Page 39 of Text Me A Kiss

A war raged on, and my dad’s face was the battlefield. He wanted to be furious, probably at Graham Emerson—but how could he, when his daughter, his pregnant daughter, held onto him with such love? Or at least, that was what I imagined the various shades of red and purple and opening and closing of his mouth meant.

“How far along are you?” my mom asked.

“About five or six weeks.” I placed a hand on my stomach. “I still feel mostly fine, but I feel tired a lot.” But not right now. The relief at finally having told my parents was settling in. Now, my mother could do what so many mothers dreamed of doing one day. She could take my hand and help guide me through my own pregnancy. To my mind, my eyes sparkled when my mother and I shared a moment of silent communication.

“Oh, Honey, I’m so glad you told us now.” My mother stood up and held out her arms, her cardigan opening like a welcoming blanket at the motion, and she waited for me to vault over Graham and dive into them.

“Oh, Mom,” I said, my voice filled with nervousness and excitement. “Me too.”

“Allen, get in here.” A moment later, my dad’s familiar, protective arms settled around us both, holding our family together.

Only Graham was missing from this perfect moment, but I didn’t want to push things by asking my father to actually hug his employee. Ex-employee.

“I’m happy, Dad. Really, I am. And I’m not upset that I can’t dance while I’m pregnant.” Until this moment, a tiny bit of regret had refused to release its claws on my heart. All that work to get through Juilliard and peak physically, and I wouldn’t be able to use it… I had deserved to feel a little disappointed.

I didn’t anymore. Now, Graham, this little baby girl or boy, and two loving parents were what I wanted most.

“Okay. As long as you’re happy,” my dad said finally. He didn’t quite believe me, or maybe he did and he just didn’t know what to think or feel yet. I’d take anything besides him yelling at me or Graham. Or both of us at once.

Speaking of Graham….

“So… uh… Dad,” I began carefully, sliding into my side of the booth next to Graham. “I’ve been living with Graham.”

“I guessed. When your mother said you’d been living in Chicago.” His face didn’t turn purple at the very idea, which I decided to take as a good sign.

“Well, Graham is helping to support me. And make a home for our child. And he can’t really do that without a job….” I trailed off suggestively.

From the look my dad gave Graham, I could tell that it would be a while before he could bring himself to have any sort of good relationship with his CEO. “I guess. Graham can have his job back. If he wants it.”

I winced. Couldn’t he at least talk to Graham instead of using me as some sort of go between?

“Thank you, Allen,” Graham said. “I want what’s best for your daughter and Midwest. I hope one day you can come to believe that.”

Dad didn’t even give him a nod. Oh well. They all just needed time.

We didn’t eat together. My dad clearly wasn’t ready for that yet, so my mom just hugged me goodbye, made me promise to visit the next day, and then my parents left. My dad’s voice echoed from the open door for a moment, then disappeared into the summer afternoon.

“That went… well,” Graham ventured.

“It went as well as I expected. Mom’s on our side. Dad will come around. I hope so, anyway.” I leaned back with a loud, broken sigh.

In a flash, Graham was next to me, turning my head to look into my eyes. “Are you okay, Kitten?”

“Yeah. That was just… hard, you know? And I wasn’t kidding about being tired all the time.” The back of my hand held back a yawn as I spoke.

“Do you have the energy for one more stop? A coffee shop, about two blocks away?”

I peeked with one eye through the hand I’d been rubbing my face with. “Sure. What for?”

“To meet someone. And to hear something you need to hear.”

A smile lit up my face as I took the hand he held to me after we both stood. “Intriguing. Lead the way.”

Less than five minutes later, we let the swinging doors close on the scents of spring and breathed in the aroma of coffee. “Over here.” Graham led the way to a tall round table with raised stools near the counter. “This is Mary, a friend of mine,” he said, leaning in for a quick embrace with the woman sitting at the table.

She rearranged the neck of her white blouse and brushed down her skirt. The sternness in the lines of her face faded as she looked me up and down. “You must be Kady,” Mary said, holding out a hand. “Graham talks about you far too much.”

“Does he?” I hoped I didn’t sound as flattered as I felt.