It isn’t until an hour later, when I emerge from the bathroom and run straight into Joy that I wonder if Raleigh was trying to subtly warn me of an impending ambush.
“Hi,” I say, forcing a smile. “Thank you so much for the invitation tonight, Joy. Dinner was amazing.”
She nods, but doesn’t smile, or move out of the middle of the hall to let me by. “Thank you,” she says, her voice a dusty pillow dropped on the floor. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“And Felicity loved it, too. I’ve never seen her eat that much pasta.”
“She’s a sweet little girl,” Joy says in a tone that would have been more fitting to announcing Felicity has been diagnosed with some tragic disease. “I’ve got nothing against that child, I want you to know that.”
“Okay,” I say, a horrible sinking feeling dragging at my stomach. Still, I dare to hope I’ll emerge from this interaction unscathed until she says—
“But using Nash to fix what’s wrong with your life isn’t right.”
Her words connect like poisonous darts, making me flinch.
“I know you’re in a custody battle with the baby’s father,” she continues, “and you’re struggling as a single mom, but that’s not my son’s problem.”
I swallow, resisting the urge to cry or to tell Joy where she can stick her opinion. This is Nash’s mother, and we both love Nash. Surely, we can find a way to be civil if we can’t be friends.
“I’m not using, Nash,” I begin in a controlled voice, but Joy jumps in before I can finish.
“I heard he paid for your lawyer.”
I nod. “He did, but—”
“And you’re living in his house, and he’s paying for everything for a child who isn’t his.” She sighs, shaking her head as if this is the worst thing that could possibly happen to her son. “He deserves better.”
“That’s a hurtful thing to say.” My throat feels like it’s closing up, but I take a breath and keep going. “I love Nash, and I’m going to do everything I can to make him happy.”
“Until it gets too hard, or a better offer comes along.” Joy’s lips press tightly together. “I remember you, Aria. I remember the way you and your daddy looked at my boy like he was trash back when you were kids.”
“My dad was out of line, but I never looked at Nash like that,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. “And I love your son. If you love him as much as you say you do, then I think we should try to get along.” I sniff, doing my best to regain control, not wanting to break down in front of someone who clearly loathes me. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Felicity.”
I step forward, brushing past Joy, exhaling in relief when she doesn’t attempt to stop me or continue the conversation.
But on my way through the kitchen to the back door, I catch a glimpse of a tall shadow standing in the doorway. I glance over, locking eyes with Nash’s younger brother, Nick. The guilty expression on his face makes it clear he heard every word of my conversation with his mom, but I don’t care.
I’ll repeat myself in front of the entire family if I have to. I don’t care what they think. I know I’m good for Nash, and that I make him happy. The love I feel for him is real, the kind that will hold up through all the hard times, both mine and his.
Yes, I’m leaning on him now, but when he needs to lean on me, I’ll be there with bells on.
Still, it’s no fun to hear someone say they think you’re a loser and a user. I keep a brave face on until we leave the Gearys’, but by the time we get home and put Felicity to bed, I’m feeling more down than I have in a long time.
“What’s wrong?” Nash settles into the chair across from mine at the kitchen table, under the watchful eyes of his mechanical animals and the portrait of Felicity I painted last week during her naptime.
I hadn’t wanted to display it—it turned out better than I thought it would, but I know I can do a better one with practice—but Nash loved it so much I let him pound a nail and hang it up.
I study the painting now, remembering the way he smiled at me when he first saw it, how proud he’d been, how amazing, and loved, that pride had made me feel.
The memory gives me the courage to ask, “You don’t think I’m using you, do you?”
“No.” He scowls as he reaches for my hand, warming my cold fingers between his palms. “Why would you say that? Why would you even think it?”
I shrug, staring at our joined hands, not ready to meet his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t make much money, and babies are so expensive and the lawyer’s retainer was so much more than I thought it would be.”