“You’re out of town so much, and you don’t give him the attention he deserves,” she goes on.
She’s right. I’m not much of a cat person, but I couldn’t ask her to return him to the animal shelter. Scooby came from a good place. I only wish she’d chosen something that needed less upkeep—like, say, a goldfish.
“You seem to enjoy spending time with your grandcat,” I reply. “I’m doing you a favor by traveling so frequently.”
She lifts her chin. “When are you going to move home, find a good man, and settle down? Stella is doing it. Maybe you should follow her example.”
Here we go again.
This is why the majority of my visits with her are when she’s Scooby-sitting.
“Men and I aren’t on the same page right now.” I have a feeling we’ll never be.
“If you’d quit looking in all the wrong places, they’d be. Come to church with me tomorrow, honey. They expanded, and traffic is booming! God-loving young men are scouring the place for a good wife to start a family with.”
I can’t stop myself from scowling. “Men scouring the place for a wife? Not my type, Mom. That sounds not only desperate, but also scary.” I’m sure those men wouldn’t approve of me carrying someone else’s baby out of wedlock.
I drag my phone from my pocket when it beeps. I turned it back on when my plane landed but have yet to reply to the seventy-eight text messages from every citizen in Blue Beech.
Dallas: You make it to your mom’s okay?
I set my phone to the side, ignoring it, and then pluck it back up. His threat wasn’t empty, and the last thing I need is him showing up here.
Me: Just got here. Talking to her.
Dallas: You break the news yet?
Me: I need to loosen her up with a glass of wine first.
Dallas: Good luck.
Me: I should be the one telling you good luck. She’ll probably take it better than your parents.
Dallas: I haven’t told them yet. I’m waiting for you to be here. Consider your mom practice.
Me: Not happening.
He’s eating bath salts if he thinks I’ll be attending that shitshow. Dallas’s family is as traditional as it gets. They’re nice people, don’t get me wrong, but super old school.
Dallas: We’ll talk about it.
We’ll talk about it?
The hell kind of answer is that?
I toss my phone onto the pillow next to me on the couch. “How about we go to dinner at La Vista tonight?”
My plan of liquoring my mom up, so I could spill the beans wasn’t as bright as I’d thought it was an hour ago.
She wisps her hair, the same color as mine, away from her eyes to better stare at me. She’s been eyeballing me since our drink order was placed five minutes ago. I’m doing my best to avoid direct eye contact with her, scared she’ll read my mind.
The restaurant is packed. It always is on Saturday nights, given it’s the nicest place in our suburb. A few of my mom’s friends stopped to talk to us while we waited for our table, their eyes scrutinizing and judging me for the wrongs my ex-boyfriend did to a young kid who was the star of his little league baseball team.
“I take it, you have something to tell me,” she says.
A knot ties in my belly. “Huh?”
“You’ve been nervous since you got home today. You then bring me to La Vista and order a glass of wine for me before the waiter even got the chance to introduce himself. You bring me here whenever you have news you don’t want to break to me.”
Come to think of it, she’s right. I brought her here when I decided to move to LA, when I got back with Brett, and then when I told her I’d officially broken things off with him.
I lower my head in shame and blurt out my confession, “I’m pregnant.”
She takes a long drink of wine before giving me a response. Her brows pull in as she carefully chooses her words. “This isn’t some April Fool’s Day joke, is it?”
“It’s June.”
I’m trying to read her, but I can’t pinpoint what’s going on in her mind. She’s not happy, but she’s not unhappy.
“How do you feel about this?”
My heart thrashes in my chest, and my chin quivers. “Like an idiot.” An idiot for not using protection. Go figure, my ovaries are the .01 percent that gets pregnant while taking the pill.
“Do I know the father?”
“It’s not Brett’s.”
A rush of relief releases from her lips. “Thank Jesus.”
“It’s Dallas Barnes.”
“Stella’s old bodyguard?”
I nod. “And Hudson’s older brother.”
Mortification floods her face. “Isn’t he …” She grabs the glass of red wine and chugs the remainder of it down, her emerald eyes wide. “Isn’t he married?”
Oh, fuck. She’s afraid I’m a homewreckin’ ho.
“His wife passed away almost a year ago.”
She nods slowly, digesting my answer, the familiarity of it flashing across her face like a burn. “You didn’t tell me you two were dating.”
I can’t distinguish if she’s asking a question or giving a warning. My mother knows the nightmare of never getting over your first love—a memory that bites at every inch of your body until your last breath.
“We’re not dating,” I answer. “It was a one-time thing. Too much whiskey, not enough thinking.”
I take a sip of water, a breath of courage, and proceed to tell her everything minus the details of the actual baby-making, and I am unable to stop the tears from falling from my eyes … and hers.
She stretches her arm across the table to grab my hand in hers. “If Dallas wants to be in the picture, give him a chance.” Her voice is soft, caressing, a vocal hug. “He’s a father, a single one at that, who knows the responsibility of taking care of a child.”
“I’m strong, Mom.” My throat is dry, causing my words to come out raspy. “I can do this on my own.”
“Honey, I’m not denying you can, but I know from firsthand experience, it isn’t easy, doing it alone. No mother can replace the void of a father. We can both agree on that.”
A knife slashes through my heart. The reality of what I did smacks me in the face, like I’ve been unconscious this entire time.
I was that child, the one without a father. It was by choice for the first fifteen years. He didn’t decide he was ready to be a dad until he was diagnosed with stage five colon cancer. My mother welcomed him with open arms. I didn’t.
He passed away at the young age of forty-one when I was sixteen. My mother forgave him at his deathbed. I didn’t. I couldn’t. The bitterness was still wrapped in my heart. I couldn’t forget all the times I’d been a jealous-filled child when I watched my friends have fathers.
Everyone has choices in their life. He chose to leave. You can’t take that shit back when you find out your time is limited, and you have no one to help you through it.