We spent a little more time together before Bryn got dressed and I brought her back to her car. She looked tense as we drove onto the compound. Her eyes looked back and forth like she was looking for a member of my family to pop out and ambush her. But no one was there that day, so she got to her car without incident.
I pulled her in for a tight hug, enjoying the way she wrapped her arms around me in return. As I held her close, I thought about the incredible reality that while I held her, I also cradled our baby. It was still so tiny, such a long way to grow, but it was there. Nestled within Bryn was our child, and I felt a sudden incredible surge of protectiveness.
As soon as she drove away, I headed for my parents’ house. But I wasn’t looking forward to a nice, relaxed dinner together with everybody. In fact, I hoped the other members of the family weren’t there yet. There were some things I needed to say, and the rest of the family didn’t need to be there for it.
I walked into the house and noticed the sliding glass door leading out to the backyard was standing open. My parents’ voices drifted in, and I knew they were out with the grill getting the food ready. I walked straight outside, and my father waved a pair of tongs at me from across the patio.
“Hey, Nick,” he said. “You’re early. That means you get food prep duty. Grab a knife.”
“Hey, Dad. I’m actually not planning on staying for dinner tonight,” I said.
“You’re not?” he asked.
“No. I just came by because I have a few things I need to say to Mom.”
“To me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, walking over to where she sat on one of the cushioned lounge chairs.
She sat up straighter and looked at me with wide-eyed anticipation. “Is this about the baby? Bryn isn’t with you? Oh, I was hoping you would bring her along. I want to know absolutely everything. And I have some tips I can give her. You know, when we were talking the other day, I had a feeling there was something she was hiding. A little secret. Women can just tell these things.”
“Mom, stop,” I said firmly.
“What?” she asked, sounding startled.
“You need to stop,” I said again. “Stop all this nonsense.”
“Don’t speak to your mother so harshly,” Dad said.
I ignored him. “You need to understand just how unhappy I am right now. I’d like to know why you thought it was funny to spam a girl I’m not even dating with wedding crap. Especially right after she went through an awful breakup. And after I specifically told you I’m not ready to settle down right now. It’s not okay. It really upset Bryn. You need to let me make my life decisions for myself and accept that I might not always make the ones you want me to.”
“That’s really enough, son,” Dad said. “Whatever your mother might have done, she’s still your mother. You shouldn’t speak to her that way.”
“It’s fine,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m done. I said what I needed to say.”
My mother didn’t say anything, and there were no signs of tears in her eyes. I still felt a hint of guilt as I walked away, but it needed to be done. I needed to protect Bryn and our child at all costs. That included making sure she felt safe and respected.
The confrontation with my mother over, I headed back home. I wanted to look even more into how I could grow Bryn’s investments. I was more than capable of supporting both of them, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t accept that. She was far too independent, now more than ever, and she would want to feel capable of taking care of herself and the baby on her own as much as possible.
But maybe I could convince Bryn to use a good portion of her returns for a college fund.29BrynMonday morning came, and everything felt fresh. A fresh day, a fresh week, and a fresh perspective.
I got up and went into the kitchen for a cup of the decaf coffee Nick sent home with me. It was hilarious to see the full shelf of bags of the coffee lined up in his pantry. It looked like he’d bought a stash that would get us through the entire pregnancy. That was when I learned Nick preferred to buy whole-bean coffee for his house. He ground the beans every morning before making his coffee.
When he offered me a couple of bags of the coffee to bring back to my house with me, I told him I didn’t have a grinder. That seemed to shock him and measurably so, as if he couldn’t imagine anyone who considered themselves a fan of coffee to go about life with only pre-ground beans. He packed up his own grinder to send home with me, saying he would just stop and get another one.