Chapter Thirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Two
Riley
My dad finally clues in that this isn’t a joke. His arms drop from my mom’s waist and he steps beside her. His face is ashen. My heart sinks like the Titanic. I can’t tell if they’re in shock, disappointed, or both. Probably both, if I had to guess. The room is silent and only the announcers from the hockey channel are chatting away in the background. A warm hand wraps around mine and squeezes, and I turn to look at Elissa gratefully.
“Mom? Dad?” I say weakly. My mom shakes her head in confusion. Her eyes are squinting and her nose is wrinkled.
“You’re…pregnant?” she says, not quite believing what I’m saying.
“Um…yep.” I stand and walk around the counter so they can see me clearly. I lift the soft blue Abercrombie Fitch sweater up, revealing my tiny swollen belly. It looks more like I’m housing a taco baby in there, but it really is a baby. I look at my mom and dad with worried eyes and I hold my breath, waiting for them to say something. My dad is just standing there, stunned. My mom clasps her hands over her mouth and tears spring to her eyes. Chills wash over me and anxiety prickles at my skin while my heart stutters a few times in my chest.
“Please say something,” I say weakly, my voice breaking. I’m so scared. I knew this was going to happen. I knew they were going to be upset. My mom sidesteps my dad, heading straight for me. She falls to her knees in front of me, places her hand on my stomach, and I freeze. What the hell is going on? Her smooth hands caress my baby bump, and she rubs the entire surface of where the baby is growing, then sidles her head up against my stomach, and says in a low, soft tone, “Hi baby. I’m your Gramma.”
Tears form in my eyes and are seconds away from streaming down my face as I am doused in relief. Elissa was right. Elissa is always right. My mom is on her knees, talking to my belly and saying all kinds of cute, wonderful things about how much she already loves it. My lip quivers as I hold back my tears, and I look to my dad. His eyes are misty and his lips are pressed together in a tight line. His brows are furrowed, and he looks mad, but his face is otherwise soft and mushy. My dad looks so fragile right now. If anything else were to happen, he might just break.
“Daddy?” My voice is small, but it carries throughout the quiet room. He inhales a deep breath, and it stutters like he’s hyperventilating. His cheeks puff out and he’s holding his breath, and once he can’t hold it any longer, he lets it out as tears start rolling down his cheeks. He strides over to me, pulls my mom up to her feet, and encloses us both in a crushing embrace. I’ve never felt so loved and accepted as I do in this moment.
Elissa and I head to our rooms for the night shortly after my confession, because that long drive was tiring and I’m incredibly tired all the time. Growing a human is exhausting. And I know everyone says that, but holy fuck, is it ever true. The door clicks shut behind me and I drag my exhausted feet across the carpeted room to my suitcase, which my father has generously brought up to my room and set down on the bed. I extract some of my comfiest Roots heathered sweatpants and a soft, buttery sweater, then slip between the sheets of the bed, snuggling in deep.
···
Sunlight streams into my room, warming my face. I groan, rolling over to look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 10 AM already, and I still feel like a zombie. A light knock sounds on my door and my mother’s voice floats through the door.
“Riley, we have breakfast ready downstairs.”
“’Kay, Mom. Be down in a sec,” I respond groggily. My hands swipe the sleep from my eyes and I reach over and grab my phone off the nightstand. There’s a new message waiting from Rhys.
Rhys: Hey, can we meet up today and talk?
Another groan escapes my lips. Thankfully, we’re not in Toronto, and I don’t have to deal with him right now.
Me: I’m visiting my parents this weekend. Won’t be back for a few days. I guess we can talk then.
I chuck my phone back onto my nightstand and slide my ass out of bed, my socked feet planting firmly on the carpeted floor. I shuffle my way to the washroom, and I’m overwhelmed with the clean scent — it smells like waterfalls and chlorine. My feet make no noise as I glide across the tiled floor of the washroom and make use of the new en suite in my bedroom at my parents’ new house.
I wriggle into a bra and finger-comb my hair to detangle it before heading downstairs for breakfast. As I descend the stairs, I am met with the mouthwatering smells of bacon, scones, eggs, toast, and coffee. My parents are chatting away with Elissa and her bronze hair is tumbling down her back in loose, tangled, flat curls. Her legs are crossed at the ankle, hanging off the stool at the counter, one foot looping through the footrest. The room is dim, with only a few lights on overhead of the counter. I look to my left and the giant windows exhibit a gloomy, rainy day. That wasn’t part of the forecast.
“Ah, good morning sleepyhead! Look who’s finally up!” my mom chimes, rounding the island to pull me into an embrace. Elissa swivels on her stool to look over and offers me a sweet smile. “Come, sit. Let’s load up a plate of food for you and that growing grandbaby of mine,” my Mom gushes as she presses a light kiss into my hairline. She guides me to a stool beside Elissa and I take my seat. Elissa and I mumble “Good morning” to each other as my mom piles heaps of food onto a plate for me and slides it across the island.
“So,” my dad breaks the silence. “I am assuming Rhys is the father. Why isn’t he here with you?”
Shit. My dad just gets right to the point, doesn’t he?
“Er, well…you see, Rhys and I aren’t together anymore.” My mom’s expression drops and she generally looks sad for me. My dad, on the other hand, looks outraged.
“You mean to tell me that meathead broke up with you when he found out?”
“Well, no. Not exactly. See, we weren’t together when I got pregnant,” I say. Confusion washes over my parents’ faces.
“Who’s the father?” my dad grumbles haughtily. His face morphs from confusion, to anger, to disappointment. I can only imagine what’s running through his head when I tell him his unmarried child is having a baby and I haven’t been quite clear with the details.
“What she means,” Elissa interrupts. “Is that her and Rhys broke up before she got pregnant, but they hooked up one night and that’s when it happened.”
“Gee, thanks, E,” I mumble under my breath. She nudges me with her elbow and ignores my comment.
“Rhys is the father. They’re just not together.”
A hush fills the room and the scraping of my fork on my plate as I push my food around is the only noise. My mom’s face is drained of colour, her eyes are soft around the corners, and she looks like she’s about to cry. And my dad? Well, he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. His face is red, strained, and all his features, like his lips and eyes, are tight, sharp lines.
“I suppose you don’t need to be together to raise a child,” my mom says cautiously. Elissa chuckles sardonically.
“If only,” she says. My dad’s eyes dart to her, his jaw clicking.
“What the hell does that mean, Elissa?”
Elissa’s shoulders sag. She draws a breath and explains.
“It means he’s being a douche about the whole thing. Didn’t think it was his at first. Riley had to get a paternity test to prove it was his, and when it was proven, he’s been MIA and seems to be shirking his responsibilities.”
My dad grows beet red first, like someone is grabbing hold of his throat and squeezing, then he slowly turns purple. I shoot Elissa a death glare, kicking her under the island, but instead of getting her, I kick the stool and yelp. My dad’s eyes bore into me as he tries to keep control over his emotions.
“It’s not what it seems, Dad. Honestly. I think he’s just coming to terms with it. I kind of sprung everything on him.”
“And that makes it okay for him to act like this?!” my dad bellows. “It was just sprung on you too! Why do you have to be the only mature one about a baby coming into this world? I’m very disappointed in him. I genuinely liked him, too.” My dad humphs and mutters something unintelligible under his breath, and I can only imagine it’s something not very nice. My mom rests her hand on my dad’s forearm and whispers something in his ear, and Elissa and I share a glance. Whatever she says has my dad calming down and his complexion returns to normal.
We finish the rest of breakfast in hushed silence, keeping what brief conversation there is to neutral territory. My mom makes idle chatter about a local nursery she wants to go to out in Essex, to grab some plants for the solarium until the weather is nice enough to plant them. She asks if we want to spend the day with her, shopping at a few of the clothing stores downtown on King Street. They’re nothing like the fancy, ritzy stores we shop at in downtown Toronto or online, like Coach, Tiffany’s, or Louis Vuitton, but they carry higher-end items. When Mom comes to Toronto for the weekend, we spend all day shopping at the Eaton Centre and the outlet malls in the area. Elissa and I agree to accompany my mom and go shopping for the day, but I have a feeling we’re going to be stopping by the kid’s store downtown and spend most of our time there. My mom has that glint in her eye that only grandmothers get when they think about their grandkids.