“Somethingis wrong,” she declared, and I hated how well she could read me.
Thiswasn't the plan. I didn't want them suspecting anything right away. I hadwanted to tell them after pumpkin picking and in a way that didn't make it seemlike my entire world was ending. But I felt too guilty lying to either of myparents, and so, I replied, “I have something to tell you and Dad, but I don'twant to tell you without him.”
“Kenny.”
Irolled my head against the headrest to face her, wearing a grin that felt toopainful to be real. “Mom.”
“What'swrong?”
Isighed. “Go home and we'll talk.”
***
The pictureof my little gummi bear was in front of my father and a frosty mug of beer wasin his hand. The condensation on the glass reminded me of my new favorite drinkand as badly as I had wished to be home, I now wished Iwasback in the city, sitting on a stool in Goose's bar.
“So,how are you feeling about all of this?” he finally asked, before taking a sipand setting his mug on the table. He clasped his hands and finally looked atme, making me breathe out a sigh of relief. I had started to wonder if he'dever be able to look at me again.
“Idon't know,” I answered honestly. “It’s … weird, but … I’m okay, I guess.”
“Weird,”Dad grunted with a nod. “It sure is.”
“Howdoes Brendan feel?” Mom asked.
“Iwouldn't know,” I replied with a defeated shrug.
Dad'sbrow furrowed with a flash of fury. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t know?”
Shrugging,I eyed his half-empty glass of beer, wishing I could have just a drop to takethe edgeoff ofthis night. “I told him about the babya week ago, and I haven't heard from him since.”
Myfather’s eyes immediately darkened with a protective anger, while Mom leanedback in her chair and crossed her arms.
“Oh,really?” she said, in a tone that meant she was two seconds away from callingand giving him a hefty piece of her mind.
“Guys,it’s fine,” I insisted, but a vein in Dad’s forehead began to throb as Momlooked beyond me and toward the kitchen wall “This came out of left field forboth of us,” I went on, not entirely sure why I was defending my coward of aboyfriend. “I mean, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to keep it at first—”
“Butare you sure now?” Dad asked, his voice soft despite the stone in his glare. Inodded, dropping my gaze to the table. “Okay. Then, as far as Brendan goes, itis what it is. Either he steps up to the plate or he doesn’t. But whateverhappens,as long asthis is whatyouwant,we’ll figure it out.”
Myfather was a man of very few words and believed that less was always more. So,after his brief but heartfelt declaration, he stood from the table, and withhis copy of the sonogram, retreated down the hall and to his bedroom, leavingthe half-empty mug of beer behind.
Thatglass was looking more tempting by the second.
Mymom, however, loved to talk. So, while she left the topic to rest for thenight, the next day, as we searched for a perfect, round pumpkin to adorn theirfront porch, she casually returned to the topic of Brendan.
“So,Igottaask. Are you going to break up with him?”
Squattingover a nicely shaped contender, I looked up at her. “What?”
“Youknow what I’m talking about.”
“Oh,I do.” I rolled the pumpkin to its side and revealed a nasty patch of rot. “Ijust wasn’t sure this was where you wanted to have this conversation.”
“It’sgood to have hard conversations while doing something fun.”
“Why?To kill the mood?” I retorted, before heading over to a more oblong specimen.
“No,wiseass,” she replied with a healthy dose of attitude. “To balance the goodwith the bad. And that pumpkin isn’t round enough.”
“Butall the round ones we’ve found look like crap. And I don’t know what I’m goingto do about Brendan.”
