“Mother?” I call from the living room.
“What is it, dear?” She barely acknowledges my presence as she skims through her magazine.
“Have you talked to Mrs. DuPont about Jake? Has she heard from him?”
Her eyes glimmer with admiration. “Oh, yes. That young man is going to be magnificent. He’s truly excelling, and it’s been less than a month.”
The thorns around my heart squeeze tighter, and I inhale a staggered breath. “Oh…well, does she have a number where he can be reached? Because the one I have, I don’t think it works internationally. I really need to—”
“Willa, my goodness, don’t you think it’s time to get over this little crush? It’s become quite humiliating. He’s practically engaged, not to mention too old for you.”
I clench my jaw so hard; I wait for her to yell at me next for ruining my perfect teeth. “It’s not a crush.”
She throws her head back and laughs theatrically. “Oh, come on. Really, Willa?” She tsks me and goes back to reading her magazine. “Why don’t you spend less time pining over someone way above your means and more time on someone more suitable like Walter? He may become an asset to this family one day. If no one fancies you at school, we’ll have to work something out so he’ll—”
“I’m pregnant.”
Shoot.
Did I just say that out loud? Mother drops her magazine and slowly turns my way. Darn it, I did.
“Excuse me?”
It’s now or never. Deep breaths. “I said I’m pregnant. And Jake is the father.” She stares at me for so long, I worry I broke her. Then she throws her head back and lets out a boisterous laugh.
“Oh, goodness, Willa. Desperation does not look good on you. Nor do your pale cheeks. Go upstairs and change. I see wrinkles, and your hair is ungodly—”
“I’m pregnant!” I yell. “I’m pregnant, and it’s Jake DuPont’s!” I yell louder, so tired of being swept under her fancy Persian rug like I don’t matter. I’m so sick of being me.
“You better knock it off this instant, Willa Brianne. That is not amusing or funny. These games you’re playing—where are you going? Willa! Get back here! Where are you going?” she shouts at my back as I walk out the front door and storm next door. Pregnancy hormones are no joke. It’s my explanation for losing my marbles and thinking banging on the DuPonts’ door until someone answers, telling them they’re going to be grandparents, and demanding Jake’s goddamn number is a grand idea.
My fist bangs against the mahogany wood until Mrs. DuPont answers. Her tightly pinned eyes widen in surprise at my evident distress. “Oh heavens, are you all right?” she gasps.
I open my mouth to confess just how not all right I am when my mother latches into my hair, pulls me backward, and slaps her hand over my mouth. “Of course! My daughter isn’t feeling well and seems to have a fever causing her to act a bit outlandish.”
Fever my ass. “I’m pwgamt!” I scream behind the barrier.
“What was that?”
“Pwegmang!”
“Not well. Truly, her time of the month. Some young women just don’t know how to handle the hormones.”
Mrs. DuPont’s brows perk up, confused, and most likely embarrassed for my mother. And since I’m not in my right mind, I take my elbow to her sternum, knocking her arm away. “I said I’m pregnant. With Jake’s baby.”
Poor Mrs. DuPont passes out.
I messed up. Mother is furious, and my father won’t even look at me. At a time when I could really use some affection and understanding, I’ve never felt so neglected.
“How could you do this to us?” my mother hisses as she paces the living room.
“I didn’t plan this. It just happened.”
“How? Did you seduce him? Force yourself? Was it even him?” I chew on the inside of my cheek. No one believes me. My parents claim it’s a cry for help. The DuPonts refuse to acknowledge it. I told them just to let me talk to Jake, but they denied my request. My parents sent me up to bed, telling me to stay there until they decided what to do with me, like I was some old, worn piece of furniture they were debating on dumping.
I cry myself to sleep, dreaming of Jake and wishing he was here, then wake up to my mother tossing my bedsheets off me and slapping a sheet of paper on the bed.
“Read this. Then get dressed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.” She walks out, slamming the door behind her. I wipe away the sleep from my eyes and unfold the piece of paper. It’s an email…from Jake.
Willa,
I’m shocked to hear the news my parents presented me with and cannot claim personal responsibility. I hope you can get the help you need and make this go away. I’m days away from asking Rebecca to become my wife and need to focus on my residency and fiancée. Hope you understand. Be well. - Jake
My tears soak through the paper. My head shakes back and forth in denial, making me dizzy. Dropping the paper, I run to the bathroom to throw up. No, no, no…There’s no way he would just brush me off. That night meant something. He loves…
I don’t realize my mother’s been standing in the doorway, observing me this whole time. When my eyes catch hers, a chill radiates between us. “We’re done with your games, Willa. You’ve embarrassed us for the last time. When you leave here, you won’t be coming back. I suggest you take what valuables you consider worthy.” Then she disappears.
I don’t know why I thought my mother would pull me into her arms, comfort me, and tell me everything was going to be okay the second I confessed. I don’t know why I’m shocked my parents choose to ship me away as the solution. As I gather my minimal things, I wonder about school. Will I still attend? Will they welcome me back once I have the baby? Am I having the baby? I grab at my stomach, worry overwhelming me. How far will my parents go to make this go away? Make my baby disappear? Our baby?
The drive is long. My parents opt to drive separately, as if I’ll infect them with my disease. I’m scared and alone, except for my stuffy driver, who refuses to tell me where we’re going. My phone was taken away so I can’t Google my location. My only clues are the scenery outside my window. The busyness of the city disappears, and we spend hours driving into the country. Worry starts to eat away at me. My parents are ruthless, but they wouldn’t force me to abort…
The car stops, and I prepare to run as soon as the door opens. When the door is ajar, two women dressed in black, silver crosses hanging from their necks, stand in my way of freedom.
“What’s going on? What are we doing here?” I ask, my voice trembling. My eyes take in the nineteenth-century old brick castle. A church. Nuns…They’re abandoning me at a nunnery? I stare past the two nuns, fighting for my mother’s attention. My lower lip begins to tremble, and the first tear since this horrid journey began slides down my cheek. “Mother, what are you doing? Why are we here? You’re not going to leave me here, are you? I’m your daughter. Daddy?” I beg my father to do something, but he refuses to look at me.