Imperfect Storm

Chapter 11 The Wrightsons.

We stepped onto the gravel driveway.
"Shane," Owen muttered. The man lumbered forward, a sickly-sweet reek of alcohol clinging to him.
"Welcome, Meg," he rumbled, "And The prodigal son finally arrives!" He said, gazing at Owen.

Owen's childhood home loomed ahead. The air hung heavy, thick with unspoken secrets. This wasn't the warm, welcoming haven I'd envisioned. It felt like a cage, beautiful on the surface but suffocating.

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A woman emerged, a pale imitation of Owen with her sharp features. Her smile, strained and tight, never reached her eyes. She wore a long, flowing black dress, the fabric clinging to her slender frame like a shroud.

"Meg, isn't it?" she said, her voice like silk. Her gaze flickered to my stomach, a hint of something dark lurking beneath the surface. "Welcome to the family."

"My darling boy," Emily said, her smile a touch too wide as her hands, cool and clammy, cupped his face. "The dining room awaits. Food will be ready... shortly." Her voice trailed off, and she hurried out.

The room was picture-perfect domesticity: a massive table, eight chairs, and a diamond chandelier that cast a flicker on the silver. Owen's father poured a deep crimson wine, the color seeming to stain the crystal goblet.

"Not for me, thank you," I managed to say.
"Anything else, dear?" Shane asked, his gaze lingering on me a beat too long.
"Tea, perhaps?" Emily reappeared, a steaming cup held in her hand. "Here, drink."
Her kindness felt suffocating. "Thank you," I mumbled, forcing a sip.
"Now, now," she chirped, a touch too eager. "Eat!"
They were kind, Owen's parents. A suffocating kind. They probed, their questions sharp little knives dissecting my life, my past.
"When's the real wedding?" Owen's father rumbled.
"Soon. There's something else on our minds right now." Owen replied.
"And what's that?" Emily's smile faltered for a brief, chilling moment.
Owen squeezed my hand, his eyes locking with mine. "We're expecting," he announced.
A delighted shriek erupted from Emily. "Oh, my beautiful boy! This is wonderful news!" She engulfed us both in an embrace.
"Proud of you, son," Shane muttered, his words laced with something that wasn't quite pride.
Later, shrouded in the oppressive silence of the night, Emily presented a family album: Owen as a Cub Scout, a wide-eyed kindergartner, a beaming graduate. Then, a picture of Owen, younger, happier, with a girl – Vanessa – by his side.
"Maybe we can... tuck this one away," Owen mumbled, his gaze flickering away from the image.
I felt my face get hot with jealousy. A forced smile stretched my lips thin. They looked so perfect together.
"Oh," Emily said simply, "of course."
"Owen, I never knew you went to Pingrove High," I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Didn't seem important."
"But that's my school!" I exclaimed. "You would've been a few years ahead, but maybe we..."
"Doubt it, babe," he cut me off, his voice colder than the clammy hand that had held mine earlier.
"How did you two meet?" Shane interjected.
Owen's lips curled into a humorless smile. "Well," his eyes flickering to mine, "let's just say I almost ended her life."
The room plunged into a heavy silence. Confused stares met his chilling declaration.
"Owen," I stammered, "maybe that's not quite..."
A laugh escaped Owen before morphing into something darker, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.  "Just kidding," he said. "She ran into me. Classic meet-cute, right?"
He winked, before rising and disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. My gaze followed him, lingering on the bottom of the stairs where he seemed to hesitate, a shadow against the dim light, before finally vanishing completely.

"Your parents are, like, award-winning best in-laws," I declared as we cruised home.
"Yeah, they seemed to tolerate you." Owen chuckled.
"Is 'tolerate' the new 'love you like a daughter?' Maybe I should've broken out the 'mom and dad' at some point."

Suddenly, my phone shrieked to life, nearly giving me a heart attack.
"Hello? Glen, is everything alright?" I answered, bracing myself for bad news.
"Hillary's having a baby!" he yelled, get to the hospital, stat!"
"Wait, what?!" I shrieked, dropping the phone in surprise.
"Whoa, slow down there, Energizer Bunny," Owen chuckled. "It's Aunty Meg, thank you very much."
"Hillary's in labor?" Owen's face gleaming with joy.
"Yes!"
Glen, ever the voice of reason, emerged from the hospital room. We were practically vibrating with anticipation, Mom included.  Half an hour later, the silence in the waiting room was deafening. We were all expecting screams, a crying baby, anything! Finally, the door swung open and Glen emerged, eyes red-rimmed but a goofy grin plastered on his face.
"I'm a dad!" he declared, launching himself at Owen in a hug.  Then it was Mom's turn, and then mine.
"Just ten more minutes, folks," he said, "and you can meet the newest member of our dysfunctional family!"
As the door closed behind him, we all let out a collective sigh of relief. Mom turned to me, her eyes sparkling.
The nervous jitters hit me as we all crowded around Hillary's bed. There, nestled in her arms, was the tiniest human I'd ever seen. And let me tell you, this little nugget was pure perfection.
"Wanna hold your niece?" Hillary asked me.

I eagerly accepted the bundle, feeling like I was holding a Fabergé egg made of porcelain. Every breath I took felt like a hurricane next to this peaceful little sleeper.
"So, any name ideas?" Mom piped up.
A synchronized "Yes." erupted from Hillary and Glen.
"Rylen," Glen announced proudly. "A perfect combo of our names, wouldn't you say?"
"Absolutely perfect," I agreed, completely smitten with this tiny Rylen person.
Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a parade of Glen's family bearing baby gifts.
"Did you guys hear how quiet Hillary was during labor?" Glen bragged, wrapping his arm around his wife. "Didn't even need any drugs! I married a freaking superhero, everyone!"
A chorus of laughter filled the room, even from Glen's slightly bewildered-looking parents.
"Hey, any sign of dad, Hill?" I asked.
Hillary shook her head. "Nope. Guess some grandpas are too busy for grandbabies."
I passed the now-sleeping Rylen back to Glen. This little miracle deserved all the love in the world, Jack or no Jack.

Later that night, tucked back in my own apartment, I scrolled through my phone. A text from Hillary popped up, accompanied by a picture that could melt glaciers. Rylen, swaddled like a tiny burrito, slept peacefully in Glen's arms.
Owen, bathed in the soft glow of his laptop, looked up with a start. "Hey there," he said. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, my voice thick with emotion. "Just... remembering stuff."
He pushed back from the table. "Want some company with those memories?"
The thought of Owen's goofy grin and terrible jokes was exactly what I needed. "Actually," I admitted, "we are kinda hungry."
And that's how my night ended: curled up on the couch with Owen, a full stomach, and a heart brimming with a strange mix of emotions. Happiness, a touch of worry, and the dawning realization that tomorrow, I had a big conversation with my mom ahead of me.
"So," Owen murmured, his fingers brushing a stray hair from my face, "when's the big spill to your mom happening?"
I took a deep breath and locked eyes with him. "Tomorrow."