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The image she paints in my head sends warmth and hope through my body. I even allow myself to think a little further ahead, to envision Maverick and I with our baby. A family of our own.
I only entertain this daydream for a few seconds before my pragmatic brain squashes it. “We haven’t even been together a month, and I’m already pregnant.” The word feels strange on my tongue, but I keep talking and try to focus. “What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him or something?”
Callie shakes her head, not even entertaining the thought. “You don’tneedto trap Maverick.” Then, like an afterthought: “If anyone’s getting trapped here, it’s you.”
As flippantly as she says it, the words still turn my veins to ice. For a moment, I wonder if I’m about to have another panic attack.
If anyone’s getting trapped here, it’s you.
And for the first time, I think I might understand my mother.
Thesunisbeginningto set by the time I pull up to my dad’s house. I’m relieved to see that Jess’s car is not here. I turn off my own car and then sit there for a minute, taking deep breaths that do little to calm my nerves. Then I fling my seatbelt away and push the door open.
The longer I sat on the bathroom floor, the clearer it became to me that I wouldn’t be able to move forward without the answers I’ve been asking for. If I thought I needed them before, it’s nothing compared to now. Maybe I’m doing the wrong thing; maybe I should have gone to Maverick first. Callie knows where I am, though, and she didn’t try to talk me out of it. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.
When I burst through the front door, Dad is sitting on the couch in the living room. A bowl of pasta is on the coffee table in front of him, and an oldSurvivorrerun is on the TV. “Zay-Zay,” he says, sounding surprised and concerned. “What are you doing here?”
I sink onto the couch beside him, grabbing a pillow to hold protectively against my chest as I take a moment to gather my thoughts. Dad grabs the remote and mutes the TV, then turns to me expectantly.
The speech I spent the ride over here preparing leaves me, and it ends up being Dad who breaks the silence. “I almost came to your apartment to talk to you,” he says. “But after you didn’t answer the phone…I wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”
Finally, I find my voice. “I would have, if you were planning to tell me the truth.” Dad leans forward, elbows on his knees, and stares at his feet. “Were you?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need to know,” I say, my voice small. “I need to know what it was like when she lived with us, and I need to know exactly why she left.”
“Azalea—”
“I already know her side of it. Tell me your side.”
Looking alarmed, he turns his body to face me fully. “What the hell do you mean, you ‘know herside’?”
“Because I tracked her down and I went to Kansas City and I talked to her.” I rush the words out before I lose my nerve, and then I sit in the oppressive silence as my father stares at me in disbelief.
Dad stands up and runs his hands down the front of his sweats. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. First, he turns the TV completely off; then he picks up his bowl of pasta, mostly full, and takes it into the kitchen. Then he’s back, looking dazed as he stands over me with his hands propped on his hips. “I need you to start from the beginning.”
“You wouldn’t tell me anything about her,” I say. “I decided to find out myself. I found one of my relatives on her side through a DNA database and talked to them on the phone. They gave me her married name, and I got her address.”
“You went to her house?”
“Yes. Earlier this month.”
He lets out a breath. “What did she—”
“She wasn’t happy to see me,” I say, and my voice begins to shake. “She told me why, but I think you already know.”
He stares at the floor.
Anger spikes in me. “Why would you lie to me?” I demand. “If you had told me she terminated her rights, if you’d told me how miserable she was being my mom, I wouldn’t have had to find that out on my own. How is this better than you just being honest with me from the start?”
“It’s not,” he admits quietly. “I know it’s not.”
“And now—” I cut myself off, then change my mind. There’s no reason not to plow forward at this point. “Now I’m in nearly the exact situation she was in. How do I know it’ll turn out any better?”
Dad looks at me, not comprehending what I’ve said. It takes a couple of seconds for his eyes to widen in realization and then flick down to my abdomen. “You’re not—”
“Yes, I am,” I interrupt. Every ounce of strength I have goes into keeping my voice steady and strong. “I just found out today. I’m pregnant.”
