outside the courtroom, and it’s not quite the great trait in a father.”
“It’s fine. You were bound and determined to announce it one way or another, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You wouldn’t have announced it?” he asked.
“No. People in town have accepted the fact that their unwed mayor is pregnant. I don’t think we need to complicate the issue by telling them their golden boy is the father. I’d hoped to tell you about the baby, then have you head back to Pittsburgh and get back to your own life and leave me to the baby.”
He placed the turkey on his grandmother’s platter. “I think I’m insulted that you think I’d walk away.”
Kennedy sighed. “That sounded harsher than I meant. It’s just tha t . . . ” She paused.
Mal was getting used to Kennedy’s silences. As a lawyer he understood the need to sort out your arguments, but he didn’t want to argue with Kennedy. He actually preferred her when she occasionally let some uncensored comment escape. He might not like what she said, and it might even sting, but at least it gave him a bit of true insight into her—into the woman who was going to be the mother of his child.
She finally continued, “Maybe your father summed it up. Your parents loved each other, but they were too different. Their love couldn’t bear the weight of those differences. I think we’re friends—or at least on the way to being friends. If love couldn’t make their marriage work, then what chance does almost-friendship have?”
And with an attorney-worthy bit of summation, she’d hit the nail on the head. She was right about that, so why didn’t he care that she was right? Why did he want to ask her again, right now, to marry him?
And why did he wish she’d say yes?
“Kennedy, I—”
“I’d better go set your father’s place,” she said as she fled.
Kennedy wasn’t sure what Malcolm had been about to say, but she had a feeling whatever it had been was best left unsaid. Facing his father was preferable. She set the plate and silverware down in front of Malcolm’s father.
“How are you feeling?” he asked politely.
“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”
There was an awkward pause, and then he asked, “When are you due?”
Her hands fell to her stomach. The gesture had become more and more common because her stomach was so huge there was nowhere else for her hands to rest. “I’m due in a few weeks.”
“And you just let my son know now?” There was censure in his voice.
Pap cleared his throat. “I think we should all remember that this is a holiday. And holidays are about families. Like it or not, that’s what we are. Senior is the father of my grandson, and Kennedy, you’re the mother of my great-grandson, and a good friend to boot. This baby is going to tie us all together as a family from this point on. And I refuse to let him ever feel as if he, or she, is responsible for any fights between us.”
“I agree,” Malcolm said as he walked into the room with a turkey on a platter. “We might not be a traditional family, but the four of us are a family. We’re all tied to an unborn baby—a baby who didn’t ask to be born. And we will all put the baby’s needs and wants first. We will never make him or her feel as if they are anything but a joy to all of us. And if anyone”—he looked at Senior—“can’t abide by that one, very important rule, then they should get out. And get out now.”
His father looked as startled as Kennedy felt by the ferocity in Malcolm’s voice.
Mr. Carter said, “I—”
But Malcolm interrupted him. “Right now, the only appropriate discussion is how amazing my turkey is, and possibly a list of things we’re thankful for. You can all think on that and put together a list as I bring in the rest of the dishes.”
Kennedy watched Malcolm make half a dozen trips to and from the kitchen. His expression said, more clearly than words, that no one should offer to help, much less talk to him.
She
“It’s fine. You were bound and determined to announce it one way or another, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You wouldn’t have announced it?” he asked.
“No. People in town have accepted the fact that their unwed mayor is pregnant. I don’t think we need to complicate the issue by telling them their golden boy is the father. I’d hoped to tell you about the baby, then have you head back to Pittsburgh and get back to your own life and leave me to the baby.”
He placed the turkey on his grandmother’s platter. “I think I’m insulted that you think I’d walk away.”
Kennedy sighed. “That sounded harsher than I meant. It’s just tha t . . . ” She paused.
Mal was getting used to Kennedy’s silences. As a lawyer he understood the need to sort out your arguments, but he didn’t want to argue with Kennedy. He actually preferred her when she occasionally let some uncensored comment escape. He might not like what she said, and it might even sting, but at least it gave him a bit of true insight into her—into the woman who was going to be the mother of his child.
She finally continued, “Maybe your father summed it up. Your parents loved each other, but they were too different. Their love couldn’t bear the weight of those differences. I think we’re friends—or at least on the way to being friends. If love couldn’t make their marriage work, then what chance does almost-friendship have?”
And with an attorney-worthy bit of summation, she’d hit the nail on the head. She was right about that, so why didn’t he care that she was right? Why did he want to ask her again, right now, to marry him?
And why did he wish she’d say yes?
“Kennedy, I—”
“I’d better go set your father’s place,” she said as she fled.
Kennedy wasn’t sure what Malcolm had been about to say, but she had a feeling whatever it had been was best left unsaid. Facing his father was preferable. She set the plate and silverware down in front of Malcolm’s father.
“How are you feeling?” he asked politely.
“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”
There was an awkward pause, and then he asked, “When are you due?”
Her hands fell to her stomach. The gesture had become more and more common because her stomach was so huge there was nowhere else for her hands to rest. “I’m due in a few weeks.”
“And you just let my son know now?” There was censure in his voice.
Pap cleared his throat. “I think we should all remember that this is a holiday. And holidays are about families. Like it or not, that’s what we are. Senior is the father of my grandson, and Kennedy, you’re the mother of my great-grandson, and a good friend to boot. This baby is going to tie us all together as a family from this point on. And I refuse to let him ever feel as if he, or she, is responsible for any fights between us.”
“I agree,” Malcolm said as he walked into the room with a turkey on a platter. “We might not be a traditional family, but the four of us are a family. We’re all tied to an unborn baby—a baby who didn’t ask to be born. And we will all put the baby’s needs and wants first. We will never make him or her feel as if they are anything but a joy to all of us. And if anyone”—he looked at Senior—“can’t abide by that one, very important rule, then they should get out. And get out now.”
His father looked as startled as Kennedy felt by the ferocity in Malcolm’s voice.
Mr. Carter said, “I—”
But Malcolm interrupted him. “Right now, the only appropriate discussion is how amazing my turkey is, and possibly a list of things we’re thankful for. You can all think on that and put together a list as I bring in the rest of the dishes.”
Kennedy watched Malcolm make half a dozen trips to and from the kitchen. His expression said, more clearly than words, that no one should offer to help, much less talk to him.
She
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