No Tomorrow

Yes. I forgot because I was caught up in love and whispers and music and the sound of raindrops…

“A baby is a huge decision,” my mother says. “You’re only twenty-one. And what about the father? Are you back together? Does he want to be part of this baby’s life?”

My father shakes his head. “I don’t give a damn what he wants. You can bet your ass he’ll be paying child support.”

The counselor warned me my parents would react this way. That it’s a natural reaction to a surprise pregnancy. I absorb their emotions for a moment, let them expel their anger and shock, before I force myself to continue. “No. He doesn’t know.”

“You have to tell him. He’s just as responsible as you are.”

“I know, Mom. But I don’t know where he is.”

“Well then we’ll find him. We can hire a lawyer if we have to and garnish his paycheck for support. It happens all the time.”

If only life were that easy. If only Blue could be that easy. “I have no idea how to find him. I don’t even know his last name.”

“What?” my father roars. “How do you not know his last name? Is this the same guy you dated for months? The one we never even met?”

“Yes, Dad. I’ve never been with anyone else.”

“And you never thought to ask him his last name?” he asks incredulously. “Doesn’t that usually happen during a first conversation?”

The urge to cry and defend myself, to throw myself on the sword to defend Blue is strong, but I keep myself in check. “It’s complicated. Can we just forget about him? I’m going to have this baby on my own, without him.”

“Piper, this is very serious. You have to tell him, and we’re not going to just let him sail off into the sunset and leave you a single mother struggling with a baby.”

I play with my fork, my brain spinning for the right words.

“He’s homeless,” I finally reveal. “I don’t know his last name, or even if his first name is real. He doesn’t have a phone, or a job, or an address. Believe me, I tried to find him months ago. He’s just…gone. I didn’t know I was pregnant when he was still here. I’m sure if he knew, he would have stayed.”

“Tell me this is some kind of sick joke you and your sister made up,” my father says, glancing over at Courtney, who shakes her head vehemently.

“Dad, it’s not a joke. It’s all true.”

My mother leans her elbows on the table and buries her face in her hands. “This is completely crazy,” she mutters. “I don’t understand any of this. How did this happen?”

“I met him in the park. He’s a street musician.”

“So he’s a fucking derelict, probably running from the law. I’ll bet he’s a burn-out, too. That baby’s going to be born addicted to crack.”

“Daddy, that only happens if the mother is on crack. Sperm can’t be on drugs,” Courtney interjects.

“Go to your room!” he bellows.

“Dad—”

He points to the hallway and glares at her. “Go. Now.”

My sister gets up and makes a dramatic exit, slamming her door when she reaches her bedroom upstairs. I rub my hand across my throbbing forehead. “Can we please just calm down?” I beg softly. “This is already hard enough for me to deal with.”

My father is now pacing the room with a glass of scotch in his hand.

“You think this is hard?” he asks. “This is nothing. Wait until you have a little meth baby. Or AIDS. And how exactly are you planning on supporting a baby? Have you thought about any of this?” He downs the remainder of his scotch and goes to the cabinet to refill his glass. “I don’t understand you, Piper. You’ve always been different than your sisters. But having sex with homeless men? Your mother and I didn’t raise you to behave like this. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. You’ll never understand. He’s not a bad person just because he lives differently. And people can’t help who they fall in love with.”

“Yes they can, Piper. Respectable young women don’t let dirty homeless men put their hands on them. You throw them a dollar and you walk the other way. You don’t spread your Goddamn legs.”

“Bill, that’s enough. This is our daughter, and that’s our grandchild.”

My father puts his hand up, his face twisted with disgust. “No. This isn’t my daughter. My daughter—the little girl I raised—wouldn’t lower herself to such filthy behavior. I don’t know who the hell this person is.” He slams his glass down on the dinner table. “I’m going out. I can’t even be under the same roof with her.”

I knew this conversation wouldn’t go well, but I never expected my father to be so sickened by me and my unborn baby that he would actually leave the house to get away from the sight of me.