Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(19)

Newly-crowned Granny Liz sticks her finger right in Great-Aunt Claire’s face, glaring at her without saying anything for a few seconds.

“I’ll deal with you later,” she finally threatens with a growl, flicking the tip of Claire’s nose before turning and stalking across the room to stand in front of me.

She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot against the ground, obviously waiting for me to speak first. After the mistake I made with Aunt Claire, I know I need to step my game up the next time I open my mouth. This is Molly’s mom. I cannot piss off the mother of the woman I want to date or say anything stupid that will come back to haunt me even after everyone finds out the truth.

Be smart, be cool. You’ve totally got this, Marco.

“You’re really pretty and young and don’t look like a grandma at all. I’m sorry I made you a grandma when you’re so young and pretty and did I mention young? It was an accident, I swear. I mean, no, not an accident because this is kind of a happy thing and an accident is usually a bad thing where people die or bleed profusely and well, I guess there will probably be blood from what I remember of those high school health class videos but I’m pretty sure no one will die unless you or your husband decide to kill me and can I just say if I go missing my family would probably notice when I didn’t show up for Sunday dinner and if I miss a Sunday dinner, my mother would find where you buried my body and dig it up just to kill me again for missing dinner. Please, please don’t kill me and then make my mother kill me again because she’ll probably use a wooden spoon to beat me and that kind of thing will take a really long time to kill me and I don’t do very well with pain and—”

I feel a smack against the back of my head, cutting off the shit I couldn’t stop spewing, and I jump in fear wondering if my mother is somehow here and I really am about to die.

“I have a big penis, and I think I’m going to cry,” I mumble.

That earns me another smack to the back of my head and I realize Molly is the one channeling my mother when this time, she adds a threat to the smack.

“Stop talking. Please, for the love of GOD, stop talking,” she whispers loudly.

“Mom, I’m so sorry for—”

Molly doesn’t have a chance to finish her apology because her mother suddenly bursts into tears, moves away from me and wraps her arms around her daughter.

“I love you, Molls. Everything is going to be okay, even if you’ve been impregnated by an idiot,” her mother sniffles, rocking them both back and forth. “At least he’s pretty and you’ll have a pretty baby.”

I feel like I should take offense to that statement, but I wisely keep my mouth shut this time since I’m still feeling lightheaded after that long, run-on sentence of pure dog shit.

“So, is it okay for me to be happy about this now?” the woman who I guess to be Aunt Jenny shouts from across the room.

I’m assuming that’s Aunt Jenny since Molly told me a little bit about the woman in the car, and judging by the fact that she’s the only one in the room still pretending to be engrossed in something else, and that something else being a spot on the wall she’s had her nose pressed up against since I first made the mistake of using the word ma’am with Aunt Claire, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I’m right.

“I can’t handle all of the yelling and fighting, it’s messing with my Aurora,” she complains, turning away from the wall and rubbing her nose.

“I think you mean aura,” Charlotte informs her.

“No, it’s Aurora. She’s the one in charge of my chalks, which are the centers of spiritual power in my body. If Aurora is upset, all of my chalks are upset, and then my day is just ruined. Aura,” she scoffs. “That’s not even the name of a real person, Charlotte.”

Yep, that’s definitely Aunt Jenny.

“Get used to it, pretty boy,” Molly’s mom advises as she continues holding tightly to her daughter, but finally gives me a smile. “It’s best to just let Jenny talk. She’ll tire herself out eventually.”

I let out a sigh of relief, hoping she’s forgiven me for everything I said and what I allegedly but not really did to her daughter, praying it will help with her husband, who has gone back to shining his Thug Mug as he casually saunters over to one of the windows and glances outside.

“That your car out there parked by the curb?” he finally speaks without turning around.

Molly and her mother move out of their embrace, but keep one arm around each other’s waist as they look over at Molly’s father.

“Um, yes. Yes, sir, it is,” I reply, hoping to God he doesn’t have the same aversion to sir that Aunt Claire has to ma’am.

“GT Mustang Fastback, manual transmission with a five-point-oh-liter V6 engine?” he asks quietly.

The man definitely knows his cars and described my baby to a T just by looking at her parked on the street. I saved up for two years to buy that car and she is the most important thing in my life, after my mother and sisters, of course. Oh, and I guess this pretend baby that I’m the pretend father of. That should probably go somewhere towards the top of the list I suppose.

“That’s correct, sir,” I confirm, starting to get a little nervous that he might be having thoughts about bashing in my car’s skull instead of my own.