Page 126 of Sing Your Secrets

epilogue

Reese

1 year later

Mom and I both stare at the cornucopia of small dishes in front of us.

“Um…we might be in over our heads,” I say, picking up the ramekins and smelling the strong earthy seasonings.

“You don’t say,” Mom replies.

“Why would you pick authentic Indian cuisine?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbles. “Pizza and homemade noodles went so well, I figured we were ready for something a little more complicated.”

Classes have become our thing. Mom and I take every cooking and arts and crafts class together we can get our hands on. Learning new things together has helped us keep our guard down and have some honest conversations.

It was over the pizza-making class that Mom told me she failed the bar the first time around and didn’t tell anyone. She was terrified she spent all this time and money on school and wouldn’t become a lawyer.

We were painting mugs when I told her I’ve been struggling to manage the workload at The Garage, as Miles and I work on his new album. I’ve been feeling pulled in two different directions and I’m not sure what the right path is—to take a step back at the venue or take a step back in the studio. Mom holds her tongue these days. I know she wanted to take over and give me her opinion on the matter but with impressive self-control, she simply told me that no decision is irreversible. I can try one thing and if I’m not happy, turn it right back around. She told me she’s just as proud of me as the owner of a successful business as she is of the creative side of me—the up-and-coming producer, the songwriter, and the dedicated wife.

Leaning down, Mom mumbles to me, “At the very least, we can be sure that whatever we cook is going to taste a hell of a lot better than what they do.” She points her thumb over her shoulder at Miles and Dad, who are looking wildly intimidated by all the spices and ingredients, two stations back.

It took us months to convince them to take a class with us. In hindsight, a four-dish Indian feast and a quick tutorial on making your own paneer was probably not the best introductory cooking class for them.

I snicker as I tighten the apron around my waist and make a tight bow behind my back.

“Whoa,” Mom says, immediately loosening the knot. “Not too tight. You’ll pop him right out.” She rubs my belly affectionately.

“I’m pretty sure that’s damn near impossible.” I bat her hand away and check over my shoulder as I lower my voice. “And shush. Miles is already starting to suspect something. He said I’m acting weird.”

“Yeah…why are you hiding your pregnancy from your husband?”

“I told you,” I say, “I’m only seven weeks. We’re knee-deep in Miles’s new album, and I don’t want to distract him. Quinn and Cody are new parents. Noa and Chase’s wedding is in a couple of weeks. Then, Addie and Joel’s big day isn’t too far behind them. Law and Sienna just had baby Margo. We’re redoing the upper decks of The Garage. There’s just way too much going on to tell anyone anything right now.”

Mom nods her head. “So basically, you’re scared shitless?”

“Pretty much.”

“Were you guys planning—”

“Nope,” I say adamantly, interrupting her. “Not even a little bit. Apparently, his damn swimmers know how to evade birth control.” Miles and I never ruled out kids, but I figured I’d be well into my thirties and certainly the last of my friend group to have a child.

“Imagine that.”

“And quit calling it him. You’re going to get all attached, and when I pop out a girl in eight months, I don’t want to see your face all sad.”

“First off,” Mom says, holding up a ramekin and taking a deep whiff, “I wouldn’t be disappointed. Second off—it’s a boy. I know it.” She glances behind us ensuring the coast is clear. Miles and Dad are in a deep conversation that I’m sure has nothing to do with cooking. They are men obsessed when they’re in the middle of a project. Mom places her hand firmly against my belly over my apron. “I always wanted to give you a sibling—a little brother.”

I furrow my brows at her. “Why didn’t you?”

“I got busy going after my career goals, and I ran out of time.”

I shoot her an earnest smile. “You and Dad are married now, why don’t you give it the good ol’ college try?”

She snorts loudly. “I’ll pass. That ship has sailed.” She picks up another little ramekin and sniffs a seasoning that must be bitter. Her eyes fly open, dramatically. “But I’m going to enjoy the hell out of my grandson.”

I touch my own belly. “I don’t care what it is as long as this baby forgives me for how bad I’m going to butcher this whole motherhood thing.”

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