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He was correct. I hadn’t read it thoroughly.
Then Jacob got sick. It was just a fever, but when I came home from a shift one day and Bet was pacing, and the boys were screaming, and Jacob’s little face was red and flushed, I rushed us all to the hospital, not caring how much it would cost.
It turned out to be a cold, and within a few days, he was fine. But my bank account took a hit.
I watched with dismay as my account decreased more rapidly than it increased. June passed and July came, and I bathed them in cool water because the air conditioning didn’t keep up. Bet stopped answering my calls. Anna came by sometimes, but I was running out of money and couldn’t get enough coverage for my shifts at the café.
And I wasso. bloody. tired.
How am I going to sustain this through next semester,I wondered. I barely had time to care for the boys and work enough to pay my bills and eat, let alone go to school. I did the only thing I knew to do; I pulled out of my classes for next semester. Maybe I could pick them up in the spring. But how would I afford to live here until then?
I had no choice. I had to, because I had two, living, breathing, tiny, helpless boys counting on me.
A few days into the month of August, my landlord banged on my door again and told me my rent was late. I checked my account; I was short by several hundred dollars, and I needed groceries.
I was scared.
With a sinking realization, I concluded that I had no other choice but to call my parents and ask them for help. I already knew I couldn’t go to school next semester, but if I could find some coverage for my shifts, I could work, and I could survive.
Could I go home?
I knew my parents loved me in their own way, but I could not live under my father’s thumb, or subject myself to my mother’s ridicule and self-centered fantasies, especially while I was taking care of my sons.I swore I’d never go back there,I told myself.They’ll mock me and lecture me.
But what if I had no choice? Mom could watch the boys while I worked, and maybe I would actually get some sleep every once in a while. Nursing the two of them made me hungry constantly, and even though I felt like I ate my weight in food, they boys were big eaters, and I still had to supplement with formula to keep them full.
I hated the idea of calling my parents and asking for help, let alone a refuge. They’d always drilled into me that I was smart, and talented, and strong… though sometimes I think they weretrying to convince themselves. My dad’s warning, and challenge not to fail, came back into my mind.
But I didn’t have a choice. Whether I failed or not, I was broke, and was going to get kicked out if I didn’t do something, and my babies were relying on me to do hard things so they could survive. I swallowed my pride a few days later, and called my father to tell him the truth.
“I got pregnant,” I said.
“You…ugh.” A long pause. I could visualize him pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “How far along are you?”
“I… gave birth in May.”
“Maria Jennifer Steel. You…idiot.”
I winced, waiting for the shouting and the lecture… but it never came. I heard him sigh heavily. “What do you need?”
His words were like a glass of cold water. Maybe, in a way, I’d called my dad’s bluff. I did fuck up, and he was still going to help me out.
“I… I’m short on my rent,” I stammered. “I have a job at a diner nearby, and I’m working some shifts when Anna can watch the boys, but… sometimes she can’t. And… well, I got fired from my other job. I can’t leave them alone. They’re only barely twelve weeks old!”
“They?”
“Twins. I had twins.”
He cut me off before I could tell him their names. “This was very stupid of you, Maria. Youshould nothave had those babies.”
My throat closed up and I choked.
“You should have done the responsible thing, and had an abortion. Or given them up. Now look at you; you can’t work, you can’t pay your rent, and you’re a single mom of two boys. What happened to you?”
How dare he.
My vision went red, and I couldn’t speak. I knew if I opened my mouth, I would scream at him, and he would hang up. Hot tears rolled down my face and I struggled to breathe. How dare he question my decision to keep my children? How dare he even consider that his opinion held any weight in what should have happened to their lives?
But I knew my dad. If I snapped at him, he’d hang up the phone and leave me on my own for disrespecting him, to ‘teach me a lesson,’ and then mock me when I showed up at his door. Oh, he’d let me in, but he’d make sure I felt thoroughly humiliated in the process.
