Chapter 32
Màma and Pàpa are already at the designated spot by the merry-go-round when I get off the bus with Lily in a front carrier against my chest.
The reason I chose this location is that there’s a discreet bench hidden from sight by shrubbery. It’s always vacant because people forget it’s there.
My parents might need it in a few moments.
Lily and I arrived in Alsace last night and went straight to the hotel.
I called my parents this morning. Màma answered the phone.
I asked if she and Pàpa could meet me later today in the town hall park.
Màma had a hard time accepting I’d stopped at a nearby hotel.
I told her it was because I’d come to Estheim with someone they were about to meet.
She was silent for a long moment, processing my declaration.
Then she informed me, her voice tight, that he could sleep in the guest bedroom in the house.
I didn’t dare scandalize her further by saying it was a she.
As I get nearer, I can see my parents squint in my direction, bewilderment written all over their faces.
This isn’t going to be easy.
“Meet Lily,” I say after Pàpa greets me with a tight embrace and Màma with her customary forehead kiss.
They pet her.
“She’s adorable,” Màma says. “Are you babysitting for someone?”
I shake my head. “Lily is mine.”
They blink, take a step back and plonk themselves down on the bench.
“Is that a joke?” Pàpa asks.
“No,” I say. “I had her in Martinique, and I’ve been too chicken to tell you.”
For several endless moments, they just stare at Lily and me without saying a word.
Then Màma takes a sharp breath. “Who’s the father?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Pàpa yells.
Wow.
I had to reach my late twenties to have my father yell at me.
Màma looks so shocked and confused as she peers at Lily that my heart goes to her.
“I wanted you to meet her before we return to Martinique,” I say.
She levels her gaze with mine. “What? Why?”
There’s a tightness in my chest threatening to transform into waterworks any minute. I must say my piece before it does.
“There’s something else you need to know about me,” I blurt out.
Pàpa drops his head into his hands.
“When I was in college,” I say, “I did something stupid, really stupid, and now there’s a video out there… and someone is going to post it on the Internet… and also email it to you.”
They survey me, wide-eyed, as though they were wondering if the woman in front of them was indeed their daughter.
“Please don’t open it,” I say, my voice on the verge of cracking. “Please don’t watch that video.”
They say nothing.
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms to delay the tears.
“How could you—,” Pàpa begins.
“I’m so sorry,” I butt in. “I’m sorry I turned out to be such a disappointment. Please don’t blame yourselves, and please know I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just wanted to say… I love you.”
I spin around, nearly choking on the pent-up tears, and scoot to the bus stop.