“Justin,” I say.
“Cathy’s boyfriend?” Her eyebrows raise as her eyes narrow.
“He’s not her boyfriend. They broke up months ago.”
Mom shakes her head, then drops her face to her hands. I see her shoulders rise and fall as she inhales deeply. Does she feel faint, or is she trying to push down her anger and frustration? I’ve never had to face my mom with anything like this, so I have no idea how she’s going to react.
“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask.
She raises her head slowly, as though she’s aged and weary, and shakes it, closing her eyes as though she can shut out reality. “Did I teach you nothing? Did you learn nothing from watching me… from knowing how hard things are for me? I thought you knew. I thought you understood. I thought I had you on the right track.”
“You did, Mom. It was a mistake… an accident.”
“Oh God,” she says. “You were having sex with your friend’s ex-boyfriend. I take it he’s not going to be interested in helping you.”
I shake my head.
“Of course.” Mom’s eyes roll as though Justin’s reluctance is a universal fact when it comes to teen pregnancy. “There’s still time for us to deal with this. I can call someone. Make arrangements.”
“I don’t want that,” I say calmly. “I couldn’t do that. You didn’t do that.”
I can see how much she wants to tell me that she should have done. I know my mom loves me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve made her life more challenging by existing.
“I’m calling Justin’s mom. She needs to know what her son has done. That family needs to take some responsibility.”
I take a seat on the black leather chair that we brought back from Grandad’s house when he passed. He’d be disappointed with me too. All the hopes he had for Momma passed on to me. Now they’ll pass on to the child inside me that is barely more than a few cells.
“There’s no point in doing that. It won’t change anything. I know this isn’t what you wanted for me. I know this isn’t the ideal situation. I know that everything will be hard, but I can’t go back and make it different. I can’t change what’s happened. All I can do is try to make the best of it.”
“I thought I was almost done,” Mom says. “I thought you were almost ready to fly the nest, and I could have some time, maybe cut one of my jobs, take a vacation…” Her voice trails away, and my stomach sinks. She thinks this is the end of her dreams, too, and that breaks my heart.
“I don’t need you to do anything, Mom. I’m going to take care of everything.”
She shakes her head, like the very idea that I’ll be able to stand on my own two feet is too foolish even to hear. “In fact, forget Justin’s mom. I’m calling your dad,” she says. “It’s time that he stood up and took some responsibility for you. He’s a grown man at least, unlike Justin.”
She grabs her phone from the coffee table and starts swiping through her contacts. I haven’t spoken to my dad for nearly a decade. Not since the argument. I don’t think Mom has spoken to him in that time either. Now she’s gonna call him and tell him I’m pregnant. My cheeks heat with shame. Mom puts the phone to her ear, waiting for him to answer. I see her frown. “Is Dale there?” she asks. “I’m Sherry, his daughter’s mother.”
Whoever has picked up the phone talks for a long time while Mom’s face changes from riled-up to shocked. Who the hell has answered Dad’s phone? “I can’t believe it,” Mom says as she slumps back against the green cord of the sofa. “When?”
I wish she’d put this on speakerphone, so I’d know what the hell is going on. “Tomorrow,” she says softly.
Mom pulls the phone from her ear and stares at it for a while, as though she can’t believe what she heard is actually real. “Your dad…” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re swimming with unshed tears. “He died.”
“What?” A swell of aching hurt fills my chest, my throat a burning lump. My dad died.
“That was your Uncle Walter. He was trying to call me, but he had an old number.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago. It was in his sleep. It was his heart.”
I know my dad’s father died from a heart attack in his sleep too. I feel like I should be crying. I want to cry too, but the tears won’t fall. There’s too much resentment and hurt in the way. Too much shock. Too much guilt too.
My dad has been dead for three weeks, and I didn’t know. I didn’t feel it in my bones. His family didn’t even know how to get in touch with me. “Did they bury him?”