Read Online 2 Weeks 'Til Eve (2 'Til Series Book 3) by Heather Muzik - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Muzik
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Catherine shuddered.
“I didn’t want the ringing to wake you.”
“What did she say?” Her voice taut to breaking.
“Hello, Fynn,” he said breezily.
Catherine still marveled that her mother freely used
his nickname. His name was Joel and Catherine had introduced him as such to her
parents when they met him, yet her mother had taken to Fynn like everyone else.
It seemed that Elizabeth Hemmings’ no-nickname rule only applied to her
immediate family, including herself. No one but Cara called her anything but
Elizabeth or Mrs. Hemmings. But Gramma Lizzy was a big softie.
“And what did you say?” She was trying extra hard to
stop herself from jumping down his throat for purposely dragging out her agony.
“Hello, Mrs. Hemmings.”
She eyed him darkly. “Seriously, what did she say?”
“Please call me Mom.”
“Fynn,” she growled.
“She said that they would love to see us at Christmas,
but she knows that you can’t travel right now, so they want to come see us.”
“Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t invite them for Christmas.”
“Good.” A sigh of relief.
“They want to come earlier than that.”
“Earlier?” She glanced around the room as if expecting
her parents to jump out and yell surprise! “What did you say?”
“That it would be nice.”
“So you lied to her?”
He cocked his head in response, refusing to entertain
her admonishment.
“When exactly?”
“I didn’t tell them to come; I just said that would be
nice. Because it would be. For Cara. For all of us. They want to see where we
live and meet their new grandchild.”
“I do not want my mother in the delivery room.”
Eyes wide in a panic, imagining her mother trying to tell her how to do that
too. That she wasn’t pushing hard enough. That she had to relax and trust in
her body. And stop swearing, Catherine Marie, or I’ll wash that mouth of
yours out with soap. Because even her friend, the perfect Georgia Love, had
brought her even more perfect little daughter Nell into world with a stream of
screeching fucks ! Catherine’s own inevitable Tourette’s-worthy explosion
was hardly something she wanted her mother to witness.
“I’m not going to let her in the delivery room,” Fynn assured
her.
“You? Stop her? You’re a complete pushover. Look how
far she’s already gotten with you. She’s halfway here and just look at this
place.” Catherine’s eyes darted around the room, seeing everything as if
through her mother’s eyes. All the things that would be judged not clean enough
or organized enough or Elizabeth Hemmings enough for her sensibilities.
“I told her you would call her. It’s up to you.”
“Fat lot of good that does me. Now I’ll look like a
jerk if I say no. She knew exactly what she was doing, talking to you first.
She probably planned it that way.”
“Planned to call while you were napping?” he humphed.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.”
“I want our kids to be close to their grandparents.
They’re lucky to have them,” he said soberly, stopping short of saying, they’re
the only ones they have , but she still felt appropriately shamed.
The hazard of cohabitating with a man who was an
orphan—an adult orphan, but an orphan nonetheless. His parents had both passed
away, leaving their family at a whopping two—him and Drew. Family was important
to him, coming from so little. He didn’t know the pain of extended family. Aunt
Judy came to mind, and last New Year’s Eve during which rumors of Catherine’s
lesbianism had spread like wildfire and almost given her mother a heart attack.
The phone rang and Fynn put down the bread knife to
grab it.
“Don’t bother. We’re about to eat,” Catherine waved it
off. “Elizabeth Hemmings’ rules.”
“But it’s probably your mother.”
Catherine shrugged. “She made them. It didn’t matter
who it was: my best friend, the cutest boy in school who I’d had a crush on
“I didn’t want the ringing to wake you.”
“What did she say?” Her voice taut to breaking.
“Hello, Fynn,” he said breezily.
Catherine still marveled that her mother freely used
his nickname. His name was Joel and Catherine had introduced him as such to her
parents when they met him, yet her mother had taken to Fynn like everyone else.
It seemed that Elizabeth Hemmings’ no-nickname rule only applied to her
immediate family, including herself. No one but Cara called her anything but
Elizabeth or Mrs. Hemmings. But Gramma Lizzy was a big softie.
“And what did you say?” She was trying extra hard to
stop herself from jumping down his throat for purposely dragging out her agony.
“Hello, Mrs. Hemmings.”
She eyed him darkly. “Seriously, what did she say?”
“Please call me Mom.”
“Fynn,” she growled.
“She said that they would love to see us at Christmas,
but she knows that you can’t travel right now, so they want to come see us.”
“Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t invite them for Christmas.”
“Good.” A sigh of relief.
“They want to come earlier than that.”
“Earlier?” She glanced around the room as if expecting
her parents to jump out and yell surprise! “What did you say?”
“That it would be nice.”
“So you lied to her?”
He cocked his head in response, refusing to entertain
her admonishment.
“When exactly?”
“I didn’t tell them to come; I just said that would be
nice. Because it would be. For Cara. For all of us. They want to see where we
live and meet their new grandchild.”
“I do not want my mother in the delivery room.”
Eyes wide in a panic, imagining her mother trying to tell her how to do that
too. That she wasn’t pushing hard enough. That she had to relax and trust in
her body. And stop swearing, Catherine Marie, or I’ll wash that mouth of
yours out with soap. Because even her friend, the perfect Georgia Love, had
brought her even more perfect little daughter Nell into world with a stream of
screeching fucks ! Catherine’s own inevitable Tourette’s-worthy explosion
was hardly something she wanted her mother to witness.
“I’m not going to let her in the delivery room,” Fynn assured
her.
“You? Stop her? You’re a complete pushover. Look how
far she’s already gotten with you. She’s halfway here and just look at this
place.” Catherine’s eyes darted around the room, seeing everything as if
through her mother’s eyes. All the things that would be judged not clean enough
or organized enough or Elizabeth Hemmings enough for her sensibilities.
“I told her you would call her. It’s up to you.”
“Fat lot of good that does me. Now I’ll look like a
jerk if I say no. She knew exactly what she was doing, talking to you first.
She probably planned it that way.”
“Planned to call while you were napping?” he humphed.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.”
“I want our kids to be close to their grandparents.
They’re lucky to have them,” he said soberly, stopping short of saying, they’re
the only ones they have , but she still felt appropriately shamed.
The hazard of cohabitating with a man who was an
orphan—an adult orphan, but an orphan nonetheless. His parents had both passed
away, leaving their family at a whopping two—him and Drew. Family was important
to him, coming from so little. He didn’t know the pain of extended family. Aunt
Judy came to mind, and last New Year’s Eve during which rumors of Catherine’s
lesbianism had spread like wildfire and almost given her mother a heart attack.
The phone rang and Fynn put down the bread knife to
grab it.
“Don’t bother. We’re about to eat,” Catherine waved it
off. “Elizabeth Hemmings’ rules.”
“But it’s probably your mother.”
Catherine shrugged. “She made them. It didn’t matter
who it was: my best friend, the cutest boy in school who I’d had a crush on
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