27. Marley
27
MARLEY
H old it in. Hold. It. In . I swallow down another gag, pretending to take a bite of my sweet potatoes. I’ve been looking forward to Nikki’s sweet potatoes all week, and the second Beau scoops a heaping pile onto my plate, I’m ready to upchuck all over the table.
Beau squeezes my thigh, and when he looks down at me, he has the sweetest look on his face, and I can almost read into it, read into his emotions, except I can’t react, because I’m bolting up from my chair, muttering “ excuse me” as I run through the dining room down the hall to the bathroom to puke.
I hear footsteps following me, but I slam the bathroom door shut behind me, needing the moment alone.
“Marley.” Beau’s voice is strained, worry etched into his tone.
“I’m fine,” I bite out between gags.
A few minutes later, I finish. I didn’t even puke. Just gagged and heaved up nothing. I wash my hands, and make sure I didn’t ruin my makeup.
I open the door, and Beau is there, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. His arms are crossed across his chest, giving me a glimpse of his forearms. He must’ve rolled up the sleeves to his sweater, because my eyes immediately dart to the extra bit of skin. His right arm is covered in tattoos, some of them similar to mine, but every single one is something we discussed together. The forest scene wrapped around his wrist is one of my favorites of his. We came up with the idea together.
Most of our tattoos don’t even have meaning, except for our “Dead Sea” tattoo, and my butterfly tattoo. Though, Beau doesn’t know the meaning of that one.
“We might be outed,” he says cautiously.
A sinking feeling hits my chest. I’m not ready, not yet. I don’t know how they’ll react, and some part of me fears my parents will be disappointed in me. I’m unmarried, not even in a relationship, and I’m pregnant. With my best friend’s babies nonetheless. “Can’t we just say I have the stomach flu?”
Beau looks unconvinced. “We can try, but pretty sure everyone has some sort of idea, and if not, they have questions. I can hear Gramps speculating.”
I drop my head into my hands. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
Beau wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. “I know. I know you aren’t, but we have such an amazing support system. They are going to be so happy for us,” he says.
I feel the tears instantly. “I just had this really cute idea of how I was going to tell everyone,” I blubber into his chest. “I was going to tell them at Christmas, with the ultrasound picture. I was going to photoshop little Santa hats on the babies, and it was going to be so cute.” I can’t stop the words tumbling out of my mouth. “Now they are going to find out because I can’t even look at food without hurling.”
“Shh,” Beau soothes, running his hand up and down my back. “We don’t have to tell them. We can do the Santa hats. It will be perfect.”
“No, it won’t,” I sob. “They already know, so how will it be perfect?” I know I’m being irrational and that I’m quite literally the definition of a hormonal pregnant woman, and yet, I can’t stop. My emotions are all over the place.
I’ve worked so hard on my mental health the last ten years, and one night with my best friend has all my emotions in a tizzy. It’s frustrating.
Beau leans back, moving his hand to tilt my chin up so I’m looking into those deep, all seeing eyes. “If you don’t want to tell them, we won’t, Marley. They will respect our boundaries.”
“Maybe,” I sniffle. “Maybe we just play it off. Say I have a stomach bug. If anyone questions it, or says different, we can just tell them. Yeah?” I ask, not really sure if this will work, but figuring it can’t hurt to try. I know I have no real reason to lie, to not tell them this life changing news, but god, I’m just so scared. Scared of disappointment, judgment, all of it.
What if it causes a rift between our parents? What if they think we aren’t good for each other, or won’t be good parents? It’s better if we get them excited about something first, I mean, who doesn’t love a good Christmas surprise, right? That has to be better than finding out your daughter is pregnant from her nearly upchucking all over the Thanksgiving dinner table.
“We can,” Beau agrees. “I’ll do whatever you need, butterfly.” He wipes my face, careful not to smudge I’m sure what is already destroyed makeup. With a shaky breath, I release myself from his hold, and turn to head down the long hallway. Beau walks by my side, a hand resting on the small of my back.
The room is deathly silent when we enter, everyone staring at us expectantly. Josie catches my gaze, a silent question in her eyes. I give her a reassuring smile that I’m sure looks more like a grimace and hope she doesn’t see right through me. But Josie’s too perceptive for her own good. Luckily though, she won’t bring up her conclusions, at least not in front of everyone. My gaze travels to every face in the room, taking in their looks of concern, question, and confusion.
The only one not looking at me, at us , is Lennie. Though to be fair, she’s four, so she probably only cares about the mashed potatoes and scalloped corn on her plate. I stop when I reach my mother’s face, her eyes shuttered with a concern that only a mother could bear. Looking away, I catch Gramps’ eye. He has a knowing gleam there, a sense of mischief bordering on humor in the wrinkles on his face. He’s just about to say something, I know it. Something that will surely be damning, and make me say the truth that everyone already knows.
And that is when I crack.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt, and all hell breaks loose.