Quinn Langston has always wanted a family of her own.  With no marriage prospects on the horizon, the 36-year-old interior designer is considering using a sperm donor to have a baby on her own—just like her best friend, Brooke Adams, did.  Then, Brooke dies suddenly and unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm.  Although Brooke's 3-year-old daughter, Lily, is technically under the guardianship of her 79-year-old grandmother, Quinn steps up to care for both the little girl and elderly Miss Margaret.  Aiding the two helps Quinn grieve while also fulfilling her desire for a family.  

Then, Miss Margaret throws Quinn a curveball.  She wants to find Lily's birth father, insisting that only family can raise family.  

When Zach Bradley donated his sperm back in college, he was thinking only about the money it would earn him, not about the children it could produce.  Although he's shocked by the reality of having a child, Zach's prepared to step up.  One problem:  his wife, who has struggled for years to have a baby, can't stand the thought of watching him play daddy to another woman's baby.  They're already in the middle of a move to faraway Seattle.  What does Zach really owe Lily and her family?

As the lives of Quinn, Zach, Margaret, and Zach's wife, Jessica, converge, all of them will learn important lessons about love, duty, sacrifice, and what it really means to be a family.

She Gets That From Me by Robin Wells is an engrossing novel with an intriguing and very contemporary conflict at its core.  It's peopled with a likable cast, each member of which I found sympathetic, even if I didn't agree with their particular choices and viewpoints.  While the plot is mostly predictable, the story still kept me engaged.  It's warm, upbeat, and heartfelt.  Quinn and Zach both struck me as a little too perfect—each needed some annoying flaws to make them more human.  I also chuckled at Quinn's almost seamless transition into single motherhood and her "struggles" with parenting.  True, a little whining and projectile vomit isn't fun, but it's hardly the pinnacle of problems when it comes to dealing with a young child, especially one whose world has been rocked by death and upheaval.  I get that She Gets That From Me strives to present single parenting by choice in a positive, respectful light, but I wish it had been a little more authentic.  I've been through four 3-year-olds and it wasn't easy, even with a loving partner to help me deal with them!  Quinn's experience just felt inauthentic, which made me roll my eyes instead of connect more strongly with her.  These complaints aside, I enjoyed She Gets That From Me.  Its premise is intriguing, its characters are relatable, its vibe is buoyant, and its lessons are valuable.  Despite its flaws, I found it an engaging and thought-provoking read.

(Readalikes:  Hm, I can't think of anything.  You?)

(Image from Barnes & Noble)

Hope Stevens doesn't have a lot of reason to stick around Chicago.  Her marriage is done, her part-time job at a graphic design firm is going nowhere, and she's feeling bruised all over.  It's a perfect opportunity for the 31-year-old painter to get away, to recharge somewhere far from the stress of her everyday life.  In little Wedding Tree, Louisiana, Hope's beloved grandmother needs help after being hospitalized from a bad fall.  The 91-year-old can't be left alone.  Hope volunteers not just to stay by her side, but also to help the elderly woman clean out her cluttered home so she can move in with her son in California.  

Adelaide McCauley welcomes her granddaughter's help and company.  Especially since Adelaide's mother has made it clear (from beyond the grave, no less) that Adelaide will not be "crossing over" until she's spilled the shocking secret she's been guarding for most of her life.  The old woman can't just blurt it out, so she begins at the beginning, telling Hope all about her World War II romance with a man who wasn't her husband.  Adelaide dreads the story's end, terrified that the heartbreaking truth will change the warm friendship that's blossoming between herself and Hope.  

The relationship with her grandmother isn't the only one that's blooming for Hope.  She's become enmeshed in the lives of her neighbors, a handsome attorney and his two young daughters.  Although Hope is sure Matt sees her the way everyone else seems to—as a ditzy, impulsive screw-up—she's falling in love with him in spite of her best intentions not to.  Does Hope dare to pursue a romance that has no chance of lasting?  Can she learn her grandmother's secrets before it's too late?  Will the floundering Hope find herself in Wedding Tree or will she leave town as heartbroken as when she came?

When I read the plot summary for The Wedding Tree by Robin Wells, I thought, "Ooooh, sounds like a contemporary Southern version of a Kate Morton novel."  As you can probably imagine, that idea had me practically salivating.  I adore multi-generational family sagas, especially those set in the South, so I expected to love this one.  Why didn't I?  It just lacked a little something for me.  Weird considering The Wedding Tree is, overall, a happy, upbeat novel about forgiveness and renewal.  Hope and Adelaide are both interesting women, sympathetic but spunky.  Their voices give the story a funny, engaging tone that makes it enjoyable, despite sometimes difficult subject matter.  What is missing from the novel, then?  Well, subtlety.  And conflict.  And suspense.  More of all three would have made the story richer, more substantial.  The tale gets too predictable, wrapping up in a way I found anti-climactic.  As a whole, I enjoyed this light read, just not as much as I wanted to.

(Readalikes:  Reminds me of a Kate Morton novel [because of its premise, not its prose] or one of Karen White's Southern family sagas)

Grade:

If this were a movie, it would be rated:

for language (no F-bombs) and some surprisingly graphic sexual content

To the FTC, with love:  I received an e-ARC of The Wedding Tree from the generous folks at Berkley/NAL (a division of Penguin Random House).  Thank you!