“Then baby ducks, please.” Baby ducks and a burly cowboy. When did my life get so complete?
20
Parental Disapproval
Scarlett
My mother calls the day after my freak-out in the baby store, and because I’m riding a strange new high of emotion for Bull, I answer my phone. Bull’s gone to the dairy barn while I’m on my way to a maternity clothing store in Burlington, a little over an hour from Dunham. While I’m only slightly starting to show, I’m curious about maternity wear and think I might need some more stretchy materials soon.
“Scarlett Joanna Russell, where are you?” There isn’t any concern in her tone but a screeching demand to know my location as her voice filters through the Bluetooth. “It’s been almost five months since we’ve seen you.”
While I’m used to visiting with my parents once a month for a torturous lunch date, I’ve missed the last few due to my move to Vermont, which I find I must remind my mother of.
“I’m in Vermont,” I state.
“Still?” Her shrill voice doesn’t surprise me, but what does bother me is the fact she cannot believe I’m still where I told her I’d be. “What about Shelton?”
“What about him?” I snap in response.
“He’s your husband, Scarlett. When are you coming home?”
“Mother, we’re getting divorced.”
Her gasp tells me she wasn’t listening to me when I told her I’d be filing such a thing months ago. As I travel the highway through the countryside, I ignore the subtle hardening of my belly or the pain shooting up my spine. The technician said these things were normal.
“What do you mean you’re getting divorced?” my mother questions.
“I can’t believe I need to spell this out for you. Shelton cheated on me. I’ve already told you this. He slept with a medical student. He got her pregnant, and he plans to marry her. Which he can’t do unless he divorces me.”
“What’s this talk about divorce?” my father projects next through the line.
“Dad,” I groan, gritting my teeth through another tightening across my belly.
“Scarlett, you need to come home.”
Considering his words, I realize Boston is no longer my home. My home is here in Vermont, with Bull, with our future.
“Dad, I am home.”
“At your apartment?” Mother asks, and I realize I’m on speakerphone with them.
“No. My new home in Vermont.”
“You’re living there?” she shrieks again. I’m forty-two years old, and I do not understand what is so difficult for them to understand about this concept. I’ve moved. I’m getting divorced. And there’s one more thing I haven’t mentioned to them.
“Oh, and congratulations. You’re going to be grandparents.” I smile to myself, chewing my lip as I tell them the news. It’s the first time I’ve really broken the information to others. Audrey and Zara found out through my initial vomiting at work and Bull blurted it out with his brothers, so this feels different.
“You’re what?” The shock in my mother’s tone shouldn’t surprise me, yet it hurts. This is what they wanted. She told me I should have had a child. She told me I worked too hard. Although, those things were in reference to my life with Shelton.
“Strawberry, you must come home.” My father’s use of my childhood nickname pierces my heart. They were tough parents to please, tough parents to love, but they were the only parents I had. I wanted their approval. I wanted their love, but most of all, I wanted their support. “You and Shelton need to be together so he can take care of you.”
“Dad, he left me for another woman. He impregnated her.”
“Pfft. You’re his wife. He needs to be with his child,” Dad states, and I couldn’t agree more—if I was to remain his wife, if he was the father of my child, and if I wanted him. But none of those things are true.
“I’m not going to be his wife much longer. And it’s not his child,” I tell them because I’ve made a decision about that paternity test. Despite its results, it won’t matter. Bull is the man for me and our child.
“Did you have an affair?” Mother gasps. Is she listening to herself? Does she hear what she’s asking me?
“No, Shelton did.”
The other end of the line is silent for a second.
“Scarlett, first it was journalism school where you ended up working for that rag of a company for too many years. Then it was Shelton who you could not keep satisfied.” My mouth falls open at this remark from my father. “But this . . . this is just incomprehensible. How could you do such a thing? You’re a married woman.”
Not for much longer, I want to remind them again, but it’s like banging my head on this steering wheel my hands have white-knuckled. It’s not going to make the car move faster, or the reality of my situation seep into their brains any better. And it’s definitely not going to make them more sympathetic.
“Mother, Dad. I’m not in love with Shelton. I’m in love with—”
“Love,” my mother trills again. “What does love have to do with anything? Come home, Scarlett. You can go to marriage counseling and rectify what you’ve done with your husband.”
I’m so angry I can’t find the tears I should be crying over their accusations and their disappointment, but with the pain shooting up my spine and the trickle of something between my thighs, I’ve had enough.
“I’m sorry you can’t listen to me. I’m sorry you can’t hear what I’m saying, and I’m sorry you’ll miss out on a grandchild. I’m your daughter.” I feel the need to remind them.
“But Shel—”
“Goodbye, Mother. Dad.”
I’m not exactly certain where I am, but I pull to the side of the road and rest my head against the steering wheel. Rubbing a hand at the left side of my belly, I grit my teeth against the pain. I’m so angry I can hardly breathe, and again, I wait for tears that do not appear for them—my parents. I’m forty-two years old, and I’ve just had the epiphany of a lifetime. I’ll never be who they want. I’ll never conform to their desires for me. And they’ll never know the incredible gift I’m about to bring into the world because I don’t need that kind of toxicity around my child.
“Come on, Sprout. Be good for Mommy.” At my words spoken aloud, along with the future label, I burst into tears for an entirely different reason. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
With shaky fingers, I dial Bull’s number, waiting for it to ring through the Bluetooth. My belly contracts again hard, and I let out a hissing groan as Bull answers his phone. Before he speaks, I do.
“Oh God, Bull. It hurts so much.”
21
Bathwater Confessions
Bull
“Scarlett, where are you?”
The agonizing sound in her voice rips me in two as I stand outside the dairy barn. She should have stayed home to rest, but she was so persuasive, kissing me one more time every step to the door before I left this morning. She had the day off, and I’d have liked nothing more than to crawl back into bed with her, but the cows called.