Page 51 of Second Chance Wedding
“Thank you.”
Ana struggled to keep the smile pinned to her lips when she noted her mother studying her with a critical gaze. Considering she’d barely slept after the ball and Calvin Jones’s revelations, Ana knew she looked worse for wear.
“Before you disappear, I wanted to confirm you’re coming to the house for Thanksgiving,” Maureen said. “Quinley, you and Rhys are invited, too, of course, though I imagine you’re getting together with your parents as families do.”
Quinley slid Ana a side-eye glance.
“Actually, we were just discussing our plans for the day,” Quinley said. “We thought we’d take my parents and the boat out for a sail, and I was just about to ask Ana and Ben to join us.”
“It’s a good thing I caught you before you could make other plans then,” Maureen said pointedly.
Ana opened her mouth to argue, but Quinley’s mom tapped out an attention-getting sound against her wine glass and announced that one of Quinley’s cousins would be giving them directions for the game about to be played.
“Ana, please. Come to the house for Thanksgiving,” her mother said in a low voice. “It’s past time we put aside our differences, and what better time than the holidays?”
“What’s the catch?” Ana asked softly.
Her mother stiffened, and tears glistened in her eyes, turning them a soft gray-blue.
“Do you know what I see when I look around this room?”
The question led Ana to scan the room, seeing Quinley’s large family of sisters, cousins and aunts.
“I see love and…missed opportunities. Not for them but for us.”
“You can’t compare our family to Quin’s,” Ana said softly.
“But I can,” her mother said. “I’m close with Winnie. Did you know that?”
“Quinley’s cousin?”
“Yes. Her daughter is probably five or so years younger than you. She… She also became pregnant at a very young age, but her parents handled things very differently than your father and I did.”
“I am aware.” A boulder the size of Texas settled in Ana’s stomach. She’d heard about Quinley’s cousin’s pregnancy at the time. The baby’s father had also disappeared once the pregnancy had been announced, but rather than drive Melody away, the girl’s parents had become even more proactive and protective of her as a single mother. They had literally done everything the opposite of Ana’s parents, and across the room the young woman watched as her young daughter and mother hugged, a loving smile lighting her face.
“You might not believe me, Analise, but I see my mistakes—our mistakes. And…I’m sorry your father and I didn’t handle things better. We were both so shocked and angry on your behalf.”
Did she hear actual remorse in her mother’s tone? “I disappointed you. You were angry with me, too.”
One of the guests walked by distributing bingo cards but Maureen shook her head to indicate she wasn’t going to play. Ana took one of the sheets but made no effort to listen to the instructions.
“My point,” Maureen said, “is that Winnie now has years of precious memories because of the way they embraced things. Memories I don’t have of Benjamin.”
“That’s not my fault. Not all of it, anyway.”
“I know that,” her mother said. “We’ve butted heads at every turn over the years, and because of it, our grandson barely knows us. I’d like very much to change that. Please, come to Thanksgiving dinner.”
Ana inhaled and fought the trepidation and nerves wracking her. “I’ll consider it,” she said softly.
Her mother stretched out a hand and gently squeezed her arm.
“I hope you do.”
Ana stood there like her feet were glued to the floor long after her mother walked away. She turned her back to the game and the guests, once again staring out at the expanse of water and the glimpse of the Atlantic beyond the tiny skiff of barrier island across the way.
Her mother’s words—the sincerity of the request—surprised her.
She and her parents hadn’t had a good relationship in years. Their upset and disappointment in her was never far from the surface because her actions had reflected poorly on their image. They were polite in the public situations they found themselves in, but with every year that passed, the crevasse had grown deeper and wider and ever colder.
