My mother looked between my father and me. “You’re worrying me, mija.”
“Tackle is the baby’s father.”
My mother’s face turned so pale I thought she might pass out. “Oh Dios mío,” she muttered, crossing herself. I wanted to ask her the last time she went to church, but that wasn’t what this conversation was about.
I met my father’s eyes and saw no surprise in them, although he was trained not to react. Maybe what I said next would tip him over the edge. “I have reason to believe I’m not the only woman pregnant with his child.”
“No!” gasped my mother.
My dad nodded, but otherwise, had no visible reaction other than to brush his lips with his finger.
“Why do you think this, Sloane?” my mother asked.
“Because the other woman showed up at my house.”
“You’re certain that this woman’s child is his?”
“Certain? No, but I have reason to believe she wasn’t lying.”
“Have you asked him, mija?”
I looked at my father, wishing he would jump in on this conversation, but evidently, he’d gone mute.
“What are you thinking?” I asked him.
“I’m not certain yet.” He cleared his throat. “Does your brother know?”
I shook my head, and my eyes filled with tears. My mother reached over and pulled me into an embrace. “It will be okay, Sloane. Shh, everything will be okay.”
“I can’t talk to Tackle,” I said through my tears.
“You don’t have to, mija,” she said, stroking my hair.
“What do you want to do?” my father asked.
“I want to stay in the city for a few days until I figure things out.”
He raised a brow.
“I’m not running away. I just need time to think.”
“Where’s Tackle now?”
“That’s the thing, Dad. He’s on the other side of the country, with her.”
He nodded. “A few days to think things through, peanut. If this baby is his, you can’t avoid him forever.”
“There’s more you should know.”
“Go ahead.”
I told both my parents about the house Tackle and his father had bought in Chestnut Hill and about how he was renovating it for us to live in. I also told them about how, as soon as he learned I was pregnant, he’d immediately wanted to get married. My mother’s eyes perked up.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Mom. I’m not marrying him. Not that he asked. He just told me we’d get married.”
My dad smiled. “Sounds like him.”
“Don’t you go