Still the One (11 page)

Katie felt herself bristle. “And exactly what situation is that?”

“Having a child and not knowing about it until she’s nearly grown.”

There it was again—the implication that knowing would have somehow changed things. Which, by inference, faulted her for not
tracking him down and informing him she’d had his baby. She slammed the lid on the pot and whirled toward him. “And exactly
what would you have done if you’d known? Raised her yourself? Married me?”

He lifted his shoulders. “Maybe.”

Katie blew out a frustrated breath of air. “I can’t count how many times that summer you told me how you never wanted to be
tied down and end up like your parents.” She turned away and stalked to the refrigerator. “Besides, I tried to let you know.”

“Did you keep trying to find me after you gave birth?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She’d already been adopted. What possible good would it have done?”

“I don’t know. But knowledge opens options.”

How dare he? Her spine went ramrod straight. “You lost all your options when
you
didn’t contact
me
. I did what I thought was best for Grace, and I thought it was best for her to grow up in a family that loved her and could
care for her.”

He turned toward the counter and propped his hands against it, then blew out a long, exasperated breath. She braced herself
for a sharp retort.

“You’re right,” he said instead. “You’re right.” He pushed against the counter as if he wished he could topple it and muttered
a low oath. After a long moment, he straightened, raked a hand through his hair, and turned toward her. “I’m sorry.”

As you damn well should be.
But his apology took the wind out of her sails.

“Look—I don’t really blame you, Kate.” He took a step toward her. “The truth is, I blame myself.”

“For what?” called a voice from the hallway. “Not doubling up on the condoms?”

Katie and Zack both whipped around to see Gracie standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows hunkered
in a scowl, and her lips pressed together so hard that the skin around them was white. “Sorry my existence is creating such
a problem.”

“Gracie—that isn’t what we’re talking about,” Zack said.

“Yeah, right.” She turned and stalked back down the hall.

“Gracie…,” Zack called. The door slammed.

Katie put down the spoon and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Keep an eye on the spaghetti. I’m going to talk to her.”

Gracie flung herself across the white comforter on the queen-sized bed. Not for the first time, she wished she’d been in the
car with her parents when they died. Her parents, at least, had wanted her.

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. She refused to let anyone get to her, ever again. She was strong. She’d have the baby, and
she and the baby would be a family, and they’d love each other and not need anyone else, and everything would be fine.

A knock sounded on the door. “Go away.”

The door creaked open anyway. “Gracie,” Katie said, “I’d like to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Well, then, maybe you can just listen.”

A sharp retort was on the tip of Gracie’s tongue, but for some reason, she held it back.

She lay sprawled on the bed, her head resting on her arms, as Katie moved into the room, closing the door behind her. Gracie
felt the bed dip as Katie sat down beside her. She smelled Katie’s perfume—something soft and warm and kind of green—and turned
her head the other direction.

“You must miss your parents very much.”

Gracie said nothing. Against her will, tears pooled in her eyes.

“I know what it’s like when someone you love dies,” Katie said. “It feels like a part of you has been cut off—like you had
an amputation with no anesthetic and you’re bleeding and so hurt you can barely draw another breath. And it feels like no
one else can even see how hurt you are, much less help. Everyone else is just going on with life and they act like you should,
too; like you should just get up and get over it and move on.”

Exactly. Gracie turned her face down, so that the comforter caught her tears, not wanting Katie to know how she’d nailed it.

“I know you loved them, and I know that you miss them. And I know that no one will ever take their place.”

“Especially not you.”

The words were muffled by the comforter, but apparently Katie heard them anyway. “I know, sweetie. Your mom raised you and
loved you. She got to see your first step and hear your first word, and…” Katie’s voice choked. “Gracie, you have no idea
how much I wished I could have been her.”

Oh, man. Was Katie crying, too?

“No idea,” Katie continued. “When they put you in my arms, I almost couldn’t…” Her words broke off into a little sob.

Against her will, the icy knot in Gracie’s chest started to melt a little.

Katie sniffled, then started again. “I almost couldn’t do what I knew in my heart was best for you. I didn’t have a home.
I didn’t have an education. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have a clue. I wanted you to have all the things I never did, to
have a better childhood than I’d had.”

“What was wrong with yours?” The words came out of Gracie’s mouth before she could stop them. It was funny; she’d never really
thought about her mother’s childhood. She knew nothing about it.

“My mom had me as a teenager, and…” Katie paused. “Well, my dad was never in the picture, and my mom wasn’t ready to be a
mom.”

“Great. So getting knocked up as a teenager is a family tradition?”

“It appears to be so.” Katie’s voice held a wry note.

“Thanks for the great gene pool.”

“You’re welcome.” Katie plucked at a thread on the comforter. “Gracie, more than anything, I wanted you to have a good home.
I wanted you to have two parents, and a nice house where friends could come over, and clothes that didn’t come from Goodwill.
I didn’t want kids to come up to you in grade school and say, ‘Hey, you’re wearing my old coat,’or ‘Why are your lunch tickets
different from everyone else’s?’ I wanted you to have somebody at home to comfort you if you woke up in the middle of the
night, someone who’d push you on a swing and read you books and take you to the library and tuck you in at night.”

“And you didn’t think you could do that?”

“I was afraid I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to support myself, much less a baby.”

“Your mom didn’t do any of those things for you?”

“No.”

“What was wrong with her? Was she just a total loser or what?”

“My mom…” Katie swallowed. “Well, she drank a lot.”

“Great. Grandma was a lush.”

Katie drew in a ragged breath. “Gracie, giving you up was the hardest thing I ever did. And the only reason I did it was because
I wanted the best for you.”

“That is such a cliché.”

“Things become clichés because they’re true. Parents really want the best for their children.”

A thought that had been gnawing on Gracie’s insides spilled out. “I guess you think I should give my baby up, too.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“I don’t know what’s best for you and your baby. Only you know that. But I do know one thing: I’m glad you’re here now, and
I’ll help you however I can.”

Longing, deep as a bone bruise, ached in Gracie’s chest. She fought against it. “I don’t want your help. I want to be declared
an emancipated minor, and I want an advance on the insurance money my parents left. That’s all I need and all I want.”

“You know your aunt won’t agree to that.”

“She’s a total bitch.”

“She’s the person your mom and dad entrusted you with, so they must have thought she’d have your best interests at heart.”

“She’s a freak.” And living with her had been the seventh ring of hell. Aunt Jean had thought Gracie needed to be “straightened
out,” which, in her mind, meant completely controlled. She’d confiscated all of Gracie’s “inappropriate” clothing, taken away
her phone and iPod as punishment for “back talk,” made her come home directly after school, and grounded her. As if telling
her she was grounded was going to work, Gracie thought derisively. She’d just sneaked out of the house after Aunt Jean went
to sleep.

Still, it had been awful. Beyond awful. She’d felt like she couldn’t breathe, like she was being smothered by a cloud of constant
disapproval. And the woman just didn’t get that she was in a black hole of grief. She kept saying how much she missed her
brother, how awful it was to have lost her last “blood relative”—as if her loss was somehow deeper, as if Gracie’s didn’t
count, because her mom and dad weren’t “blood relatives.”

“Zack and I can share custody of you, Gracie, or you can move back with your aunt. The choice is yours.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” Katie’s voice was gentle. “And I’m glad you are.”

Yeah, right.

“Is there anything I can do or get for you that would make you more comfortable?”

“There’s something you can stop doing. You and Zack can quit talking about me behind my back.”

“Well, come join us for dinner and talk to us face-to-face.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Fine. Just come join us.”

“I’m not hungry.” Her stomach traitorously growled. She pressed her hand against it to muffle the sound.

“You may not be, but your baby probably is,” Katie said softly. “When I was pregnant, sometimes I didn’t realize I needed
to eat, but I felt better after I did.”

No way was she buying into the “I can relate to your pregnancy” BS. “Look, I’m not like you.”

“Of course not. You’re your own person.”

“I’m not like you in
any way
,” she carefully stated for emphasis, “and I refuse to pretend that we’re a family.”

Katie lifted her shoulders. “No pretending required.”

“Apparently there is, if you expect me to sit down at some kind of faux family dinner.”

“It’s just a meal, Gracie. Nothing more.”

Katie’s tone was soft, matter of fact, and nonconfrontational. Hell. How was Gracie supposed to stay mad at her? She wanted
to stay mad at her. Needed to, actually. Anger was her one coping skill. She lifted her chin. “I refuse to go through some
kind of grand inquisition.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. I don’t want you asking me any questions.”

“Okay. No questions.”

“
At all.
”

“Okay.” Katie smiled and rose from the bed. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.” She walked to the door and opened
it. “In case you need it, the bathroom is down the hall and to the left.”

The door closed softly behind her. Gracie sat up, sniffed and wiped her eyes, then pulled out her phone. She had a text from
Megan, one of the few friends she’d made in Pittsburgh.

Megan:
Dying to know—how’re things? What’s your mom like?

Gracie:
She’s not my mom.

Megan:
OK

Gracie:
She weirded out when she met me—then got all over-eager and mushy.

Megan:
What does she look like?

Gracie:
Sorta like Reese Witherspoon with brownish hair and a less pointy chin.

Megan:
Sounds like U.

Gracie rolled her eyes, then rolled off the bed, onto her feet, and into the bathroom.

“If we can’t talk about her or ask her questions, I guess we’ll have to talk to each other,” Zack remarked.

“Or about the weather or politics.”

“I’d rather talk about you.”

Her cheeks flamed. “Grab the colander from that cabinet, would you?” Katie waved an oven-mittened hand at Zack.

“Sure.” Zack opened the indicated cabinet. He had to watch what he said with her. He found himself sliding into flirtation
mode without thinking, and that was not his intention. And yet, the attraction was there—as strong and undeniable as it had
been that summer.

Especially when he touched her. When he’d put his finger on her birthmark, it was as if he’d pressed some kind of time-warp
button. He’d felt seventeen again—overexcited, overeager, and overheated, with a hair-trigger erector set.

“It’s on the bottom,” she said.

What the hell was a colander? Zack peered at a mystifying assortment of cooking utensils. “What’s it look like?”

“It’s stainless steel.”

All of the pots and pans and cooking gizmos were stainless. “Any other clues?”

“It’s the bowl with holes.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because I didn’t know you were so domestically impaired.”

He saw a stainless-steel contraption that fit the bill and pulled it out. “I don’t do a lot of cooking.”

“Apparently.” She lifted the pot of boiling water from the stove. He stood there, the stupid thing in his hands. “Would you
please put it in the sink?”

“Sure.” He did as she asked, then stepped out of her way. He didn’t think she’d deliberately pour boiling water on him, but
he wasn’t going to take any chances. Steam curled around her as she dumped the potful of spaghetti and hot water into the
colander.

“If you don’t cook, what do you do for meals?” she asked.

“Eat out or order in.”

“Sounds expensive.” She put the pot in the other side of the stainless-steel sink. “But then, I guess that’s not an issue
for you.”

It wasn’t. “Do you like to cook?”

“I used to.”

When her husband was alive. The unsaid words hung between them. She turned from the sink back to the sauce on the stove. “I
eat a lot of Lean Cuisine these days.”

His gaze ran over her figure. “You sure don’t need to.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the steam or the compliment, but her face reddened. “Pull the garlic bread out of the oven, would
you?”

She pulled off her red pepper–printed oven mitt and handed it to him. He pulled it on, wondering how much of the warmth was
from her body heat and how much was from the spaghetti.

Gracie moped into the kitchen, looking uncomfortable.

“Hey, Gracie,” Katie called. “Would you please get the Parmesan cheese out of the refrigerator?”