Rita was already shaking her head. “She married young, right out of college, but her husband and daughter died when their house caught fire. They didn’t have a lot, but they were happy. Everything was destroyed. She never moved on and hasn’t been the same since. That’s why she’s so bitter and angry. You’re just her scapegoat, unfortunately.”
“I didn’t know,” I said softly. “When did that happen?”
“Fifteen years ago.” Rita shrugged. “She kept it pretty quiet. Your grandmother didn’t even know she’d married and had a child. Tabatha was hurt and angry at her for never wanting anything to do with her, only you. She didn’t want to share her own daughter, and after the tragedy, she didn’t want your grandmother’s pity.”
I was twenty-five and single then. I remembered having dreams of burning up in a fire. I would wake up sweating, feeling like I couldn’t breathe for months. It took months of therapy to get past that. I had no idea it could be a twin connection. My heart ached over the thought of what Tabatha must have gone through. Was still apparently going through.
“So, she’s all alone now?” I asked quietly.
Rita looked sad as she nodded. “At least she has us.”
I felt my brow pucker. “What about friends?”
“They had friends as a couple, but she avoided them until they gave up and stopped trying. She couldn’t handle any reminders of what she’d lost. Her job is pretty isolating, so it’s hard for her to meet people. She’s an artist, and a talented one at that. An illustrator for children’s books, but she works remotely. Her work has taken off, and she does well for herself now. She lives in a small apartment, and that works for her.”
“Well, I feel bad for her, but I don’t know what you want me to do about it?”
Rita stared at me for a long moment. “Not everyone wants something from you, Tiffany. Maybe we just want to be there for you with nothing in return.”
I shrugged. “Forgive me if I’m having a hard time believing that. People have always wanted something from me for my entire life.”
“Well, maybe it’s time that changed. Just think about it, okay?”
I slowly nodded. “Okay.”
“I’d better get back before your father starts to worry about me.” She walked away before I could tell her no.
For the first time in a long time…I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Chapter Eight
Ipulled into the three-lane driveway of Chaz’s—and now Zoe’s—enormous Victorian house with the wraparound porch on Hope Lane. It had to be five thousand square feet. Soft almond siding with hunter Hunter green shutters decorated the outside, and the mansion sat on a lot twice the size of any other house on the block. It reminded me of my grandmother’s house before she sold it and moved into a condo on the lake, after I grew up and moved out.
The Andersons had clout.
Looked like the zoning board had made more than a few allowances. It didn’t hurt that his parents were former members of the board, current members of the historical society and town council, and his father had even been mayor years ago. They had retired to Florida but still spent half the year in Mayflower. Zoe had the town wrapped around her finger as their favorite party planner, not to mention she was engaged to their beloved doctor.
Meanwhile, I was still the pregnant harlot with the risqué job who’d said no.
I sighed as I parked my car and headed inside. It looked like Harm and Morti were already here. All the kids were at sleepovers, and Chaz was at the pub with Matt. They had become pretty good friends since he’d gone to Chaz for help in processing the idea of becoming a father and learning what he could do to help.
The kitchen consisted of tons of counter space, tiled backdrop, quartz countertops, and an enormous island with a flattop range built right in. A large black iron wagon wheel hung above it, with cast iron pots and pans dangling. A second oven and microwave were built into the wall beside the cabinets, right next to the wine bar and breakfast nook. There was a formal dining room as well, but we preferred to sit at the island.
“So glad you’re up to girls’ night, Tiff.” Zoe handed me a glass of sparkling water. “I wasn’t sure, with how you’ve been feeling.”
“Nothing can keep me away from your cooking.” I took a big sip of the water as I sat on a barstool.
Glancing around and inhaling the delicious aroma, I tried not to drool over the display before me. She’d gone all out as usual, cooking up a storm. French cuisine this time, my favorite. She had French Onion Soup to start, then Coq au vin, followed by crème brulée.
“How far along are you now?” Harm glanced at my stomach and took a sip of her beer followed by a bite of cheese.
“Ten weeks.” I nibbled on a cracker.
“You’re not even showing yet.” Morti studied me.
“The morning sickness will go away at the end of the first trimester, around twelve weeks. Usually for a first baby you won’t show until around sixteen weeks, but for twins you’ll probably notice a difference at twelve weeks.” Zoe winked.
“Great, only two more weeks until I have to start wearing maternity clothes.” I sighed, so not looking forward to that.
“The clothes today have come a long way. You should have seen the ugly outfits I wore when I was pregnant with Lexi sixteen years ago. I wore the same for Troy thirteen years ago, but thank goodness, I got new ones for Bobby six years ago, and even newer ones for Katy three years ago. I would pass them on, but trust me, you won’t want them. Not to mention, I have curves, while you look like a fitness model.”
“Not for long at this rate,” I muttered, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. A first for me. “I’m sick of talking about me. What’s going on with you all?”
“Well, planning the Labor Day Bash is stressful enough. I don’t want to let the mayor down since he believed in me enough to choose me to plan this big event. And now Bitsy’s back and already married.” Zoe took a sip of her chardonnay. “On top of that, my mother and former mother-in-law are pushing me to start wedding planning.”
“I love Wilma and Lilabelle.” I grinned, thinking of them and their crazy antics. “At least you know they care.” I thought of my own family who said they cared, but I couldn’t even fathom that my grandmother had lied to me. She had been my everything.
If it was true, why hadn’t she told me?
“I wish they didn’t care quite so much. Thank goodness Chaz’s mother, Roz, isn’t interfering.”
“Yet.” I scoffed.
My ex-husband’s mother had been a nightmare when we got married. That should have been my first red flag. She hadn’t liked me then and liked me even less now. She had tried to take over and make the wedding hers because I had taken away her baby boy. I’d gladly given him back after our divorce, but he hadn’t moved on without me.
I’d always been a sucker for pretty things. He was still gorgeous, but no other woman was dumb enough to support his sorry ass. Mommy Dearest was tickled pink to have him to herself, which was yet another thing Bud hated me for.
His mother drove him nuts.
