Winnie
I glare at Chandler.
The excitement of meeting his parents disappear.
He stares straight ahead.
I pinch the back of his hand.
He doesn't flinch. Instead, he looks smug.
"Mom will love you. Dad—"
"Chandler—"
"And my sister may be there, too. You'll love her—"
"Chandler—"
"Now the purpose—"
Chandler," I sternly say.
He looks at me as if he realizes I am talking to him. But then, he winks, telling me, "Remember the night we met, and I told you I didn't want to go into politics. Mom's willing to help as long as she gets grandbabies."
"Grandbabies?" I sound horrified.
I'm not.
I want children.
What are you getting me into, Chandler?
"You want kids?"
I nod.
Chandler shrugs. "So do I."
"Now?" I ask.
He waves his hand as if he's swatting a gnat. "Nope. This dinner will
