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Come to think of it, she’s right. I brought her here when I decided to move to LA, when I got back with Brett, and then when I told her I’d officially broken things off withhim.
I lower my head in shame and blurt out my confession, “I’mpregnant.”
She takes a long drink of wine before giving me a response. Her brows pull in as she carefully chooses her words. “This isn’t some April Fool’s Day joke, isit?”
“It’sJune.”
I’m trying to read her, but I can’t pinpoint what’s going on in her mind. She’s not happy, but she’s notunhappy.
“How do you feel aboutthis?”
My heart thrashes in my chest, and my chin quivers. “Like an idiot.” An idiot for not using protection. Go figure, my ovaries are the .01 percent that gets pregnant while taking thepill.
“Do I know thefather?”
“It’s notBrett’s.”
A rush of relief releases from her lips. “ThankJesus.”
“It’s DallasBarnes.”
“Stella’s oldbodyguard?”
I nod. “And Hudson’s olderbrother.”
Mortification floods her face. “Isn’t he …” She grabs the glass of red wine and chugs the remainder of it down, her emerald eyes wide. “Isn’t hemarried?”
Oh, fuck. She’s afraid I’m a homewreckin’ho.
“His wife passed away almost a yearago.”
She nods slowly, digesting my answer, the familiarity of it flashing across her face like a burn. “You didn’t tell me you two weredating.”
I can’t distinguish if she’s asking a question or giving a warning. My mother knows the nightmare of never getting over your first love—a memory that bites at every inch of your body until your lastbreath.
“We’re not dating,” I answer. “It was a one-time thing. Too much whiskey, not enoughthinking.”
I take a sip of water, a breath of courage, and proceed to tell her everything minus the details of the actual baby-making, and I am unable to stop the tears from falling from my eyes … andhers.
She stretches her arm across the table to grab my hand in hers. “If Dallas wants to be in the picture, give him a chance.” Her voice is soft, caressing, a vocal hug. “He’s a father, a single one at that, who knows the responsibility of taking care of achild.”
“I’m strong, Mom.” My throat is dry, causing my words to come out raspy. “I can do this on myown.”
“Honey, I’m not denying you can, but I know from firsthand experience, it isn’t easy, doing it alone. No mother can replace the void of a father. We can both agree onthat.”
A knife slashes through my heart. The reality of what I did smacks me in the face, like I’ve been unconscious this entiretime.
I was that child, the one without a father. It was by choice for the first fifteen years. He didn’t decide he was ready to be a dad until he was diagnosed with stage five colon cancer. My mother welcomed him with open arms. Ididn’t.
He passed away at the young age of forty-one when I was sixteen. My mother forgave him at his deathbed. I didn’t. I couldn’t. The bitterness was still wrapped in my heart. I couldn’t forget all the times I’d been a jealous-filled child when I watched my friends havefathers.
Everyone has choices in their life. He chose to leave. You can’t take that shit back when you find out your time is limited, and you have no one to help you throughit.
She drops my hand and sits back in her chair, the wine now relaxing her. “Your father always wantedgrandchildren.”
I want to tell her that I don’t care what he wanted. My mom has gone through hell since he left her … bothtimes.
“I doubt that dream included a love child,” Imutter.
