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Just as my dad sits down, my mom, with rosy cheeks too, makes a comment, “Anyone else have any more surprises before we call it a night?”
She can’t know.
Can she?
“Do you know the gender yet?” Sam asks.
A knife hits a plate. I thought he directed that towards Rose, but no, Poppy’s husband is looking me straight in the eye. His mouth slowly drops, watching Poppy make a motion like stop, cut it out, leave the subject now, Sam.
“Never mind,” he says quickly.
I brave a look towards my parents.
Wide-eyed, my mom has her hand to her throat like she’s choking.
My father is as pale as the tablecloth.
“Surprise,” I say with quaky lightheartedness. “I’m pregnant.” Please don’t be mad.
Tough crowd. Dead silence. I’m bringing my A game. Ryke hugs me closer in comfort, our chairs practically a bench.
My mom now has her fingers to her mouth. “Are you positive?” she asks.
I nod again. “I’m ten-weeks.”
She immediately stands, doesn’t even ask who knows. Tears brim, and she comes behind my chair and gives me a side-hug. She even kisses my cheek.
Because she thought I couldn’t get pregnant. “I’m so happy for you, honey.” She strokes my hair, and I rub my eyes that start to water, overwhelmed by her response.
My dad is still in shock, I think. “How…I thought you couldn’t…”
“We’ve been trying for a fucking year,” Ryke explains, no more silence on our part. We’re really doing this. Right before our wedding.
We’re really, really crazy.
DAISY CALLOWAY
My dad slowly and then more rapidly shakes his head. “You’re only twenty-one, Daisy.”
He had Poppy when he was in his early twenties, but he won’t cop to that. He’ll say, it’s different. I had built the Fizzle empire by then. I had a stable, flourishing career. You have nothing.
He continues, “You have your whole life for babies. This isn’t you. You’ve never been this type of girl. You could never just stay at home with a baby.” Never is an awfully strong word.
All of my sisters start talking over each other to defend me, their voices muddled together.
I can’t pick apart words, but Rose is pointing her finger, yellow-green eyes pierced at our dad.
“Hey!” Ryke yells, cutting into the cacophony. Everyone immediately quiets. “Let Daisy fucking talk.”
Rose looks a little apologetic, and she’s the first to wave me on.
“I am ready,” I tell my dad. “And I’m not just a single type of girl. I’m not just Daisy Calloway, the girl who dives off cliffs. Or Daisy Calloway, the girl who jumps into the ocean without a life vest. I’m so much more than that, and I want a family.” I fight tears. “I want a little girl or boy to smile at me just because.” I can almost see it far off, the unconditional love I want to give and the joy I want to share—and it’s just a simple vision.
It’s just Ryke on a hammock. It’s just me sitting beside him. Our baby in our arms.
Happy.
Why can’t I have that? Why can only certain girls be “meant” for something? It shouldn’t be bad to want to be a mom. It shouldn’t be bad to want to only have a career. It shouldn’t be bad to strive for both or nothing at all.
We all should just be what we want to be.
I tell my dad, “I don’t know how to show you that I’m not a little girl choosing the next hot fad or that in a month’s time I’ll be so totally over babies. This past year, I could’ve changed my mind. It would’ve been easier because…” I wipe my eyes. “…because it was so hard to reach this point.”
My dad puts his hand to his lips. I can’t tell if he’s distraught or just shocked again. He turns towards Ryke.
“No,” I say, quickly capturing his attention again. “This was my choice as much as it was his. He didn’t have to convince me of anything.”
I’m not defined by backflips and racing toy cars down the road. Do you hear me, Dad? Please.
He’s staring at the napkin in his lap.
“I’m building a camp,” I let this out, and the table collectively inhales like Jesus Christ, Daisy—are you trying to give your father a goddamn heart attack. Okay, so that’s probably just Lo’s thoughts.
“A what?” my dad asks.
“A summer camp for young girls and boys. The cabins are actually being built right now.”
Worry pales his face. “You didn’t use your trust fund…”
“I used all the money I’d made from modeling, but I’m responsible and I do have some goals.” I thought, maybe, this would be more appealing to him than the baby aspect.
Instead, he touches his forehead like his brain is about to explode.
My mom peels away from my chair and hurries to his side. “Let’s discuss this when we return to Philadelphia.” She had no idea about the summer camp, but I think she’s so happy about my pregnancy that it’s of no matter to her. “We have an early morning, Greg. Let’s head in for the night.” She helps him stand, and Jonathan pushes his own chair from the table, following his friend.
It’s ten o’clock.
“Goodnight,” my dad tells everyone, and his eyes flit to me with too much emotion to unbury. “We’ll talk later?”
I mutter a word in agreement.
Ryke whispers in my ear, “It’s not fucking ruined.”
I nod, trying to believe our wedding is still how we imagined. It is. It is.
My dad and Jonathan leave, but my mom lingers for a second.
“You shouldn’t stay up too late either.” She hones in on Ryke, as if instilling this declaration into him: don’t keep my precious little Daisy up past the witching hour, Mr. Meadows.
She wouldn’t say it like that, but it sounds cool in my head. And I feel a little better.
Tomorrow you’re getting married, Daisy.
Tomorrow will be one of the happiest days of your life.
Come back, butterflies.
“We’re not spending the fucking night together,” Ryke says in defense.
I smile at the way he says that. His fingers disappear in my hair, and my stomach flutters. Good feelings. Everyone has reminded me of “tradition” for the night before my wedding, and I kind of like the theory of staying in separate rooms.
Reality can be scarier, just because we’re in a foreign place. I peek beneath the table…
There’s Coconut, sleeping close to Sully’s feet. She’s fond of him, and she opens her eyes, as though she can feel mine on her pretty baby blues.
“Hey there,” I whisper. I’m glad you’re here too.
She helps me feel safe.
“I’ll let Greg know that,” my mom says, as though to butter up her sullen husband with “good” news. “Who’s coming to the ceremony tomorrow?”
Ryke lists out the few friends that we do have and trust. Garrison, Frederick, my grandparents (the ones well enough to make the trip), and Eddie—one of Ryke’s oldest climbing friends from Costa Rica, who only speaks Spanish.
Before she leaves, she says, “Congratulations, Daisy.” She smiles at me once more, which encourages my smile to return. I watch her hike up towards the lodge.
And all that remains at the table: Willow, Sully, my sisters, their husbands and children. Jane and Moffy are both yawning in high chairs, and Maria fell asleep when servers brought out dessert, her cheek on her father’s arm.
“I’m so sorry, Daisy,” Sam immediately says. “I thought—I don’t know why—but I thought you already told them.” He seems really upset and guilt-ridden.
Lo says, “Don’t be surprised if we all put coal in your stocking next Christmas.”
I laugh.
The entire table eases, just by the genuine sound coming from my lips.
Ryke watches me carefully. I have to push past this, and I will talk to my dad later, before bed. Just private words to reiterat
e the same thing.
I shrug at him, “It is what it is, right?”
“Right,” he says firmly. He’s always told me that I can’t change the way my dad feels. He’s going to feel what he fucking feels.
I think I’m just happy that I spoke for me. No one else had to.
Poppy suddenly gasps, fingers to her mouth, startled by something on her cellphone. “Oh God.”
Rose plucks it from her hand, her gaze tightening.
I love the sidetrack. It also gives me good reason to move around. I spring from my seat, walking to the other side of the table.
“What is it?” Lily scoots her chair closer to Rose.
The guys are all mouthing things to each other, and even Sully has joined in, one of the few men sitting on the side with my sisters.
Don’t let television and movies fool you.
Boys share secrets as much as girls.
Rose’s eyes are unfamiliarly bright with glee. I stand behind her, hands on her chair, but I’m partially distracted by Lo, who tosses his silverware on his dish, the clatter making me jump.
“Were you in Forbes again?” Lo asks. “Or did Satan finally name you his successor?”
Her yellow-green eyes puncture a hole in his forehead. “Go choke on your dessert.”
“You were in Forbes?” Sam asks sincerely.
Lo cocks his head. “Seriously, where have you been? She printed like fifteen copies of the magazine article. I’m surprised she didn’t slip them underneath your door in the middle of the fucking night.”
Connor interjects, “Being ranked in Forbes 30 Under 30 is a rare and prestigious achievement. It deserves all the fanfare.”
