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“So, I can’t drink,” I continue. “And unfortunately, I’m pretty sure eating cod is not going to end well. Lately, all I can keep down is crackers.”
“You’re … you’repregnant?” My mom’s voice sounds faint, fading, like she’s running out of breath.
I nod once and confirm, “Yes.”
“I—since when?”
“Uh …” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. “I’m six weeks along. So, not long. I went to the doctor on Wednesday. Found out for sure.”
My mom’s shaking her head. Tugging the strings on her apron loose, like she needs more air. “This is … I’m just—” She fumbles for her wine and swallows a healthy sip once her fingers close around the glass. Her ability to string together full sentences seems to have flagged for the time being. That, or she’s hoping the less she says, the more I will.
I shrug out of my hoodie and drape it over the back of a chair. She left the oven door open, and it’s rapidly raising the kitchen temperature.
My mom’s gaze immediately falls to my stomach. “Who’s … are you dating someone?”
I break eye contact, sinking into the chair. No sign of Dad. I assume he’s taking his time delivering my suitcase, anticipating the bomb that was about to be dropped again. Maybe I should have told my parents together. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Kit at work. I have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to any of this, and I’m afraid I’m failing left and right.
“No,” I answer. “I’m not dating anyone. He’s just a guy I had a … connection with.”
Alluding to sex is less awkward with my mom than it was with my dad, but not by much. We’re close, but notthatclose.
“Collins, honey …” She’s being careful to keep the concern off her face, but I canfeelit in the fish-scented air as she sighs. “Does the father know about the … situation?”
“No.”
I didn’t hesitate before lying, and it’s not because I’m used to sharing selective truths with my parents.
I was disappointed by Kit’s reaction, but I also sympathize with it. I’ve had some time and a doctor’s visit for this baby’s existence to be real. I dumped the news on him. And if Kit gets over his shock and chooses to be involved, I want him and my parents to have a clean slate.
“I’m going to tell him,” I add. “I just have to decide … how.”
“Honesty is always the best policy.”
My mom’s favorite adage.
“Uh-huh,” I agree, standing. Tried that, and all I got was a, “Fuck.”
“Can we talk more tomorrow, Mom? I just want to shower and go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
I’m also worried she’ll have a lot more questions for me once the shock starts to fade, and I’d rather face those in the morning, followinga full night of sleep.
She studies me for a few seconds. “You’re sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Let me just grab a couple of things out of your room.”
A couple of things turns out to be a nightgown, a robe, slippers, a change of clothes, hand cream, three books, reading glasses, and her laptop.
My parents sleep in separate bedrooms. A suspicion I’ve had since Jane moved into the dorms three years ago, but they’ve never been this blatant about it before.
I stand, silent, in the hallway, watching my mom gather up her necessities.
She pauses in the doorway, her belongings stashed in one of the canvas tote bags she hauls around everywhere. She buys the embroidered ones people order and then return because they’re always on sale.Seas the dayis stitched on the side of this one in navy thread.
“You told your father.”
It’s more of a statement than a question, but I nod. He’s still absent, which is a dead giveaway. Probably processing in his office or the garage.