Page 70 of Honeyed

29

ALANA

The last thing I feel like doing today is spending hours around my family, smiling for the sake of a new life coming into our clan, but I have no choice.

It’s not like I’m mad at Cassandra, and I’d never miss something as momentous and special as her baby shower, especially since I planned it, but not more than thirty-six hours have passed since the family blowup in Hope Pizza. I’m still smarting from the things my father said, the way my family looked at me, and reeling from the fact that they all know the truth behind the start of our marriage.

Yet here I am, trustworthy Alana, sucking it up once more to pull off impossible things for my family. Such as turning the dining room of Hope Pizza into a beige and white balloon dreamland worthy of those extravagant parties Hollywood celebs throw. Let’s be honest, Cass has probably gone to many of those parties considering she used to be a celeb, and my sister-in-law loves a design aesthetic.

There are baby carriage-shaped cookies, plush teddy bears on each place setting, balloon arches for the eye to see, and a handcrafted blanket ladder containing cashmere baby throws. It’s beautiful, elegant, and understated, like my brother’s wife. Since they don’t want to reveal the gender before the baby is born, I went with neutral colors because that’s what Cass is going with in the nursery anyway.

“Alana, this is just gorgeous.” Cass covers her mouth as her eyes fill with tears when she first walks in.

“I hope those are hormonal and not sad.” I hug her, and she laughs in my ear.

“No one could be sad in a room decorated like this, also Wilson will kill me for the sad beige aesthetic.”

Wilson, her best friend and manager at the playhouse they both work at, clucks his tongue from behind her. “I heard that. And yes, I like extravagant color, but anything for my pregnant bestie today.”

He escorts her to her seat, a white velvet throne, because who doesn’t want to feel a little extra on a day all about them. Planning this baby shower has taken my mind off the fight with my dad, the rumors about Warren and me, and the director who followed us to the canal. That letter still haunts me even if I didn’t open it; just knowing Warren’s father touched that paper makes my skin crawl.

My husband refuses to address it further, which worries me all hours of the day, but there isn’t much I can do to pry more of it out of him. I fear that the documentary will make something in him snap or that the media and true crime fans will go out of their way to find out more about him if it truly does air. Warren has always been so conscious of his past and not acting anything like the man who ruined his family, and I know it’s a wound that will never be closed.

I don’t know how to help him through it, so I say nothing instead. Meanwhile, I’ve taken to sweating over bumps in the night because the way Mason’s eyes traveled over us in that parking lot still lingers at the forefront of my mind. His interest is more than purely for documenting purposes.

“Honey, this came out wonderfully. Thank you for showing up for Cass today.” Mom embraces me as she flits around, greeting guests.

“Of course, you really think I’d miss this?” My voice takes on a tone of accusation.

Why does my family think I’m so over-emotional that I can’t see reason?

She smiles that motherly smile I’m so accustomed to from her. “Never. You never cease to amaze me in all you do for your family. I just want you to know that.”

“Don’t pacify the girl, dear. She’s a hell-raiser and can handle her business accordingly. Glad you finally got the lie out on the table.” Nonna drinks from her glass, which I’m pretty sure is spiked even though it’s only eleven a.m. at a baby shower.

“I have a bone to pick with you.” I point at my grandmother.

She waves me off. “No, you don’t. You might be smarting at this moment, but you’re happy it’s out there. Also, who cares anymore. Your love is real, we all heard it very loudly from Warren last night.”

“That was so romantic.” Mom sighs.

And while I could melt just thinking of his declaration, I keep up my glaring. “Dad cares. Very strongly.”

“Your father and I had a chat. I think he’ll be hand delivering apologies soon.” Mom looks pleased with herself. “Now, let’s go celebrate this baby and the mama to be.”

I shelf my ire with them and do as I’m told, but also, because I’m so excited for this new baby, I can hardly contain myself. Thinking about Cass and Patrick becoming parents makes me think about what Warren will be like as a father. What I’ll be like as a mother. Having children has always been a non-negotiable for me, and while I know Warren is skittish—as friends, we had the kid discussion many times over the years—due to his upbringing, he’ll be an incredible parent. The moment he sees his baby, I have no doubt he’ll transform into the best father on earth.

We spend the next hour playing silly shower games, guessing weights and hair color, and whether Patrick will faint in the delivery room or not. Cass opens some gifts and cries at the hand-knit blanket Nonna gifted her, which was one of the originals her grandmother made back in Italy.

Once the family-style lunch is served, I grab a quick plate and then make my rounds, making sure no one needs anything as I am acting as the hostess today.

Gabrielle, a former Hope Crest teacher and current playhouse employee, stands along the back wall, looking mighty uncomfortable. I can tell she feels out of place because her eyes keep shifting, she takes a sip of her drink every three seconds, and has her arms hugged around herself.

Despite all my drama and complications over the last few months, I’m not blind. I know something is happening between her and my oldest brother, Liam. Patrick said something about it, not that I can remember his offhand comment now.

She’s beautiful in that elegant, refined sort of way. Girl-next-door meets sexy librarian with an air of standoffishness. She’s been in town for half a year now, and I’ve barely seen her outside of the rare social situation that Cass drags her to. I wonder what brought her back here, but we’re not close enough for me to ask that.

So instead, I walk up and try to bridge the gap.

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