“You are such a nerd, Quinn,” he laughs. “Is that your biggest confession?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Do you think of me differently now?”
“Oh, definitely. This changes everything, and I don’t know if I can go on dating you.”
“Fine,” I say with a laugh. “My life might be a little dull.”
“There is nothing wrong with dull, babe.” He kisses me again, and that push-and-pull feeling is gone. Maybe it’s not too soon to fall for him.
Someone knocks on the door and I immediately jump. Archer holds me, and I instantly feel safe.
“I think it’s my parents,” he says. “They were on their way over.”
“I’m meeting them now?” I whisper-yell, feeling like I’m not ready. I madly try to smooth out my hair.
“You look fine, babe.”
“Fine? Just fine?”
“Pretty. Sexy. Hot. Beautiful.”
I playfully push him away and climb off his lap. “Listing off adjectives isn’t helping. You’re sure they’ll be excited about the baby?”
“Yes. They need some good news right now considering everything else going on. And my mom’s one of those people who loves babies. All babies.” He makes a face and I laugh.
“That makes me feel better.”
He goes to the door, looking out the peephole before opening it. I’m not sure why I’m nervous to meet Archer’s parents all of the sudden. I’ve met them before, but it’s different now. Meeting your boyfriend’s parents is always a big deal, but meeting them and then telling them they’re going to be grandparents is even bigger.
Archer’s mom hugs him as soon as she’s in the door. By the way she’s gushing over him, I assume it’s been a while since she’s seen him in person. She gives him another hug and then sees me.
“Quinn!” she exclaims. “Look at you! You’ve grown up.”
“Hi, Mrs. Jones,” I say with a smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Call me Sheila,” she says and comes in for a hug. So Mrs. Jones is a hugger, and she smells overwhelmingly like the perfume my grandmother wears.
“Dad, do you remember Quinn?” Archer steps back, slipping his arm around me.
“I do, and it’s nice to see you again. I always thought Archer had a thing for you,” he says with a wink. Archer got his dark hair and brown eyes from his father but is a few inches taller and many pounds lighter than his dad.
“It’s a little early,” Archer starts. “But is anyone hungry? We can do brunch instead of lunch.”
“That’s fine with me,” I say.
“I’ll gladly go out.” Mr. Jones pats his stomach. “The breakfast at the hotel was terrible.”
“There’s a cute little Mexican restaurant down on the corner.” Mrs. Jones motions behind her. “I could really use a margarita right now.” She nudges me. “Maybe we could split a pitcher.”
“Uh…yeah.” I look at Archer, who grabs his phone and wallet from the coffee table. I pull my purse up over my shoulder and go to the door, waiting for Archer.
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Jones—Sheila—says, looking at my wrist. “Archer told me what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s, uh, okay.” I force a smile. This isn’t awkward at all. Archer takes my hand and leads me out, locking the door behind him. The four of us head down the hall and get into the elevator. No one says anything, and the silence makes the already awkwardness even worse.
“That’s a pretty purse.” Sheila breaks the silence, looking at my bag. “Is that Gucci?”
“Yeah, and thanks.”
The elevator comes to a stop at the lobby, and we get out. Archer holds my hand and we continue our awkward-as-fuck walk down the block. My family is loud. Between the seven of us, someone is always talking. I wonder how things are with the Joneses, and if the lack of conversation has to do with the fact Bobby showed up, obviously high on something, hurt me, and is MIA.
Yeah, that adds a bit of tension to my first sit-down meal with my boyfriend’s parents. Since it’s not quite eleven a.m., the lunch crowd hasn’t yet moved in and we get a table right away. Normally, I love tacos. I considered them one of the basic food groups while in college. And nothing tested my self-control more than a bowl of chips and salsa in front of me.
But right now the smell of taco seasoning in the air is making me gag. Archer notices and rubs my thigh, and I order a Sprite to try to help.
“So, what do you do, Quinn?” Mr. Jones asks. “I think you were still a college student the last time we saw you.”
“I design and program software,” I say, keeping things simple. Usually, there’s no point in explaining further than that. Most people don’t understand what I do.
“Sounds interesting. And complicated.”
“She’s being modest.” Archer gives my thigh a squeeze. “She invented and sold an app to Apple and now she manages one of the most up-and-coming software companies in the country.”
“Wow,” Sheila says, eyes widening. “That’s amazing. What’s the app called? I might have it.”
Mr. Jones winks. “If it’s one of those candy smashing games, she does.”
The waiter brings our drinks and I sip at my Sprite. “It’s not an app like that. It’s more like an app for apps that helps with the way they process and store data, making them more efficient while taking up less space.”
“You lost me.” Mr. Jones shakes his head and laughs.
“I don’t even get it,” Archer says, turning to look at me. “But it’s impressive.”
The waiter comes back to take our orders, and I go with a taco and a burrito, hoping I can stomach at least a few bites of each. I glare at the bowl of salsa. It looks so good but smells so bad right now.
Being pregnant is weird.
Archer talks to his parents about work for a while, and when our food comes, I can’t ignore how sick I feel anymore. I take one bite of my taco and feel betrayed. I set it back down on my plate and grab a napkin, needing to cover my nose and block out the smell before I puke.
“Feeling sick again, babe?” Archer asks quietly, and I nod. “Did you bring the Zofran?”
“No. I can’t take another yet.” I reach for my Sprite. “I’ll be okay.”
Sheila’s eyes dart from me to Archer and back again. “Are you all right dear? Do you think it’s food poisoning?”
“Mom. Dad,” Archer starts and scoots his chair a little closer to mine. His hand lands on top of mine. “Quinn’s pregnant.”
“We’re going to be grandparents?” his dad asks after a few seconds of silence, almost as if he’s afraid Archer is going to tell him it’s all a joke.
“Yes.” Archer gives my hand a squeeze. “In March. The official due date is the eighteenth.”
“The day after your birthday!” his mom exclaims. “Oh, what a wonderful present!” She brings her hands to her face, tears in her eyes. If only my family reacted this way…
“I have ultrasound pictures, if you want to see them,” I offer, reaching into my purse with my left hand. The small movement hurts my wrist, and I try hard not to let anyone see. This is a nice moment. I don’t want to mess it up by reminding everyone of Bobby.
“Of course! Of course! How far along are you? You said the due date, but I can’t think right now.”
“She’s around eight weeks,” Archer says. “We wanted to tell you in person, and with all that was going on…”
“Oh, it’s fine.” Sheila takes the ultrasound pictures from me and ohhs and awws over them, and then asks about how the pregnancy has been going and what we have planned, which is nothing.
Unlike my parents, however, they don’t seem too concerned. I guess next to Bobby, Archer having an unplanned baby is smooth sailing. He’s smart. Responsible. He’ll figure it out one way or another, and I know without a doubt he’ll be an amazing father…even if we’re not together.
Unable to finish my food, I get it boxed up to take back to Archer’s. Maybe I’ll eat it later.
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“You should rest,” Sheila says as the waiter clears the last of the dishes from the table. “I know what it’s like having morning sickness. I had it bad with both my pregnancies. And we should start our search for Bobby.”
“Can I help?” Archer asks.
“No,” his dad says right away. “Take care of Quinn and that baby. We’ll start looking at the usual places and will call you if we find him.”
Archer nods, grabbing the check the waiter just dropped off before anyone has a chance to object. “You’re still coming over for dinner?”
“Yes.” Shelia smiles. “We’ll see you tonight. Have a safe flight, Quinn. And I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again soon.”
We go our separate ways, and I hold Archer’s hand, slowly walking back to his apartment.
“What are the usual places?” I ask as we cross the street.
Archer glances down at me. “To look for Bobby?”
“Yeah.”
“Jail.” He shakes his head, trying not to get angry. “Homeless shelters and free clinics. He tries to go and get pain pills. He never gets any, but he keeps trying. And if he’s not there, then he’s either at a bar somewhere or passed out in a motel bathroom.”