“Fucking teacher. How the hell did that even happen?”
“Kids need someone better than the crappy teachers we had in high school. Especially in English. We shouldn’t have to read stuff that’s centuries old to make sense of the frickin’ present. Shit that doesn’t represent or show color.”
“I feel like we need to get you a soapbox,” Ty said sarcastically.
“Dude. It means I get summers off. Khiley and I can travel. See all the places she’s been wanting to see for as long as I can remember.”
“Not with a baby,” Ty said quietly.
“Why the fuck not?”
“You want to expose your kid to all the diseases and scenarios that traveling abroad could mean?”
He had a point. Maybe not all the places we wanted to visit. But a lot of them. There wasn’t a reason not to if the baby had been vaccinated.
“That’s why Khiley is freaking out,” Ty said. “It means changing the entire future you’ve been laying out for yourselves since you could barely walk and talk.”
I nodded. It was true. Things were going to have to change. But it didn’t have to be the end of everything. Maybe Khiley just needed to hear it from me again. I’d go over in the morning, hug her, and tell her what was in my heart. Make a pros and cons list and a new plan we could both see. And if she still wanted to have the abortion after that, even though it would kill me a little, I’d agree. Because losing Khiley was never, ever an option.
Khiley
A CHRISTMAS TO REMEMBER
“The memories we share
The songs we always sing.”
Performed by Amy Grant
Written by Grant / Gill / Darnall / Eaton
I woke up to a wave of nausea hitting me so hard I barely made it to the bathroom before I lost the cookie I’d had as my dinner the night before. I tried to stay quiet. I’d been trying to stay quiet since I’d been home, throwing up every time I turned around. Someone was going to catch on before too long. I just hoped it was Mayson and not Mama or Daddy.
Since I had my own bathroom in the house that had once belonged to my great-grandparents, I was hoping I was safe. A knock on the bathroom door made my heart pound in a way that had my stomach lurching again. Before I could answer, I was dry heaving into the toilet once more.
“’Ley…let me in.” It was Stephen’s voice. Soft and full of remorse.
I wiped my face, twisted the lock, and Stephen eased in. He didn’t even let me stare him down. He just pulled me into his arms where I’d belonged since before I could stand.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing my back in soothing circles. “I’m sorry you’re the one having to go through this. I’m sorry my stupidity caused this. I’m sorry I left you at the lake instead of hearing you out.”
I sniffled, and stupid tears leaked out of my eyes again. I’d never cried this much. Not even when my horse, Paisley, had had to be put to sleep. I held on to Stephen and let him calm the storm inside me. He was my safe spot. My best friend. My lover. My future and my past all twined together.
“I made a list,” Stephen said quietly, and I couldn’t help the hmmph that escaped me. Stephen always made lists. Whenever we had to make a decision, he came up with the pros and cons, and once the decision was made, he had another list of action items at the ready so we could accomplish it.
“I need to brush my teeth,” I told him. He let me go but sat on the closed toilet while I did it. When I looked at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes were ringed with the same dark shadows as mine. Stephen was just as upset about this as me. He was struggling, too. It wasn’t fair of me to assume, just because my body was the one going through the physical changes, that he wasn’t experiencing the same emotional ones.
The toothpaste made me want to gag. I pushed him aside to dry heave once again into the toilet. He rubbed my back and whispered words of encouragement and apology.
When we opened the door to the hallway, Mayson was standing there, glaring. Arms crossed, stance wide. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked in a hushed whisper.
Where I was all Mama with blonde hair, Mayson was all Daddy with brown hair. We would have been mini replicas of our parents except for our hair coloring. It was like our hair genes had gotten swapped at the last minute. Mayson brushed his wavy locks out of his eyes, a mannerism Daddy had, too.
“Dad’s gonna shit a brick if he catches you in Khiley’s bathroom.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m twenty-one, Mayson. I highly doubt Mama or Daddy would be surprised Stephen was in my bathroom or my bedroom.”
Mayson grimaced. “Stop. Don’t say another word.”
“You’re the one who started it,” I told him.
“Khiley’s just hungover. We were out drinking with Ty last night,” Stephen said, covering for me.
It was Mayson’s turn to roll his eyes. “Ty isn’t old enough to drink. He’s going to lose his scholarship if he doesn’t watch it.”
“Not everyone can make all the perfect decisions like you,” I threw back.
Mayson looked like he wanted to argue but then just headed down the hall. “Whatever’s going on, if you don’t want Mama to find out, you better get Stephen out of here before we do presents with Gram and Gramps.”
Shit. I’d forgotten it was Christmas Eve. My brain had been far, far away from gifts and parties.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said, pulling Stephen into my room.
Daddy had inherited the house when my grandparents had moved into a retirement home. After renovating the place, we’d moved from our place downtown to the ranch. The only things I’d cared about at the time were not having to share a bathroom with Mayson anymore and having the balcony right outside my bedroom to place all three of my telescopes on.
I tugged Stephen toward my bed, and we sat with our backs to the headboard, hands locked together.
“Your mama’s gonna be mad as heck if she wakes up and you aren’t there,” I said once we were situated.
He shrugged. “This is more important.”
“You know the rules: Christmas Eve with grandparents, Christmas morning with the immediate family, and Christmas afternoon with all of us.” It was practically the only time Stephen and I were ever apart growing up.
“Some things are going to have to change,” Stephen said.
I snickered. “Good luck getting that past my mama or yours.”
Stephen pulled a couple of pages of crumpled paper from the pocket of his UTK sweatshirt, the same one he’d been wearing the day before. I wasn’t sure he’d slept at all. Guilt riddled me because I’d thrown a lot at him.
“I made a list. Keeping the baby or not keeping the baby,” he said, and I was surprised there wasn’t more anger in his voice.
“I don’t need to see the list,” I told him.
“Humor me?” he asked, and I realized he still thought I wanted to have an abortion.