Sisters Like Us. Сьюзен Мэллери
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ultimately arm a bomb requires little more than the command and subsequent reward for good behavior.”
Kit chuckled. “That’s my girl, always with the cheerful breakfast conversation.”
“So much of life is interesting to me.”
“I know, and you are interesting to me. Now, about the elephant in the room...”
She automatically glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was about one square foot and rather than show the date, it counted up to 280. Kit tore off a sheet each morning. Today was day 184.
Stacey involuntarily put her right hand on her round belly. Right hand rather than left because she was right hand dominant and therefore would be in a better position to protect with said right hand. Not that there were any threats in the room—they came from outside the haven that was their home.
Her gaze returned to her husband. Kit’s kind expression never changed. His brown eyes danced with amusement from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his mouth smiled at her. He needed a haircut because he always needed a haircut.
They’d met nearly three years ago, when Stacey had spoken at the Mischief Bay High School career day. As a science teacher, Kit had reached out to Stacey’s biotech company and asked for someone to address his students. He’d specifically requested a woman to inspire the young women in his classes.
Stacey had volunteered. She spoke regularly at conferences and symposiums, so had no fear of talking in front of a crowd. Lexi, her assistant, had helped her put together a presentation that assumed little or no knowledge of disease pathology, or science, for that matter. The students had appeared interested but the bigger surprise of the day had been meeting Kit.
She’d found herself flustered in his presence and when he’d invited her out for coffee, she’d accepted. Coffee had turned into a long weekend and by the end of their third week together, he’d moved in with her.
She had never been swept away before, had never fallen so completely for anyone. More importantly, she’d never felt so accepted by a man who wasn’t family.
In the vernacular of the day, he got her. He understood how her brain worked and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her intelligence or success. When regular life confused her, he was her buffer. He was normal. Just as important, he took care of her in a thousand little ways that made her feel loved. While she tried to do the same with him, she was confident she failed spectacularly, but Kit never seemed to mind.
“I’ll tell her,” she murmured, getting back to the topic at hand.
“Technically you don’t have to. In about ninety-six days you’ll pop out the baby. I’m pretty sure Bunny will be able to figure it out from the broad strokes. You know, when she holds her granddaughter for the first time.” He paused to sip his tea. “Unless you weren’t going to say anything then. I mean, we can wait until Joule learns to talk and we can let her tell Bunny herself. Most kids start forming sentences around eighteen months or so but with your genes floating around in our daughter, she will probably be on her second language by then. I say we let her tell her grandmother who she is.”
She knew Kit was teasing. She also knew the problem was of her own making. She’d been the one to put off telling her mother she was pregnant. She’d told Harper right away because Harper was her sister and they’d always been there for each other. Harper was easy and accepting and would understand. Bunny wouldn’t. Bunny had very clear ideas on what women should or shouldn’t do in their lives and Stacey was confident she’d violated every one she could so far. Having a child would only make things worse.
One week had slipped into two. Time had passed. Stacey had told Kit she was going to wait until after the amniocentesis, but they’d had the results weeks ago and still Stacey hadn’t said anything to her mother.
She got up and circled the table. Kit pushed back enough for her to collapse on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her as she hung on, burying her face in his shoulder.
“I’m a horrible daughter,” she whispered.
“You’re not. You’re wonderful and I love you. As for Bunny, if she can’t take a joke, then screw it.” He touched her cheek until she looked at him. “Stacey, I’m serious. You do what you want. I’m with you. If you don’t want to tell Bunny ever, then that’s okay. I’m just trying to point out, she will find out at some point, and the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”
“It’s already hard.”
“I told you so,” he said gently, before kissing her. “Go finish your breakfast.”
“I will. I love you, too.”
He smiled at her. She returned to her seat and began to eat. Because she had to stay healthy for the baby. She was comfortable being a vessel—she could do the vessel thing. It was the idea of parenting that tormented her. Who was she to think she could be a mother? She wasn’t like other women—she didn’t want what they wanted. She had different priorities, which she probably could have lived with, if not for her mother.
Because Bunny knew Stacey wasn’t like everyone else and she had no trouble pointing out that fact. Once she found out about the baby... Well, Stacey could only imagine.
“I’ll tell her tomorrow at dinner,” she said.
“Good for you.”
Which was his way of saying There is not a snowball’s chance in hell I believe you, but sure, say it because it makes you feel better.
“She’s going to be mad I waited so long.”
“That she is.” He smiled at her. “But don’t worry. I won’t let her hurt you. I promise.”
She knew he meant what he said—that he would do his best to protect her. The problem wasn’t that her mother would physically abuse her—the problem was what Bunny would say. In the Bloom family, words were the true weapon, and expectation was the ammunition. The rest of the world considered Stacey a brilliant scientist with a string of credentials and awards. Bunny saw little more than a daughter who refused to be conventional in any way that mattered—in other words, a failure. What on earth was her mother going to say when she found out her daughter was six months pregnant and had never said a word?
HARPER CHECKED HER daily calendar to confirm all she had to get through that day. As it was the end of the month, she would be billing her clients for her work. In addition, she needed to email Blake and remind him that his mother’s birthday was in two weeks. She already had several gift ideas noted in case he wanted her help with that.
She wrote the email to Blake, a Boeing sales executive who spent his work life traveling the world. Blake sold private jets to the über-rich, and then made sure the customization of said planes was to their liking. She never knew where he was at any given time, or who he was meeting with, but it all sounded very exciting. She thought of him as the sales world’s James Bond.
Her regular clients were Blake, Lucas, a nurse turned stand-up comedian named Misty, Cathy, a party planner, and the City of Mischief Bay. When she’d first started her business, she’d had no idea what she was doing. A half-dozen college extension courses later, she’d mastered several computer programs, learned the basics of a handful of others, knew how to file a DBA, keep basic records for her business and pay her taxes. Harper Helps had been born.
Lucas had been her first client—she’d met him through a friend of a friend. After being shot on the job, Lucas had spent several weeks recovering. During that time, his bills had gone unpaid and his lights and water had been turned off. When he’d recovered, he’d decided to let someone else handle the details of his life and had hired her. Blake had found her through a Facebook ad, of all things, and Misty was one of Lucas’s former nurses.
The work with the city had come through an online posting requesting a bid to design