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But I have to think of my baby now, and Dad’s right.
My parents can give me stability. They’ve been through this before—they know what to expect.
They can help me, and I won’t pretend like I’m not scared of what’s going to happen.
To my body, to my life.
Even Angelo knows it’s true.
I shouldn’t give up my dreams for him.
Dad keeps steering me and I keep walking, moving woodenly. I want to turn back and go to Angelo, to kiss him, hug him, tell him that everything’s okay, tell him that he can be the father of this child if that’s what he wants, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
All my life, I’ve tried to do what’s right.
I’ve followed the rules.
Even when the rules chafe against who I really am.
I’ve done it because it’s right.
And I’ll do it again now.
Right now, at my lowest, at my worst, I’ll do the right thing.
For my baby.
Even if it kills me.
Chapter 23
Sara
My old bedroom has pink walls.
The desk is the same. The bed is the same. It’s amazing how much my parents didn’t bother to change things. My ancient CDs are still in the closet along with my iPod and the typewriter I bought at a flea market when I was fifteen and thought I wanted to be a poet. Old jeans are piled on top of a shelf.
It only takes three days at home with my parents until I start to feel like I never left.
Like I’m the same girl I was back when I last lived here.
The first morning was the worst. My mother’s quiet scorn could’ve burned a hole in a steel wall. She kept looking at me and shaking her head and mumbling about babies out of wedlock. I wanted to melt into the floor and never come back.
Except she also made me doctor’s appointments. She got me prenatal vitamins and asked how I felt and talked about her own pregnancy and what I can expect.
Her disappointment is palpable, but it also feels good to have someone around that understands what I’m going through.
That first morning, I told them in no uncertain terms that I am not going to terminate this pregnancy.
I am keeping my baby.
Dad wasn’t happy, but Mom seemed more understanding.
And now we have a truce. My parents accept that this baby is coming, but so long as I stay here and listen to their advice, they aren’t forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do.
I feel like a sullen teenager.
I feel pathetic and stupid, not at all the impressive lawyer I pretended to be.
It’s like I’ve reverted to my old self again.
And I hate it. I hate the way I keep my head down and listen when Mom goes on and on about how distasteful men like Angelo are and how they’re all absentee fathers. I despise the condescending way my father explains how my life is going to be different from now on, and how he’s the only reason I’ll even survive having this baby. I hate feeling like I’m trapped, like I have no other options, like my life isn’t exactly my own anymore.
And most of all, I hate thinking about the look on Angelo’s face.
The pure rage. The total broken sadness. The pain.
I don’t know how long I’ll survive here, but I’m trying. For my baby, I’m trying.
My phone rings and I answer right away just to have something to distract me for a few pathetic seconds. I’d talk to anyone right about now. I’d listen to someone explain how my social security number was canceled or how my car’s extended warranty is nearly over if it means not thinking about my baby, about Angelo, about everything I’m giving up.
“Sara? Hey, how are you?”
Brice’s voice. Warm and slightly concerned. Fear blossoms in my chest. I’ve been ignoring her calls and texts, like I’ve been ignoring the dozens of calls and texts from Angelo, and now she finally caught me. I’m terrified of what she’s about to say. I betrayed her and Carmine almost as much as I betrayed Angelo.
“Hey, Brice,” I say and curl up on my bed. I do my best to keep the terror from my voice. “Sorry I haven’t been easy to get ahold of lately.”
“Yeah, seriously. Where have you been?”
I chew my lip, considering what I should tell her, but I opt for the truth. “I’m home with my parents right now. Things haven’t… they haven’t been going so well.”
Brice is quiet for a second. “Angelo spoke with Carmine.”
“How much do you know?” Dread pits my stomach.
“Mostly everything, I think. Can I come see you? Can we talk?”
I close my eyes. Tears threaten to spill down, but I push them back. “Yeah, I think that’d be a good idea.” I can explain to her. I can make her understand.
