in.

“Well, they all look different for one. And there is
one in every mall everywhere all across the world. Santa might be made of
magic, but he can’t be all those places at once.”

“I guess not.”

“So he hires all these people to help him out.”

“Oh!” Fynn said, like now it made all the sense in the
world.

“So do you want to go and see him?” Catherine offered.

Cara shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt just in case my
letter got lost.”

“Smart girl, cover all your bases,” Fynn agreed,
hopping out of the car to get the show on the road.

By the time they reached the entrance, Catherine’s
feet were frozen ice blocks in her little flats that were less shoe and more
cardboard sole strapped on with a thin canvas skin. She hadn’t been thinking
about the trek through the frozen tundra of the parking lot when she slipped
them on, rather the journey through the climate-controlled mall and how much
her feet tended to sweat in normal conditions these days—another of those wacky
side effects of pregnancy, she guessed.

The smell of the mall rushed out as they stepped
inside. A familiar smell. One that hadn’t changed in all the time she’d been
shopping in malls since she was a kid herself. It was a soothing scent.
Calming. Like home away from home.

A very busy home.

The place was bustling with people. Any mall at
Christmastime was busy, but this was the Mall of America. A mall on steroids.
Not just a shopping destination but a tourist destination.

They made their way to Santa’s Village, where a line
wrapped and wound around candy cane posts that marked off a zigzagging pathway
lined in red velvet ribbon meant to keep them in check, then grew further
still, stretching down the length of several store fronts, where they added
themselves to the queue.

After about ten minutes of shifting her weight from
one foot to the other while they inched forward, Catherine said, “I’m not going
to make it through this whole thing.”

“Go. Sit. There are benches over there,” Fynn said,
ones that filled up just as he pointed them out. “We’ll be here a while, just
go find somewhere to rest. No worries.”

“Yeah, Cat, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Cara said with a
giggle.

“You do that,” she smiled back. Standing on tiptoes,
she whispered in Fynn’s ear, “You sure you’ve got this?”

“No problem.” He kissed her on the cheek.

“Well, if you need me, I have my phone. And you,” she
added for Cara, “have fun. And be good. Santa’s watching.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “I know. I know.”

Catherine wove her way out through the crowd, her nose
picking up the scent of a thousand colognes, all competing for attention. And
two different kids tugged on her coat sleeve only to stare up at her in shock
that she was not Mommy but a complete stranger.

It took a while, but she finally found a free bench
and sat down under a flurry of paper-thin snowflakes that hung from the atrium
ceiling on almost invisible fishing line—a snowstorm that could be seen out
over the railings of each level above.

“Yo, bitch.”

She startled, her gaze sweeping down along the people
hurrying by. “Tara,” she blurted as her friend slid down onto the bench next to
her, seemingly from out of nowhere.

“In the flesh.”

“But what are you doing here?”

“I’m tracking your phone now,” she said plainly.

“You’re what?”

“Just kidding. I called your house and your mom said
you took Cara to the mall, so I figured, why not? I have some shopping to do
myself. Where is Cara anyway?”

“She’s waiting to see Santa. With Fynn.”

“Then you have some time,” Tara noted.

“I don’t really—” —
have any excuses right now.
Tara
couldn’t have timed it any better.

“I wanted to clear the air. I don’t like where we
are.”

I don’t like where
you
are… as in here… in
my personal space.

“You’re my best friend, Cat. Even though I might not
be yours, that’s what you are to me.”

Way to make a girl feel small. Petty. Shitty.

Catherine’s phone buzzed: Code Blue. Not that she knew
what that was, but she could see that it was from Fynn. Maybe Cara had slipped
away and gotten lost. Or fell off Santa’s lap and got hurt. Or maybe he could
see her right now, cornered by Tara, and this was his way to extricate her. She
glanced around but couldn’t make him out in the constant movement of people.

She texted back: What happened?

Fynn: Done here. She wouldn’t talk.

Catherine: Coming your way.

“Listen, Tara, that’s Fynn. They’re done with Santa
and I have to meet up with them.”

“Is something wrong? You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine. I just have some stuff I have to deal with.
Family stuff.”

“I can help. You want me to take Cara around the mall?
Give you some space?”

“No. Fynn and I can handle it.”

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” Tara challenged,
reaching for her arm as she tried to get up.

Catherine sighed. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have time for your craziness when I have
enough problems of my own.” There. She’d said it.

“So let me help you.”

Leave it to Tara not to get offended by the accusation
that she was crazy. “I think that I’m beyond help at this point. Cara is
expecting Santa to come through and honestly, Santa is clueless. She mailed a
letter to him asking for godknowswhat and she says that she won’t tell anyone
else because that way she can prove he’s real.”

“Oh…. Wait, why did you let her mail it? My parents
always ‘mailed’ my letter to Santa for me.”

“Because Fynn and I are idiots who have procreated to
make what will probably be an idiot child, and Cara will end up having to take
care of all of us.” That about explained it.

“So, we figure it out,” Tara said, simple as that.

“That’s what we were trying to do. Cara’s lips are
sealed. Fynn was taking her to see Santa so he could stand by and listen to
what she said to him, but it seems she didn’t say anything.” Catherine showed
her his text as proof.

“It’s not the end of the world. We can figure this
out.” She pulled Catherine up and guided her along toward Santa’s Village.