I lifted my eyes to the window behind the altar. “You really messed up this time,” I muttered under my breath. “Or is it just that you don’t care?” I’d never thought much about a higher power. We didn’t attend church regularly when I was growing up; as a matter of fact, the only times I remembered going was when my father’s mom, who was deeply religious, had come for her occasional visits. Maybe a few Christmases and Easters here and there, too.
But I didn’t doubt that there was some sort of wisdom that had set this world in motion. And if that wisdom had had any part of my current predicament, then clearly the power was capricious. Maybe even cruel.
Still, something shifted deep within me as I sat in the chapel. I didn’t have any answers, no reason why this had happened, and I didn’t experience a change in my strong belief that women should have autonomy over their bodies and their choices. But maybe my choice was going to be different than I’d thought.
Maybe I was going to see this through and carry the baby until I could make some other woman a mother. Maybe that would give all of this craziness some sort of meaning.
Maybe I was going to have a baby.
* * *
“Willow.”
My mother’s voice was almost a whisper, a broken, unbelieving murmur as she stared at me across the living room. Her eyes were wide, shocked and already filling with tears.
Next to her, my father was silent. His gaze hadn’t moved from my face in the seconds since I’d said the words that I knew were going to change all of our lives.
“When did this happen?” Mom recovered enough to ask the first pertinent question. “Was it while you were at school? Is the—the father still in Europe?”
I shook my head, swallowing over a lump in my throat. “No. I didn’t—it didn’t happen until after I came back to the US. I had no idea . . . I mean, I never imagined . . .”
“Who is the father?” My dad’s voice was hard, but I knew that his harshness was reserved for whatever man had done this to his little girl. Later, he might acknowledge the part that I’d played, but for now, he was ready to hunt down the person he blamed.
“It’s . . . he was someone I met at a party. I went out with Vi and Cindy the night before I came up here, remember?” I dropped my eyes. “That’s when it happened. I just—I didn’t think—it was supposed to be just casual. One night. We didn’t even tell each other our last names.”
“Have you talked to Violet and Cindy?” my mother demanded. “If it was a party with their friends, they must know who—he is.” She emphasized the pronoun with distaste.
“He wasn’t from around the college, Mom. He was passing through and had come with a friend.” I tried to think of how to talk about him without letting slip Dean’s identity. “But he was a nice guy. Neither of us liked what was going on at the party, and he drove me back to Vi and Cindy’s house.”
“But clearly, that wasn’t the end of it.” My mom dropped her head into her hands. “Willow, you’re not a child. You know better.” She lifted her eyes to mine. “We talked about safe sex and responsibility from the time you were ten years old. I wanted you to be informed, to be able to protect yourself.”
“I did! We did!” I protested. “I promise. I’m not an idiot, Mom. I was safe. But I guess . . .” I shrugged. “I guess even being careful isn’t enough.”
“Abstinence is the only sure form of birth control,” my dad intoned, and it was almost comical. In any other situation, I would have giggled. But tonight, none of us cracked a smile.
“I know.” I nodded. “And I realize that you both are going to need some time to get used to this and digest it, and you have every right to ask me any question you want, or yell at me, or whatever you want to do.” A sob rose up from my chest and threatened to choke me. “But in the end, blaming me or—the guy, or what kind of protection we used is sort of a moot point. The reality is that I’m pregnant, and no amount of looking backwards is going to change that.”
“What are you going to do?” My mother blinked, and I knew she too was on the verge of crying. “Have you thought about your plans?”
“Yes. Honestly, for the past couple of weeks, this has been all Icouldthink about. I was leaning toward . . . you know.” I rolled my hand. “Termination. Just making it all go away.”
My parents were silent.
“But I don’t think I want to do that. I think . . . I want to go ahead and finish the pregnancy. I’m considering adoption.”
Relief fell over my father’s face. “That’s a very wise and mature choice, Willow,” he began. “I know you didn’t plan for this, but to be able to help another family—”
“Wait a minute.” Mom held up one hand. “Are you sure about this, Willow? I mean, Daddy’s right, and it’s a noble idea, but right now, you have no idea what it’s going to be like to carry a baby for months, go through labor and childbirth, and then hand that little baby over to someone else. You cannot imagine what that would be like.”
“Patty.” Dad sounded pained. “You can’t imagine what our daughter’s life will be if she is forced into parenthood at this point.”
“Willow isn’t a high school drop-out, John. She’s got not only her bachelor’s but also her master’s degree. She can get a job to support herself.” Mom drew herself up. “Also, she’s not alone.”
“Of course, she isn’t,” my dad agreed. “And we’ll stick by her no matter what.” He turned to face me again. “You hear that, kiddo? Mom and I are with you.” He paused, and I could see the struggle on his face as he tried to articulate what he was thinking. “This . . . it isn’t what we would have chosen for you. In the perfect world we all want for our kids, you would get the job you want at a great school, and you’d earn your doctorate before you found an incredible job . . . and then you’d meet the right guy, fall in love, get married, and start a family. But life isn’t perfect.”
“No, it isn’t. And things don’t always happen for us in the order we might prefer.” My mother nodded. “That doesn’t mean that your life is over.”
“It doesn’t,” Dad said. “Far from it. There are so many worse things that could be happening to you.” He reached for my mother’s hand. “We know people our age whose kids are addicted to drugs. Others have lost children to accidents or illness or mental health issues. This—” He pointed at me. “This isn’t that. This is a big deal, for sure. It’s scary, and I hate that you’ve been walking around for weeks, carrying it on your own.”
