Page 49 of Full Out Fiend

I had completely forgotten about this. In my defense, I showed up today ready to ream him out and put him in his place. This whole night has gone so unexpectedly off the rails; but now I feel bad that I didn’t think to ask earlier.

I roll down the passenger window as he takes a tentative step forward.

“Um, so—I have a prenatal appointment and ultrasound on Wednesday morning. I know we don’t have confirmation about paternity yet… but do you want to go with me?”

“I’m so fucking there.”

I didn’t think he could possibly smile any bigger—but there it is.

I shut the door as quietly as possible, hearing their murmurs stop when it clicks into place. I don’t know why I bother attempting to sneak in or out of my parents’ house—for one, I’m a twenty-six-year-old financially independent woman, minus my living situation. And for another? It’s pointless. They could sense my approach even in pitch black silence.

“Daphne? Is that you?”

“Yes, just me.” I stick my phone back in my pocket—I sent Fielding a text as soon as I arrived, so that’s handled. Leftovers in hand, I move toward the fridge, lifting the plastic lid off the container and giving the food a whiff before popping a little purple potato in my mouth. It tastes just as good as it did earlier—thankfully. As awful as it is to toss my cookies on the regular nowadays, at least morning sickness hasn’t turned me off to the foods I just threw up.

“What are you eating?”

I jump on instinct and lift the back of my hand to my mouth before closing the fridge and turning to face her.

“Nothing, Mom. You scared me.”

She tuts her tongue as she looks me up and down.

“It’s after nine.”

I check the clock on the stove—and so it is. It’s 9:07 p.m., to be exact. Heaven forbid the pregnant woman who’s kept nothing but oatmeal down today sneaks a bite of potato. But she doesn’t know I’m pregnant. And I don’t have the energy to fight. I quietly slip on the impassive mask I wear in her presence and straighten my shoulders.

“Is Tahlia home?” I ask, moving to fill up my water bottle.

“Of course she’s home. She’s a twelve-year-old girl. Where else would she be?”

Seconds roll by as I wait for the impossibly slow stream from the tap to fill my bottle. I can feel her eyes on me—a strike is coming. My shoulders tense involuntarily when she speaks again.

“Have you talked to Anthony today?”

And there it is.

The delusion that perhaps if I just talk to him—give him a chance to explain himself—everything will be okay. That’s getting old. It’s been over a month. Things in my life are shifting and changing in significant ways. None of what I’m dealing with right now has to do with Anthony. I’m more than ready to close the door on that chapter of my life once and for all.

“I have not. And I won’t be,” I assert, turning to face her again as she narrows her eyes.

She doesn’t need to know that I was with him last night when he drove me home. Or that I couldn’t wait to get away from him.

“We raised you better than this, Daphne,” she whispers, her words dripping in judgment.

Once again, we’re at an impasse. The same impasse we’ve battled over for weeks. Her insistence that I fall in line and marry a man who intentionally set out to cheat on me is something I will never be okay with. But explaining that to heragainwill only bring us back to the same conclusion it always does: It’s more embarrassing to our family that I ended my relationship than it would have been had I just sucked it up, gotten over his infidelity, and gone forward with our plans.

“I know you’re disappointed. But your disappointment doesn’t change who I am or how I feel. Good night, Mom,” I murmur, effectively ending the conversation. It’s not really over. It’ll continue to be a point—the point—of discussion for as long as I live under this roof. But at least we’re done for tonight.

My hand instinctively rests on my stomach as I take the stairs two at a time. I will not bring a child into the world and force him or her to be subjected to this level of dysfunction. I was fully prepared to reach out to Serena’s landlord about my old apartment, but that was before I found out I was pregnant. I want to be smart about this because I’ll need help when the baby arrives. So for now, I’ll stay put, save my money, and bide my time.

I sigh as I reach the top step, noticing the sliver of light shining from Tahlia’s room. Either she heard me or sensed me coming, because her door swings open a second later. “You’re here!”

Exhausted, I still return her smile. “I’m here. I told you I’d be home before bedtime.”

Now that she’s twelve, Tahlia has her own cell phone. I know my parents monitor it, but it’s still nice to touch base with her and make plans like this.

“Are you too tired tonight?”