daughter.”
Mel sucked in a wobbly breath, her eyes clearly conflicted. Izzie tucked herself into my mom’s embrace as Chris studied us all with a detached stare. But I thought I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes . . . something, I’m not sure what. His light eyes seemed to be full of concern, yes, but . . . empathy? Maybe. Then it was gone and I turned my attention back to Mel’s father.
“Uh, sir?”
I waited until his steely gaze was fully focused on me. “To answer your question, I don’t really know how we’re gonna do this. But we’re going to finish school and I’m going to keep working and trying my best. And I love your daughter. I think that’s the best I can do.”
He studied my eyes a moment, flicked a glance to my dad, then nodded once. “All right. Fair enough. Let’s eat.”
“That went well.” Mel giggled up at me, her eyes twinkling in the setting sun.
I glanced behind her toward her house to make sure there were no prying eyes and no bratty sister. “I guess.”
She grabbed my hand as we ducked under the pilings of her carport. “Sorry about my dad.”
I shrugged. “It’s expected, I guess.”
She kicked at a couple of stones and her free hand cupped her belly as she stared down. “I suppose.” She glanced up at me. “Still. It was embarrassing.” Her head dipped and her voice came out whisper soft, “And I feel guilty I haven’t been able to get a job to help.” She met my eyes, hers shining with the twilight. “I have some babysitting money saved and I’ll go back to doing it as soon as I feel better.”
I leaned against her dad’s truck, tugging her in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, and laced our fingers around her stomach. I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll take care of it. I don’t want you hurting or sick or bleeding again.”
She sighed and relaxed her head on my chest.
For just a moment, I pretended we were the old us again. Not the pregnant us. Not the us whose parents had to have a barbeque just to get to know each other because they were going to be grandparents. Not the us who were petrified more than we could admit.
Just us.
I let the fantasy last until the front door slammed and my mom hollered for Izzie. The real world beckoned.
Mel lifted her head and stiffened a bit in my arms. She must’ve felt it too.
I dropped my forehead into her mass of hair. “I have to work a lot these next few weeks,” I warned. “Mr. Ross asked me to cover some shifts that we’re short and I could use the extra cash.”
She nodded, spinning in my arms, her eyes full of guilt. “Okay.” Her arms circled my neck. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” I kissed her. “But it’s just a few shifts.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
July 5 th
We had Reed and his parents over today for a barbeque. But I knew even before it happened what it really was . . . The Great Inquisition Part II, by my Dad. He’s been priming for it for the past few weeks. I’ve heard him talking to Mom in hushed voices behind closed doors. But occasionally, his voice will raise with things like: “How is a kid like that going to support my daughter? Much less a baby?” Or: “Why couldn’t he have just kept it in his pants?” Or, my personal favorite: “Thank God we don’t have to worry about shit like this with Chris.”
Of course. The wonder brother. Did I ever mention that not only does he look just like my dad—the perfect Ken doll with blond hair and blue eyes, tall, athletic, smart—he’s also named for him? Christopher Maxwell Summers III. He’s nice, popular, thoughtful . . . everything I wish I could be and never will. I’m not genetically mapped for it. I’m wondering, for the millionth time, what I was genetically mapped for . . . what the baby’s genes will be.
But today, my dad was really on a roll, calling Reed out big time, and his father got on the bandwagon. “It takes two to
Mel sucked in a wobbly breath, her eyes clearly conflicted. Izzie tucked herself into my mom’s embrace as Chris studied us all with a detached stare. But I thought I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes . . . something, I’m not sure what. His light eyes seemed to be full of concern, yes, but . . . empathy? Maybe. Then it was gone and I turned my attention back to Mel’s father.
“Uh, sir?”
I waited until his steely gaze was fully focused on me. “To answer your question, I don’t really know how we’re gonna do this. But we’re going to finish school and I’m going to keep working and trying my best. And I love your daughter. I think that’s the best I can do.”
He studied my eyes a moment, flicked a glance to my dad, then nodded once. “All right. Fair enough. Let’s eat.”
“That went well.” Mel giggled up at me, her eyes twinkling in the setting sun.
I glanced behind her toward her house to make sure there were no prying eyes and no bratty sister. “I guess.”
She grabbed my hand as we ducked under the pilings of her carport. “Sorry about my dad.”
I shrugged. “It’s expected, I guess.”
She kicked at a couple of stones and her free hand cupped her belly as she stared down. “I suppose.” She glanced up at me. “Still. It was embarrassing.” Her head dipped and her voice came out whisper soft, “And I feel guilty I haven’t been able to get a job to help.” She met my eyes, hers shining with the twilight. “I have some babysitting money saved and I’ll go back to doing it as soon as I feel better.”
I leaned against her dad’s truck, tugging her in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, and laced our fingers around her stomach. I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll take care of it. I don’t want you hurting or sick or bleeding again.”
She sighed and relaxed her head on my chest.
For just a moment, I pretended we were the old us again. Not the pregnant us. Not the us whose parents had to have a barbeque just to get to know each other because they were going to be grandparents. Not the us who were petrified more than we could admit.
Just us.
I let the fantasy last until the front door slammed and my mom hollered for Izzie. The real world beckoned.
Mel lifted her head and stiffened a bit in my arms. She must’ve felt it too.
I dropped my forehead into her mass of hair. “I have to work a lot these next few weeks,” I warned. “Mr. Ross asked me to cover some shifts that we’re short and I could use the extra cash.”
She nodded, spinning in my arms, her eyes full of guilt. “Okay.” Her arms circled my neck. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” I kissed her. “But it’s just a few shifts.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
July 5 th
We had Reed and his parents over today for a barbeque. But I knew even before it happened what it really was . . . The Great Inquisition Part II, by my Dad. He’s been priming for it for the past few weeks. I’ve heard him talking to Mom in hushed voices behind closed doors. But occasionally, his voice will raise with things like: “How is a kid like that going to support my daughter? Much less a baby?” Or: “Why couldn’t he have just kept it in his pants?” Or, my personal favorite: “Thank God we don’t have to worry about shit like this with Chris.”
Of course. The wonder brother. Did I ever mention that not only does he look just like my dad—the perfect Ken doll with blond hair and blue eyes, tall, athletic, smart—he’s also named for him? Christopher Maxwell Summers III. He’s nice, popular, thoughtful . . . everything I wish I could be and never will. I’m not genetically mapped for it. I’m wondering, for the millionth time, what I was genetically mapped for . . . what the baby’s genes will be.
But today, my dad was really on a roll, calling Reed out big time, and his father got on the bandwagon. “It takes two to
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