Chapter 7
A week later we go to an OBGYN for the final confirmation and to make sure everything is okay with the baby. When Paul hears the little heartbeat, he’s all smiles and laughter. I’m still slightly freaked out, but once I see the tiny bean in the ultrasound photo, something inside me changes and everything I thought was important yesterday feels like nothing, because all I care about is the person growing inside of me and the person beside me who helped make him/her. We made that. Paul and I, together. That’s insane.
And scary, because I barely know how to use a washing machine, let alone raise another human. Thank God Paul is by my side. I don’t think I could do this without him.
On our way back to my apartment, Paul says, “It’s time to tell your parents.”
I’ve been avoiding it. I even contemplated waiting until I was too far along to hide it anymore. I just really don’t want them to ruin my happiness by telling me what a horrible decision I’ve made or by hating Paul. My parents were only seventeen when they had me, and according to my grandmother, I ruined their lives and stole all their options. She seemed to believe that since I was born out of wedlock I’m somehow marked by Satan.
My parents insist that’s not the case, and that not one day goes by that they regret having me, but I’ve heard my mom over the years long for the experiences she missed out on. That’s why they were so happy for me to get my degree. I wanted that for myself, of course, but they always wanted it just a bit more.
I stare out the window at the cars flashing by and sigh. “I know.”
I call my mom and tell her everything over the phone—I can’t bear to say it face to face. I have a whole speech written out, but by the middle of it she’s asking questions and shrieking, and I end up going completely off script. There’s a lot of crying on both our parts. When she asks me who the father is, I hesitate. And then I tell her. The line is dead silent and at first I think she’s hung up on me. But then I hear her muffled cussing and she’s back on the phone.
“Paul,” she says, “your dad’s Paul.”
“I’m so sorry, Mom. We didn’t mean for things to go this far. But we’re in love.”
“You’re in love with Paul … your dad’s Paul.”
I suppress a sigh. Damn it. This is harder than I thought, and far more annoying than I imagined.
“Yes. Dad’s Paul.”
“And what does Paul think about all of this?”
I glance at him. He sits on the couch, watching my end of the conversation and biting his nails. “He’s happy. We’re both happy.”
More silence. More cussing. “What about school?”
“I’m going to finish school. I promise. There’s only a few more months before I graduate. I’ll just be in my second trimester at that point, so this shouldn’t affect my attendance, or grades, or my graduation plans at all.”
Suddenly my mom squeals. “Oh my god, my baby is having a baby. I’m going to be a grandmother.” It takes me a moment to realize she’s laughing while she’s saying this instead of crying like I initially thought. She starts talking about baby clothes, showers, decorating a nursery. She asks where we plan to live and tells me I sure as hell won’t be moving across the state with her grandchild, and that Paul better figure out a way to move back or else.
By the time I hang up my head is spinning. “I think Mom’s on board,” I tell him. “Now for my dad.”
Mom holds my hand while Paul and my dad talk in my dad’s office. They’ve been in there for hours. At first there was yelling. Their voices were too muffled for me to hear exactly what was being said, but telling by the sounds of their voices, it was heated. More time passes and … is that laughter?
Paul comes out of the office. He comes up to me, leans over like he’s about to kiss my lips right there in front of my mom. I turn my head and let him kiss my cheek instead. I’m not quite ready for PDA in front of my parents even though they clearly know things have progressed beyond that point.
“Rachael, come in here,” my dad says from his office in a flat voice that camouflages his mood. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into walking in there. Every atom in my body wants to run. Instead I stand on wobbly legs. I’m too old to be running away from my problems. I’m going to be a mother. It’s time I learn to face my fears, because God knows things only get more frightening from here.
Paul takes my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll be with you.”
I slowly walk toward the office and poke my head in.