Baby by Design

But when Trish released her, Angie was smiling. “I’m serious, Ange. You’ll never know how much your friendship means to me.”

“That’s all I need to know. Don’t tell me more. It’ll just lead to hugging.” She pointed a finger at Trish’s face. “And another thing you better not be telling me…details about you and my brother doing whatever you end up doing. I do not want to know. Got me?”

“Loud and clear,” Trish answered with a nod, because, frankly, she couldn’t agree more. If Angie knew details of what Trish and Tony were thinking about doing, there’d be hell to pay, hell in the form of ruthless lectures and character smearing meant to change Trish’s mind. More than likely, when faced with that kind of pressure from Angie, Trish would crumble. Under those circumstances, she wouldn’t choose a baby with Tony over her best friend. But if Trish happened to get pregnant while she was doing whatever she and Tony ended up doing—details Angie refused to hear—there’d be no choice to make. Trish would get to have her baby and keep her best friend, too.

“Why are you looking at me so weird?” Angie narrowed her eyes.

Trish released an anxious laugh. “No reason. Get out of here. I have sketches to finish.”

Angie nodded as she walked out of the shop, glancing back at Trish every so often like she was suspicious. Trish waved through the glass, partly to keep up appearances and partly to release nervous energy. She wouldn’t be settled until she was pregnant, because then the damage would be done, and she’d be mere months away from her greatest dream coming true.

When Angie turned the corner, Trish released a big breath. As tough as it was, she laid the groundwork by letting Angie know she was interested in Tony. Now all Trish needed was for Tony to be interested in her.

* * *

Tony parallel parked his bike between a dumpster and Ma’s Accord. He tossed a few stray cans into the dumpster and then ducked into the narrow space between houses to get to the side door. He knocked and at the same time saw Ma sitting at the kitchen table, piles of pictures in her hands.

“Come in,” she mouthed.

So he did. Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the kitchen, sucked a lungful of warm, oven-scented air and walked to her side. “Where’s Nonna?” He kissed the top of her head.

“Napping in the spare bedroom. She only made it through the first dozen cookies today. The cancer makes her tired.”

Tony nodded, ignoring the pinch of worry in his gut. Just because Nonna was extra tired didn’t mean she was dying soon.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the mess of pictures on the table.

“Father Campbell has the RCIA class making collages of what inspired us to become Catholic.”

Tony picked up a nearby picture of his father, holding the same ball peen hammer Angie had shaken earlier. Pasquale Corcarelli was standing outside this very house with a giant smile on his face, a smile that looked an awful lot like the one Tony saw every time he looked at pictures of himself. He reached for one of those, too, holding the photographs side by side.

“You look so much like him.” Ma wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and leaned her head against his hip.

Tony transferred both pictures to his right hand and patted Ma’s shoulder with his left. “I know I do.” But that was where the similarities ended.

“I should’ve done this for him. My biggest regret is not becoming Catholic while he was alive. I thought I was keeping the peace between my father and him by staying a Methodist, but any peace I managed shattered when I agreed to have you and Angie raised Catholic. Still…” She reached up and squeezed Tony’s hand, resting on her shoulder. “I spent the rest of my father’s life trying to make up for disappointing him, and in the process I missed celebrating with you. Never once did I fully partake in a sacrament. I couldn’t relax enough to be happy for the spiritual gifts my own children were being given.” She patted his hand as she shook her head. “Well, not anymore. After these classes, I can celebrate with my grandchildren.” When she looked at him, pressure popped in Tony’s head.

Ma didn’t know about Trish’s plan. She couldn’t know. And yet, she was a mother. Mothers had that sixth sense, didn’t they?

Tony pulled out the chair beside her and sat. “I took Trish DeVign to her cousin’s wedding yesterday.” Maybe he was looking to confess, to be saved from making another mess Angie would have to clean.

Ma set the piles of pictures down and looked him over. “Did you have a nice time?”

Tony scanned the pictures scattered around the table. “Yeah, I did,” he said, nodding.

“Is this more than a casual favor sort of thing?”

“I think it’s headed that way.” Despite his reservations and the confrontation with Angie in her garage, something about Trish’s proposal made sense to him. “I don’t think Ange is happy about it, though.”

“She doesn’t like to be put in the middle.”

“Nobody’s putting her there.”

Ma grabbed his hands.

“Be careful, Tony. Trisha’s a good girl.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “You’re a good boy, too. One of these days you’re going to stop beating yourself up for being who you are, and you’re going to let somebody love you the right way, the way you deserve to be loved.”

He patted his hand on top of hers. “Yeah, Ma, that’s what you keep saying.”

“Mark my word. I’m going to be taking communion at your wedding.” And when she smiled, Tony knew this plan of Trish’s could make one more dream come true.

He didn’t often find himself in the position to bring so much joy to so many people. The thought percolated until it overflowed his brain and attached to his heart.

“I gotta go, Ma.” Tony patted her hand once more and then pushed back in the chair to stand.

“Well, that was a short visit.”

He snatched a couple pizzelles off the counter. “I came to see Nonna…and for these…and of course, to see you. But since she’s napping and you’re busy, I’ll leave you in peace.” He came for clarity too, and boy, did he find it.

Now he needed to find the guts to follow through.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Trish shook Mrs. Davenport’s hand and led her to the front of the store. “I won’t place the fabric order until tomorrow, so if you have second thoughts between now and then, let me know.”

“I’m sure it will look wonderful.” The middle-aged woman twisted a floral scarf around her neck and pushed her shoulder against the leaded glass door. “We’ll talk soon.”

Trish smiled, nodded and watched her leave. Checking the silver watch dangling from her left wrist, she figured she had enough time to make at least one phone call before her meeting with the tile rep.

Back behind her desk, she glanced at her cell phone. Tony said he’d call. He hadn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t. Two days was plenty of time to come to his senses and see her for the control freak she was. Who proposed something like this, having a baby with her best friend’s brother? Trish’s shoulders slumped, but then she lifted her chin and righted her posture. No moping. There was decorating to do.

The door chimed, and Trish glanced toward the sound, hoping the tile rep wasn’t early.

“Hey, Boss Lady.” Tony strode down the shop aisle like a vision conjured by her obsessive brain.

A plaid oxford rolled up at the sleeves opened over a black T-shirt. Battered and beaten gray jeans hung beltless from his hips. And he was wearing boots, black boots, scuffed at the toes. No polish, no refinement, could ever look that good.

“Hi.” She waved, lifting her left hand and flicking her wrist. “What’s up?” Dumb question. She was trying too hard to sound flippant, and she didn’t need a mirror to tell her she wasn’t matching his picture of cool.

“I’ve been thinking, and I bet you have been, too.”

For a split second she thought to play coy, to make him spell out his thoughts, at least to delay the inevitable