Camden
It’s graduation day. Holy shit. It’s graduation day.
We made it. I listen to LeAnn’s valedictorian speech as she stands up before the crowd, talking about the future and making the world better. My eyes drift to Kingston in his black cap and gown, that great big smile on his face as he whoops and cheers for LeAnn with the rest of the crowd.
I can’t believe we made it, that these kids I grew up with are all adults and now about to go out into the world—even if it’s just this small town and not the great big world out there. It’s still change. And most of them look excited, though some look scared, but it’s all happening together.
They don’t really know me, not a huge part of me.
But they know I broke my leg when I was ten, on a dare from Kingston, jumping off a barn.
They know Oakley’s first kiss was with Alyssa Peterson behind that same barn in seventh grade.
They know my dad left, and so did Kennedy’s. We all know so much about each other.
We’re bonded forever.
And I was fooling myself, believing I could leave and never look back, because there are so many memories here.
Good memories.
I take a deep breath, and we toss our hats into the air, cheering and hollering. We’re all greeted by our families and familiar faces. Congratulated by the faculty who’s known us since we were tiny kids.
And then it’s over. We all get into our cars and drive to our homes, to our own individual family parties—although mine is meshed with Kingston’s party at his house.
It’s a surreal feeling.
We’re setting up for the picnic out in the backyard when Mrs. Kingston asks me to go help my mom in the kitchen, and that’s when I find her. Huddled in the corner by the fridge, sobbing quietly. “Mom?” My voice cracks on the question.
She looks up at me, startled and wiping at her wet eyes, trying to play it off as she pushes off the counter. “Hey, sweetie. I was just finishing the potato salad.”
I’m not letting her brush this off. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She forces a smile, but I know it’s not nothing. Something’s wrong.
“What’s going on? Please tell me,” I plead, stepping closer.
Her eyes meet mine, and she wipes at her cheeks again, smearing her mascara. “I don’t want to do this to you today.” She cups my face in her small, soft hands. “I want this to be only your day and a happy day. I’m so, so proud of you, Camden.”
I place one of my hands over one of hers. “I know you are. But you need to tell me what’s going on. It’s okay.”
God, I hope it’s okay.
“I’m pregnant,” she says the absolute last thing I thought she was going to say, and I swear all the blood drains from my face. My hands shake at my sides because she didn’t just say that. She couldn’t have just said what I think she said.
“What?” I barely make the word come out.
“I’m so sorry, Camden. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I can’t believe it happened.”
I just stare at her. How could she do this? It’s not fair. She’s pregnant again? I’m glad she had Lucy, more than glad. I love my little sister. But another baby? How the hell is she going to raise another kid on her own? “Who?” I clear my throat. “With who?”
She waves me off, her tears streaming down her face. “It doesn’t matter.”
I scoff angrily, too angrily because she’s still my mom, and she’s a good mom, but I cannot believe this. “It does matter. Is this one going to stick around? Is he going to help out with his kid? Or is he going to be like my dad? And Lucy’s dad? What the fuck, Mom?”
My voice rises, and she winces, but she doesn’t yell back. She looks so ashamed and so sad that all I want to do is make it better for her. “I’m so sorry, Camden. No, he doesn’t know.”
“You haven’t even told him yet?”
She shakes her head and sniffs. “I’m not telling him. He’s already gone. It doesn’t matter.”
I stare at her, overwhelming rage flowing through me. Disappointment and worry. How can this be happening?
I’m almost free.
“I’m not telling him.”
“What do you mean you’re not telling him?” She can’t be serious. This can’t be happening.
“I mean I’m not telling him, Camden. I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be fine.” I’m furious now. “How? How the hell are you going to be fine with a five-year-old and an infant all alone?”
“I’ve made it work.” She’s defensive now, though she’s still crying, and I hate it. I hate that I still want to make it okay. I hate this part of me that always wants to make it okay because it’s not at all okay.
“You made it work because of me, Mom.” I point to my chest, saying it a little too loudly.
“I . . . I—” she stutters, and I interrupt.
“I made it work. I balanced school and practice and part-time jobs. Just small nothing jobs on the side. Everything. But I made it work. You can’t do this on your own.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Don’t talk to me like that, Camden. I did the best I could.” She’s full-on sobbing now and goddammit.
I walk toward her, pulling her into a hug because she looks so lost and broken. Because she’s taken care of me, and I know she didn’t expect my dad to just leave. I know she’s lonely.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” I say, even though I don’t feel it.
I feel my future drifting away from me.
Because how the hell can I leave her like this? Especially if she won’t tell the father that he’s going to be a father.
I can’t.
I know I can’t.
And this hurts worse than any pain I’ve ever felt.