Page 34 of Keeping You

“You got married?” Hurt is written all over Mom’s face while Dad is assessing me.

“Yeah, it happened when I was in Vegas for that convention for work.”

“That was three weeks ago,” Mom says, the hurt now filling her voice.

Shame washes over me as I grip the back of my neck. “Yeah, I didn’t say anything because it’s complicated, and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint you.”

“Do you love her?” Mom asks.

“Yeah.” I nod.

My parents nod back.

“And she loves you?” Mom asks.

I open and close my mouth before I slump further into the couch and say, “No.”

“How did you end up married?”

“Drinking in Vegas.”

My parents exchange looks, and the pit in the bottom of my stomach only gets bigger.

“Okay, well, at least tell us about her,” Dad says.

I sit up, because telling them about Hannah is something easy. “She’s gorgeous and smart. She works as a nurse in the ER, she’s great with her patients. She’s sassy and fiery, but also fiercely loyal. She’ll do anything to help out someone in need. She’s much softer than she lets everyone think. She loves to run and read romance books. She enjoys camping”—my throat is so constricted I can barely get the next words out—“she’s good with kids.”

Mom’s eyes are glassy, and a small smile pulls at her lips. “What are you going to do?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, Mom.”

Hannah walks out of the bedroom and heads into the kitchen. She puts things into the blender while I change the conversation with my parents to our visit.

When the blender turns on, Mom’s brows furrow and she asks, “What’s that noise?”

“The blender. Hannah’s making a smoothie.”

“She’s there?” I can feel my mother’s excitement through the phone.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, let me meet my daughter-in-law.”

I move into the kitchen and lean against the counter beside Hannah, and when she turns the blender off, I say, “My mom would like to talk to you.”

Her eyes widen, and it looks like she’s afraid.

I mute my end of the call and place a hand on Hannah’s arm and squeeze. “There’s nothing to worry about, Spitfire. She’s going to love you. She wants to meet her daughter-in-law.”

She swallows and then nods, and I take my headphones out, leaving them on the counter before unmuting the call.

I hold up the phone and watch as, piece by piece, Hannah’s facade goes up. By the time the phone is in front of us, her perfect smile is up. But I see it for what it is. An act.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell,” she says.

“Hannah, dear, we’re family, please call me Melanie, and this is Randy. We’re both so pleased to meet you. I can’t wait for you to come in a couple of weeks.”

“Me, too,” Hannah says.

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