Chapter 149 It's Kind of Cheesy

Chapter 149 It's Kind of Cheesy
Amelia lifted the lid and pushed both hands into the mountain of crinkle paper, laughing softly when it immediately swallowed her wrists.

“This is so thoughtful.”

She glanced around at all of them, visibly touched before she had even found the first gift.

“You really put all of this together yourselves?”

Samantha smiled. “We did.”

Amelia looked back down into the chest, running her fingers through the red, green, gold, and white paper. “And I dig to find everything.”

Ethan grinned. “That part was intentional.”

“I love it.”

Bryson sat beside her, one arm stretched comfortably behind her along the sofa as he watched her search through the paper with obvious amusement.

“You're enjoying this more than the actual presents.”

“I might be.” Amelia tossed a handful of crinkle paper aside and immediately laughed when several pieces clung to her sweater. “It's like a Christmas treasure hunt.”

Cole pointed toward one piece stuck near her shoulder. “You're taking part of the treasure with you.”

Bryson reached over and plucked it away. “There better not be glitter mixed in here.”

Amelia turned toward him. “Would you stop worrying about glitter?”

“Glitter traumatized me while getting these decorations up. And I'm not sure I trust them not to intentionally toss it in there just to see me squirm.”

Marcus looked offended. “We protect your family for a living.”

“Exactly. Which means you know how difficult glitter is to contain.”

That earned another round of laughter before Amelia turned back to the chest, smiling as she dug deeper.

Then her fingers struck something wrapped.

“Oh!”

She grabbed it and pulled out a square package wrapped in white paper with tiny gold Christmas trees.

Instead of reaching for anything else, Amelia sat back beside Bryson and examined the little tag attached to the ribbon.

“There’s a name on this one.” She looked at him, smiling. “Mrs. Hearst.”

Bryson settled an arm along the back of the sofa behind her. “Sounds official.”

“It does.”

She peeled away the paper and lifted the lid from the box.

Almost immediately, her lips twitched.

Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh my God.”

Maya leaned forward eagerly. “What? What does it say?”

Amelia reached inside and pulled out a white ceramic mug.

Across the front, in bold black lettering, were the words:

MOM LOADING…

Please provide snacks and compliments.

Amelia stared at it.

Then slowly looked around the room.

“This may be the most accurate thing anyone has given me today.”

“That’s why we got it,” Ethan said.

Cole's head snapped toward him. “Wow.”

Ethan frowned. “What?”

“You just told on yourself.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Evan said.

Marcus nodded. “Nobody even asked who bought it yet.”

Ethan looked around the room, realizing his mistake.

“Oh.”

Amelia laughed. “So this was you?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?”

Ethan pointed toward Cole. “He approved it.”

Cole's mouth dropped open. “Oh, now we’re sharing responsibility?”

“Accountability is important.”

“Not five seconds ago it wasn't.”

Amelia was still laughing when she turned the mug around.

Then she stopped.

Her eyes widened.

On the back:

BABY HEARST'S FAVORITE

A slow, delighted smile spread across her face.

“Ohhhh.”

Bryson's eyes narrowed immediately.

“What?”

Amelia hugged the mug to her chest.

“Nothing.”

“Sweetheart.”

“It's my mug.”

“And?”

“And you don't need to see.”

That got his attention.

Bryson reached for it.

Amelia twisted away, laughing. “No!”

He caught her easily around the waist, careful of her stomach as he reached around her.

“Let me see.”

“Bryson!”

“Why are you hiding a coffee mug from me?”

“Because you’re nosy.”

“It's sitting in my house.”

“Our house.”

“My point remains.”

Amelia finally surrendered it.

Bryson turned the mug around.

Silence.

His eyes moved over the words.

BABY HEARST'S FAVORITE

He stared at it.

Then at Amelia.

“No.”

The room erupted.

Amelia clutched her stomach, laughing. “What do you mean, no?”

“That's premature.”

“Premature?”

“The baby hasn't met either of us yet. There has been no vote.”

Samantha covered her mouth.

Maya was already giggling.

Amelia looked down at her stomach. “Baby, ignore Daddy. Mommy already knows.”

Bryson placed his hand over the small curve protectively. “Don't manipulate my child.”

“Your child?”

“Our child.”

“That sounded very possessive.”

“Because you're already campaigning.”

Amelia grinned. “And winning.”

Bryson stared at her.

“Where's mine?”

That did it.

Cole bent forward laughing.

Ethan pointed toward the box. “In there somewhere.”

Bryson looked at the enormous chest filled with Christmas crinkle paper.

Then at Ethan.

Bryson gave Amelia a long look before leaning forward and moving one hand through the paper.

Amelia watched with entirely too much enjoyment.

“A little deeper, Daddy.”

His head turned.

The room broke into laughter again.

Amelia blinked innocently. “What?”

“Behave.”

“I was helping.”

“You were not.”

A few seconds later, Bryson found another package and pulled it free.

Same white wrapping.

Same tiny gold trees.

He opened it with considerably less enthusiasm than Amelia had opened hers.

The moment he lifted out the mug, Amelia leaned halfway across his lap.

“What does yours say?”

Bryson read it silently.

His mouth twitched despite himself.

Then he turned it around.

DAD LOADING…

Currently accepting unsolicited advice from absolutely no one.

Amelia slapped his thigh.

“That is you!”

Bryson nodded approvingly. “Finally. Something accurate.”

“Painfully accurate,” Samantha said.

“Extremely,” Marcus added.

Bryson looked at him.

Marcus calmly lifted his coffee and took a sip.

Amelia took Bryson's mug from him so she could read it again.

“This is perfect. You haven't even become a father yet and you're already refusing everybody's advice.”

“I don't refuse advice.”

The entire room went quiet.

Bryson looked around.

Not one person spoke.

Amelia slowly raised her eyebrows.

“Really?”

“I consider useful advice.”

Bruce's voice came dryly from his chair. “Which is apparently an extremely narrow category.”

Maya covered her mouth, but her shoulders shook.

Bryson looked toward her.

She immediately straightened.

“Sorry.”

A beat.

“Actually, no. That was funny.”

Bruce nodded once. “Thank you.”

Bryson shook his head and reached for his mug again.

“Give me that.”

Amelia handed it over.

“Turn it around.”

He did.

And froze.

Amelia saw his expression and immediately started laughing.

“What does it say?”

Bryson didn't answer.

“Baby?”

Nothing.

Samantha suddenly became extremely interested in her coffee.

That was all Amelia needed.

“Oh, Samantha knows.”

“I don't know anything,” Samantha said quickly.

“You absolutely know something.”

Bryson slowly turned the mug so Amelia could see the back.

'WE'LL SEE.'

Amelia screamed.

Not laughed.

Actually screamed.

She fell against Bryson's shoulder, one hand clutching his arm as laughter tore through her.

Bryson, meanwhile, looked personally betrayed.

“We'll see?”

Samantha pressed her lips together.

Her face was turning red.

“We didn't want to make assumptions, sir.”

“Assumptions?”

Bryson pointed toward Amelia's mug.

“Hers declares her the favorite.”

Amelia could barely breathe. “Because I am.”

“You don't know that.”

“I’m carrying the baby.”

“And?”

Her mouth fell open.

“And?”

Marcus made a quiet sound into his cup.

Bryson glanced at him. “Something to say?”

“Nope.”

Bruce did.

“It's her child.”

Bryson turned toward him. “It's also my child.”

“And that's its mother,” Bruce pointed out.

“Exactly!” Amelia cried.

Bryson looked between them. “That proves nothing.”

“She's got a nine-month head start,” Evan said.

Cole nodded thoughtfully. “That's difficult to overcome.”

“Very difficult,” Ethan agreed.

Bryson looked at Maya as though she might be the only reasonable person left in the room.

Maya saw it coming and immediately shook her head.

“Don't drag me into this.”

“You're sixteen. You're objective.”

“No, I'm sixteen. I know when to stay out of grown people's business.”

Martina burst out laughing.

Amelia reached over and held up her mug beside Bryson's.

BABY HEARST'S FAVORITE.

WE'LL SEE.

She smiled sweetly.

“I think they look beautiful together.”

“This feels disrespectful.”

“It is,” Cole said.

Bryson looked at him.

Cole lifted both hands. “But respectfully.”

Even Bruce laughed at that.

Bryson stared around the room, apparently reconsidering every employment decision he'd ever made.

“I'm glad my household finds this amusing.”

“Very,” Amelia managed.

Bryson looked down at his mug again.

“You know I'm never drinking out of this.”

Amelia immediately reached for her phone.

“Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow morning, every other coffee mug in this house disappears.”

Bruce nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

Bryson slowly turned his head toward him.

Bruce took another sip of coffee.

“Sorry, sir.”

“No, you're not.”

Bruce considered that.

“No. I'm not.”

The laughter started all over again.

Amelia wiped beneath her eyes, still giggling as she placed the mugs carefully together on the table.

Side by side.

Favorite.

We'll See.

Bryson noticed.

“You're enjoying this entirely too much.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Get used to it, Daddy. Apparently, you have some campaigning to do.”

His hand slipped automatically to her stomach.

“Oh, I'll win.”

Amelia laughed as she leaned back over the enormous white chest and pushed both hands into the Christmas-colored paper again.

“We'll see.”

Bryson's eyes narrowed.

Across the room, Samantha lost it all over again.

“Okay. What else is in here?”

She dug through the paper again, moving slower this time until her fingers caught on something soft.

“Ooh.”

She pulled out a rectangular package tied with twine.

There was a little tag attached.

For Amelia — Samantha

Samantha shifted slightly. “It's nothing extravagant.”

Amelia smiled then untied the twine and peeled back the tissue paper.

A soft knitted scarf fell into her lap.

Her expression changed immediately.

It was beautiful—thick without being bulky, the stitches neat and intricate, the color a warm neutral that would work with practically everything she owned.

She ran her fingers over it.

“You made this.”

Samantha smiled. “I did.”

“By hand?”

Bruce looked over his mug. “That's generally what knitting means.”

Amelia pointed at him without looking away from the scarf. “Don't interfere with my moment.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She lifted the scarf, rubbing the soft knit between her fingers.

“Samantha, this is beautiful.”

“You've been cold constantly lately,” Samantha explained. “Ever since the pregnancy. You're always pulling blankets around yourself or stealing his sweaters, so I thought—”

“Excuse me,” Bryson interrupted. “Amelia likes the term borrowed not stolen.”

Amelia glanced at him.

“They're yours,” he finished.

Her face softened.

“Aww,” Maya whispered.

Bryson looked at her. “Don't.”

Maya mimed zipping her lips.

Amelia wrapped the scarf loosely around her neck, immediately sinking her chin into it.

“I love it.”

Samantha's smile widened. “Good.”

“No, seriously.” Amelia touched the edge again. “I'm keeping this forever.”

“You'd better wear it.”

“I will.”

Bryson reached over and adjusted one end where she'd twisted it. “Looks good on you.”

She smiled at him. “Everything looks good on me.”

“There she is,” Evan murmured.

Amelia laughed and reached into the chest again.

Another soft bundle.

This one was larger.

She pulled it free and found another tag.

For Baby Hearst

Her smile vanished into something softer.

“Oh.”

She carefully opened the tissue.

A knitted baby blanket unfolded across her lap.

For a moment, Amelia didn't say anything.

The colors were soft and neutral—cream, warm beige, hints of pale gray woven together in a pattern delicate enough for a newborn but timeless enough to keep long after the baby outgrew it.

Amelia ran her palm over it.

Then again.

“You made this too?”

Samantha nodded.

“For the baby.”

Amelia's eyes immediately began to shine.

“Oh, Samantha.”

“I didn't know what colors you're doing in the nursery yet, and obviously we don't know whether we're shopping for a boy or girl, so I kept it neutral.”

Amelia lifted one corner and rubbed it against her cheek.

Bryson watched her, smiling.

“It is so soft.”

“I used baby-safe yarn.”

Amelia looked down at her stomach.

“This is your first handmade blanket, little one.”

Something about the words quieted the room.

Bryson's hand moved automatically over her stomach, settling beside hers.

Amelia looked at Samantha again.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

“This is going in the hospital bag.”

Samantha blinked. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I want this with us when the baby comes.”

Samantha's eyes suddenly glistened.

“Well,” Bruce muttered, reaching for his coffee, “we're all going to be crying again.”

“Probably,” Amelia said. “Accept it.”

She carefully folded the blanket and placed it beside her scarf before turning back to the chest.

“Next.”

She plunged her hands into the paper again.

This time, she came up with something heavy and rectangular.

A simple kraft-paper wrapping covered it, tied with dark green ribbon.

There was no tag.

Amelia looked around.

“Whose is this?”

Silence.

Her eyes narrowed.

“That concerns me.”

“Just open it,” Bruce said.

Amelia's gaze snapped toward him.

“Ohhh.”

Bruce's expression immediately hardened. “Don't do that.”

“It's yours!”

“I didn't say that.”

“You just told me to open it.”

“So did everyone else.”

“No, they didn't.”

Maya grinned. “It's definitely his.”

Bruce gave her a betrayed look.

“Sorry,” Maya said, not sounding remotely sorry.

Amelia tore the paper away.

A large leather-bound scrapbook rested underneath.

She blinked.

Her smile faded slowly as she ran her hand over the cover.

Embossed into the leather were simple gold letters:

THE HEARST FAMILY — OUR BEGINNING

Amelia looked up.

“Bruce?”

He shifted in his chair.

“Open it.”

She did.

The first photograph stopped her cold.

It was her and Bryson in the kitchen.

Amelia was sitting at the island with her laptop open, laughing at something Bryson had apparently said. He stood behind her with one hand braced on the counter and the other resting casually against the back of her chair.

Neither of them was looking at the camera.

They hadn't known the picture was being taken.

Amelia turned the page.

Another.

She was asleep against Bryson on the couch, curled into his side beneath a blanket while he read something on his tablet.

Another.

Amelia stood in the kitchen laughing with Samantha.

Another.

Bryson alone this time.

He stood near the windows holding one of their ultrasound pictures, his head bowed as he stared at it.

His expression was so unguarded that Amelia's breath caught.

She turned toward him.

“Bry…”

Bryson leaned closer, staring at the photograph.

“I didn't know anyone was there.”

“That's the point,” Bruce said.

Amelia looked across the room.

Bruce cleared his throat, suddenly intensely interested in his coffee.

“The book isn't supposed to be finished.”

Amelia waited.

Bruce sighed.

“I thought you could leave it somewhere accessible. Not sitting out for guests or anything. Somewhere for us.”

“Us?” Amelia repeated softly.

Bruce's gaze flickered toward the others.

“The people in the house,” he said gruffly. “If somebody catches a moment, they print it and put it in. Pregnancy stuff. Things the two of you don't see because you're living them.”

He gestured toward the book.

“Then when the baby arrives, we keep going. First day home. First Christmas. First steps. Whatever happens.”

Nobody said anything.

Bruce's discomfort visibly increased.

“It's a scrapbook. People have made them before.”

Amelia stared at him.

“You started a family scrapbook for us.”

“I am regretting it already.”

She laughed, tears spilling over.

Maya leaned toward Martina and whispered, nowhere near quietly enough, “He's actually a teddy bear.”

Bruce's head turned.

“I heard that.”

“I know.”

“Maya.”

She grinned.

Amelia turned another page, then another.

There were blank pages waiting.

Years of them.

She closed the book carefully and hugged it against her chest.

“Bruce.”

His expression warned her not to make this worse.

“I love it.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

“And I'm going to hug you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Hearst.”

She was already standing.

Bruce looked toward Bryson for assistance.

Bryson leaned back comfortably on the couch. “You're on your own.”

“Sir.”

“My wife wants a hug.”

“This is an abuse of the chain of command.”

Amelia laughed as she wrapped her arms around Bruce's shoulders.

He sat rigid for approximately two seconds before his hand came up and patted her back.

Once.

Awkwardly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His expression softened.

“You're welcome.”

Amelia returned to Bryson's side, still smiling as she tucked the scrapbook carefully beside Samantha's blanket.

She reached into the chest again.

Her fingers found a large flat package.

Before she could pull it out completely, Maya went visibly still.

Amelia noticed.

She looked at the package.

Then at Maya.

“This is yours.”

Maya tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Just open it.”

The sudden nervousness in the sixteen-year-old's voice made Amelia smile.

She pulled the package onto her lap and carefully removed the paper.

Inside was a framed drawing.

Amelia stopped.

The room disappeared for a second.

It was her.

Not posed, nor glamorous.

Not Amelia Prescott at a gala or Amelia Hearst dripping in diamonds.

Just… Amelia.

She was sitting at the kitchen island with her iPad propped in front of her, her hair loose, her expression pinched slightly in concentration. One hand held the stylus.

The other rested absently over her stomach.

The detail was extraordinary.

Even Bryson leaned closer.

“Wow.”

Amelia's eyes traveled slowly over the portrait.

“Maya…”

Maya's knee bounced.

“I know the hand is a little weird. I redid it like four times, and then Martina said if I erased it again I was going to ruin the paper, so—”

“The hand is beautiful.”

Maya stopped.

“So is all of it.”

“You don't have to say that.”

“Maya.”

The girl finally looked at her.

Amelia held her gaze.

“This is incredible.”

Maya's cheeks flushed. “Really?”

“Really.”

Bryson nodded toward the portrait. “You captured her.”

Maya looked at him.

He studied the drawing another moment.

“That's exactly what she looks like when she's working and pretending she can't hear me telling her she's been staring at that screen too long.”

Amelia glanced at him. “I do not pretend.”

“You absolutely pretend.”

“I am concentrating.”

“You ignore me.”

“That's different.”

Maya laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

Amelia noticed writing beneath the portrait.

She tilted the frame toward herself.

In Maya's handwriting were the words:

Thank you for showing me that sometimes family can be the people who choose to make room for you.

Amelia's smile disappeared.

Her throat closed.

Maya saw it and immediately looked nervous again.

“I know it's kind of cheesy.”

“No.”

Amelia shook her head.

“No, sweetheart. It's not.”

Her thumb traced the edge of the frame.

“This might be one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever given me.”

Maya blinked rapidly.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Martina reached over and squeezed her sister's knee.

“There's something else,” she said quietly.

Amelia looked down.

A folded envelope had been tucked behind the frame.

She pulled it free.

For Amelia & Bryson — From Martina and Maya

Amelia opened it.

The letter inside was handwritten.

She began reading silently at first.

Then slowed.

Bryson's hand settled on her thigh.

Martina's words weren't polished or elaborate. That made them hurt more.

She thanked them for opening their home when she and Maya had nowhere stable to go. For never making them feel like charity. For giving Martina work without making her feel indebted for it. For giving Maya somewhere safe to sleep without ever making the girl feel like an intrusion.

She thanked Amelia specifically for asking questions—and remembering the answers.

For caring about school.

For caring whether Maya had eaten.

For asking how their uncle was doing even though she'd never met him.

For treating two people who had spent years trying not to need anyone as though needing help didn't make them less worthy of respect.

By the time Amelia reached the final lines, the words blurred.

She stopped.

Bryson quietly took the letter from her and finished reading.

Amelia looked at Martina.

“You didn't have to thank us for any of this.”

“I know,” Martina said.

Her voice trembled.

“But I wanted to.”

Amelia shook her head, wiping beneath one eye.

“This is your home for as long as you need it to be.”

Martina's lips pressed together.

“And Maya…”

Maya looked at her.

“You don't ever have to wonder whether there's room for you here.”

That did it.

Maya stood.

Then stopped herself.

It was so abrupt Amelia almost laughed.

The teenager looked at her uncertainly.

“Can I hug you?”

Amelia's heart cracked wide open.

She opened both arms.

“Maya, you never have to ask me for a hug. Remember?”

Maya crossed the distance immediately and folded herself into Amelia's arms.

Amelia held her tightly.

“Thank you,” Maya whispered.

Amelia kissed the side of her head.

“You're welcome, sweetheart.”

Maya pulled back after a moment, wiping beneath her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Okay. I'm done crying today.” Maya said with an almost serious look.

Cole snorted. “You've said that twice.”

“Mind your business.”

“There she is,” Evan said.

Maya dropped back beside Martina, rolling her eyes while everyone laughed.

Amelia sat down again beside Bryson.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

For a moment she simply looked at everything spread around them.