I drag my feet over, drop my tote to the floor with a hollow thud, and sink into the cushions like gravity’s got it out for me personally.
Crack. The sound of the can opening echoes like a gunshot in the quiet. I take a sip. Cold. Fizzy. Completely useless in calming me down, but I drink anyway because it gives my hands something to do while I figure out how to start.
Dad sits beside me. Legs wide. Elbows on his knees. He cracks open his can and takes a long sip. Then he just sits there. Waiting.
Not asking. Not pushing. But still watching me. Like I’m some game footage he can’t make sense of yet, but he knows the goal’s coming. Eventually.
I glance at him.
He’s trying to stay calm. I can see it in the tight line of his mouth, the crease in his brow. But that familiar ‘come on, kiddo, you can tell me anything’ expression is carved deep into his face. He’s holding onto it like it’s the only play he’s got right now.
My lip’s part, and I’m finally about to speak when—
Knock, knock.
The door. Of course. Because the universe is a sadist.
Dad doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t move. He just bellows, sharp and flat, “NOT NOW!” Then, quieter, more gently, as his eyes settle back on me, he murmurs, “Go on.”
I stare at him, breathing like I just ran a hundred-yard sprint with a bag of bricks strapped to my back. My fingers are clenched around the stupid can like it’s a life raft and I'm mid-ocean.
How the hell do I even say this?
But then my brain skips over ‘how’ and lands directly on ‘fuck it,’ because suddenly I’m not thinking at all. The whole thing just explodes out of me. “You know the day I got back from Arizona State? A few weeks ago? We’d just argued, and I stormed out.”
His brow knits together clearly, digging for it, trying to remember. I watch as the memory clicks into place.
“Well, I went to that club. Sin City. In the Aurora Hotel on the strip. I went with Riley, okay? We just wanted to let off steam. That was it.” My voice is already climbing, and I’m gripping the Coke like I’m about to hurl it at the floor. “I wasn’t looking for anyone. I didn’t expect to meet anyone.”
His forehead pulls together, low and hard, the way it used to when I’d come home late in high school. That’s when hesqueezes the can. I can see the metal dent inward beneath his fingers.
I keep going. “Well... turns out I did.”
He lifts his chin. “Did what?”
I stare at him. Like, seriously? “Meet someone.”
He leans forward. Now he’s fully engaged. Coach McCullum mode activated. But under it, I can see it, the panic. “And?”
I wipe my nose with the back of my wrist, even though it doesn’t help. “And...” I let it hang. Just long enough to feel the acid rising in my throat. “Something kind of happened.”
The way I look at him says everything I don’t want to say. His jaw tics. Then, “So if you met someone, why are you so… upset?”
I take a deep breath, knowing exactly what’s about to come out of my mouth and what it’s going to do to him. “A few days ago, I... I…”
He leans back so suddenly that he almost drops his can. “Oh, no. No. You’re not… not…”
I nod. “Yes, Dad. I’m pregnant.”
He goes dead quiet. His whole body locks like he’s bracing for impact, but his jaw’s twitching like he’s biting down on an entire dictionary of curse words.
Then he explodes. “Cassy. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you? Who the fuck is it?!”
I flinch but keep going. “That’s not all.”
His nostrils flare like a bull on game day.
“I’ve kind of…been seeing the guy. Sort of...ish. And I’ve gone and... and fallen in love with him.”
