Baby Under The Mistletoe

thought you were getting here tomorrow.”

She was face-to-face with her mother. Soleil had to admit Anne looked good with her long white hair and faintly olive skin that accented her pale green eyes. Soleil had definitely inherited her height and eye color from her mother, which caused her to briefly consider what traits her own daughter would share.

“My schedule changed, so I decided to surprise you!” Anne smiled and was extending her arms for a hug when her gaze dropped to Soleil’s belly, and her expression transformed to one of utter shock and disbelief.

“You’re-” She stopped, as if she couldn’t say the truth out loud.

“Pregnant,” Soleil filled in for her.

“But…When did…And who…?”

She stared at Soleil’s belly as if the answers might be down there.

“Five months and three weeks or so. I’m due in early May.”

“Oh, my. I’m…Why didn’t you tell me?” She finally pieced together an entire sentence.

“I was going to. It’s been kind of nutty, and I thought…I guess I planned to surprise you for Christmas.” Sort of true. She had entertained the idea of showing up for the holidays and surprising her mother with the news.

“Well, you’ve certainly surprised me. Help me with these bags, then you can fill me in over coffee.”

Soleil picked up the closer of the two bags, already dreading how long her mother must have been planning to stay if two medium-size suitcases were required.

She carried the bag down the hallway to the nicest of the guest rooms and placed it inside the door. This had been her grandparents’ bedroom once upon a time-the master suite of the house. But Soleil preferred the upstairs bedroom with the soaring view for herself, which had been her mother’s room as a little girl.

“Can you believe I was conceived and born in this room?” her mother said, shaking her head and giving a bit too much information as usual. “Probably on that exact bed.”

It was true the same bedroom furniture that Gram and Grampa Bishop had left behind was still here. Soleil hadn’t seen any point in moving it, when it suited the room.

This reminded Soleil of something she’d been forgetting to mention for months. “I went through the attic not too long ago and found some of Gram’s things. I’ll have to show them to you later and see if you want any of it.”

“I’ve got enough of my own crap,” Anne answered as she dropped a suitcase on the bed and unzipped the outer pocket. From it she withdrew a silver flask, which surely contained whiskey.

“It’s not even ten in the morning. Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”

“It’s cold as hell out there and I just found out that my only daughter is knocked up. I’ll be having my coffee Irish.”

Soleil sighed but knew better than to argue. Anne had always been a heavy drinker and probably always would be.

Soleil went to the kitchen and made a pot of decaf, which her mother would complain about. Too bad. She’d have to get over it.

Anne followed her. “So, who’s the baby’s father?”

“Not anyone you’d know.”

“Of course I wouldn’t, since you seem to have completely shut me out of your life.”

“Right, Mom. You can spare me the vitriol.”

She got the cream out of the fridge and put it on the table with a bottle of honey.

“I’ve cut all sugar and dairy out of my diet,” her mother said.

“It’s not sugar, it’s honey.”

“I’m seeing an acupuncturist who has me on a cleansing diet. I’m only allowed to eat vegetables and lean protein for the next month.”

“And whiskey?”

“I make allowances for a few necessities,” Anne said with a flourish of her hand.

Soleil tried not to roll her eyes.

“So tell me all about him.”

“The baby? I haven’t met her yet.”

“Her? You know you’re having a girl? That’s wonderful! But you’re avoiding my question.”

“The baby’s father is West Morgan. We’re not in a relationship, but he does want to be involved in the baby’s life.”

Her mother watched her for a few moments, silent, a half smile playing on her lips. “I guess all my feminist ranting really did get through to you, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Here you are, a self-sufficient woman, getting ready to start a family all on your own. You’ll be coparents or whatever they’re calling it these days. I’m so proud of you, dear.”

This was the reaction Soleil expected from her mother, so she had no idea why she suddenly felt as if her head was going to explode.

“I just wish you’d told me you were planning to have a baby. I’d have loved to share all this with you from the start.”

“Mom, I didn’t exactly plan this.”

“Honestly, I never saw you as a potential breeder. You pour so much of your energy into saving the world-”

“A potential breeder?”

“Well, now you’re an actual breeder.”

“Thanks. That’s lovely.”

The coffee stopped perking, a welcome distraction. Soleil got out two cups and poured one for each of them, then carried the cups to the table and sat.

“Don’t you use birth control?”

“Of course I do. It’s capable of malfunctioning, you know.”

Anne uncapped her flask and poured a healthy splash into the coffee. Then another.

Soleil winced. “How can you drink that without even a little cream or something?”

Her mother shrugged. “One sip at a time. It goes down quite easily.”

Sure, if you’re used to drinking your whiskey straight from the flask.

“Anyway, you’ll meet West. He’s supposed to come here tomorrow to help me put the baby’s crib together.”

“You know, I’ll never understand you. You’d think you’d want to share this time of your life with me.”

“Of course I want to share it with you,” Soleil said, trying not to grit her teeth.

“But? You’re being intentionally spiteful to punish me for imagined grievances from childhood?”

Soleil halted in the middle of adding cream to her coffee. “I don’t think this is a good way to be starting our visit,” she said as calmly as she could, though it came out sounding as tense as she felt.

Her mother leaned back in her seat, crossed her slender arms over her chest and fixed a narrow-eyed gaze on Soleil. She was ready to battle.

“I’m not going to sit around and pretend everything is okay when my own daughter is concealing the most important facts of her life from me,” Anne said in the not-quite-steady voice of the clinically unbalanced. “Have you ever known me to play nice about such things? How did you think I’d react?”

“I thought you’d react like a crazy person no matter when I told you, which is why I put it off!”

She slammed the carton of cream down on the table and a splash of it sloshed out of the spout. Then she pushed back her chair and prepared to storm out of the room.

But that was her adolescent self reacting. Grown-up Soleil hated to run away and prolong an argument. She preferred to stand her ground and work things out. But that never quite seemed to create peace with her mother. Instead, it was more like an exercise in pounding her head against the wall.

Anne sat silently perusing her response options, one eyebrow cocked as if daring Soleil to leave.

“You have no idea how hurt I am,” Anne finally said, her tone taking on a note of self-pity. “I thought we were better friends than this.”

The guilt trip. One of Soleil’s least favorite of her mother’s weapons. “We’re not friends. We’re a parent and