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I gasp, shocked that they’ve found a way to tighten my noose further.
“And your cell phone. We won’t be paying your phone bill if you want to pretend like you’re making the mature decision here. If you want to be an adult, then you can manage all the financial ramifications that come with it.” Her chin lifts, daring me to argue.
But I won’t. Now while I watch my house of cards come crumbling down around me.
I’ve been looking for a job, applying anywhere that might take someone with a high school diploma and some experience in photography. But nothing’s come of it so far. I’m sure I’ll find something, given the time.
But Mom just took that away from me. One week? How can anyone get their feet on the ground in a week—let alone find enough stability to take care of a baby?
They’re trying to force my hand, and I know it.
Over these past few days, I’ve come to realize a hard truth. My parents don’t care what I want. I’m not sure they even care what’s best for me. They think they know what’s best for our family. And they intend to make me see it their way.
It doesn’t matter if this baby is my sole reason for being.
If I don’t even have a car, how am I supposed to go somewhere I can afford to live? If I don’t have a phone or a place to call home, how are potential employers supposed to get a hold of me? The small amount of money I have to my name—and not at all tied to my parents in some way—won’t sustain me for long.
And now I have a week to turn this nightmare into a doable reality.
“Please, just give me a few months,” I plead. If I work my ass off, maybe I can afford a cheap car by then. I can find somewhere inexpensive to live. My initial thoughts had been New Jersey, but I might have to research the most affordable places to live in the US and go from there.
“Absolutely not. You’ll be showing by then. If you insist on having this child, then we want you out of this house. You’re lucky we’re giving you a week—”
“Molly!” Dad calls from down the stairs, the front door closing a moment later.
Mom gives me a final stern look before turning and exiting the room. “I’m up here!” I hear her say from the other side of my door, her footsteps swiftly heading toward the stairs.
My situation keeps going from bad to worse.
Groaning, I bury my face in my hands. How has my life fallen apart so completely in such a short amount of time? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to take care of my own baby. I desperately wish that Efrem were here with me.
We never really talked about having a family together. I figured we had plenty of time for that conversation once I was ready. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that he would have made the most wonderful dad. He was always so sweet and tender with Isla.
It tears at my heart to imagine a tiny baby cradled in his massive arms.
What I wouldn’t give for his steady confidence, his ever-present ability to reassure me. I can’t believe how much I’d come to rely on him in this short time of dating. Then again, I never really put myself out there before Efrem, always content to remain my parents’ child, sheltered from the world and reality.
And now that I’ve seen what I was hiding from—and have no Efrem to protect me—all I want to do is return to my childhood. But I can’t. I have my own baby to think of now. Efrem’s baby. And since he’s not here to help me, I have to do this on my own.
I only allow myself a minute to wallow.
Then, sitting up, I turn back to my laptop—another thing I’m sure I’ll need to leave behind when I go.
I’ve looked up what it costs to just have a child. Seeing as my parents won’t keep paying my health insurance, I’ll have to pay out of pocket for the check-ups and the hospital visit. I desperately need to find a job—and now a car.
I’d been sending out applications most of the afternoon, something that seems rather a waste of time now, if I can’t stay with my parents. All the places I’d applied to were nearby, and I won’t be able to stay in Brooklyn without my parents’ help.
I bite down on my thumbnail—or try to—all my nails have been gnawed to stubs in the past few days as I’ve tried to find a liveable plan for me and my child. All the while, I feel trapped in a cage of my own making.
I should have established my independence earlier and struck out on my own financially. But I never imagined my parents would take things this far. I can’t tell anymore if they’re being so hard on me because they’re trying to do what’s best for me or if their sole motivation is to protect my dad’s run for governor.
I suspect they don’t even know anymore.
Whatever their reasons, I want out. I want to be as far away from them as I can get. I don’t intend for them to be a part of their grandchild’s life—or mine. But making my desires into a reality is proving near impossible with the current price of living and the average income I have a chance of earning nearly straight out of high school and with no former work experience of note.
Providing for a child on top of that feels like it’s completely outside my reality.
But I’m determined to make it happen.
