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“Jesus. I just-Bridge, we need a plan.”
She turned my way. She looked so lost. “Thanks for helping me, Spence.”
“Please, Bridge. Your problems are my problems,” I said, hitting the gas.
We sat in the car at the end of our street, staring at our parents’ monstrous house. I listened quietly to Bridge’s crying. I tried comforting her, but it did no good.
“We’ll get it over with,” I said.
“I want to wait until after Christmas. It’ll kill Mama.”
“No, we tell them tonight. The sooner, the better. I’ll be able to defuse it better the more time I have.”
“So you’re going back to Brown after all this?”
I looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I just thought you’d want to stick around for a little while.”
“Bridge, Dad’s not gonna let you keep it.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m going to.”
“Let’s see what happens.” He would never let her keep it.
“No, I need us to be united on this front, Spence. I need to know that when I stand up to Dad you’ll be there to back me up. I need support.” He still wouldn’t let her keep it.
“Fine, Bridge.”
I parked in my spot and got out, Bridge following right behind me. When I opened the front door, Mom and Dad were in the main living room. Mom was on the floor sweeping up shards of a liquor decanter, and Dad was on the sofa with a paper in his hands. Something had transpired, and Dad had won as always.
Mom stood up, quickly swiping under her eyes. “Oh, kids!” she said with false excitement. “How was dinner?”
“Okay,” I said. “You all right?” I asked.
“Fine. Fine. Just fine,” she spat out quickly, standing and leaving the glass in the pan on the floor.
“Uh, listen,” I said, shoving a nervous Bridge into the seat opposite from Dad.
I sat next to her, but Mom didn’t make a move to sit next to him. He was obviously ignoring all of us. She picked a chair to our right and sat. My dad got up, his nose still in the paper, and started making his way to his office.
“Dad,” I said, and he turned around, stunned I’d disturbed him. “Yes, I know, but you need to hear this.”
His scowl would have burned holes through me if I wasn’t so used to it and if we didn’t have something so dire to tell them. Plus, around the age of sixteen, I noticed he’d become aware of my size and he’d stopped manhandling me. I could be a serious threat if I needed to be, and he knew it.
He sat, crossed his legs and folded the paper across his lap.
“Bridge,” I said, opening the floor for her.
My mother, distracted before, finally noted Bridge’s puffy eyes and red nose. “Bridget, honey, are you all right?”
The tears started streaming anew, but she stayed my mom with a hand when she attempted to comfort her. “I’m fine, well, not fine, but I have something to tell you both.”
She took a deep, cleansing breath and I sat forward, fists clenched, preparing for the inevitable blowup from my father.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
The quiet was deafening.
