Chapter 20
A fire raged within me, tightening my chest and tormenting me throughout the day. I felt like I had let my father down, even though I hadn't done anything wrong; he simply refused to believe me. Zane was the kind of guy no parent wanted around their daughter.
I knew I had lost my father's trust. When I insisted that the evening hadn't been planned, he did not listen. All we did was have dinner and watch a movie, yet he jumped to conclusions, leaving me to wrestle with guilt.
I saw Zane at school, but he only glanced at me briefly.
That night, he left so abruptly that my dad didn't even get a chance to say anything. Maybe Zane would choose not to talk to me again; perhaps he thought I was just a child under my parents’ strict control.
Possibly he was right; perhaps I had allowed it to happen. Possibly.
The next day, my mom would come home. She was recovering well, and I hoped I could confide in her; she always stood up for me back then with Marco.
Dad hadn't mentioned Zane to her yet, but he planned to once she returned.
He wanted a family discussion, and I knew I had to find my voice. I needed them to trust me again.
“Hi. Can I sit with you?” I turned to see Emily standing there, her eyes filled with hope that I wouldn't refuse her.
My mind was in a whirlwind, and I hadn't even noticed her on the bus.
Scanning the half-empty bus, I realized it was the last day of school before the holiday break, which explained why many were absent.
I thought she must have been waiting for a moment to approach me. No words came to my lips; I merely nodded, and she settled in beside me. After an awkward silence, Emily broke the ice.
“Do you remember last Christmas? Your mom let me and Jessica sleep over the night before Christmas Eve. We made a mess baking cookies, burning the last batch. The smoke filled the house, and we had to open the windows and doors. It was pouring outside, muddy and miserable, but we laughed. We laughed so much my stomach hurt. It was a disastrous day, but we had fun decorating cookies and throwing flour at each other. I thought nothing could ever tear us apart. I believed childhood friendships were everlasting. And now, here we are a year later, strangers. Those memories feel like they belong to another lifetime.” Emily looked at me with a hint of nostalgia, waiting for me to respond.
I envisioned that day, and I hardly recognized the versions of ourselves back then. Once she had been my closest friend, and now… now she was just a girl I once knew who was dating my ex. I was instinctively pushing away anyone who had ever hurt me, even slightly. I preferred solitude.
“We were kids. I guess we're not anymore,” I said, my voice brittle. Her expression shifted, clearly not what she had anticipated.
“I guess we're not…” Emily echoed, sounding uncertain.
I averted my gaze, wondering if I had been cruel.
I was not sure if it was her I didn't want to talk to or just people in general.
“I heard your mom is coming home. I hope she's doing well. Say hi for me,” Emily said, standing up.
She glanced at me one last time, as if she did not recognize me, before walking to the back of the bus.
I remained frozen, a lump forming in my throat, which I fought to suppress.
Once I reached my stop, I hopped off the bus and hurried home. When I entered, I heard the sound of my dad brewing coffee in the kitchen. I approached and waved at him silently before making my way upstairs to my room.
“Luna,” he called out, causing me to freeze.
“I had to tell your mother,” he continued.
I stood still, simmering with anger. He had promised to wait until she was home to hear my side of the story.
He likely told her I was having sex on the couch.
“With the holidays approaching, soon everything will be closed; we decided to schedule an appointment for you with Dr. Paoli tomorrow morning,” he added.
My mouth fell open in disbelief; I was horrified.
“What? Why?” I exclaimed, turning to meet his gaze.
“Oh, you know why,” he responded, his voice laced with frustration.
“No, I don't know why. Why do I need to see the gynecologist? It's not even time for my screening!” I said, my disappointment evident.
“Luna, you could ruin your life,” he started, but I cut him off, my desperation spilling over as tears I had held back for too long finally broke free.
“I. DIDN'T. DO. ANYTHING. WRONG. Why wouldn't you believe me? I told you what happened, and you just pretended you didn't hear me!”
“Kids these days are doing all sorts of things. Everyone in town is talking about that girl Aria who got pregnant at 16. No one has nice things to say about her,” he argued.
“Pregnant? Is that what you think? That I'm pregnant?
I didn't even kiss the guy, and you'd rather assume the worst than trust your own daughter, thinking I'm reckless like those kids,” I cried, stepping closer to him.
I felt deeply let down by my own father.
Had I ever given him a reason to doubt me?
“Then I'm sure you'll have no problem going to the appointment tomorrow. That's final, and there will be no further discussion. I'll drive you at 9 AM. You can go now.” He turned away, his tone firm. I sensed he was becoming emotional, perhaps regretting his approach, but my anger consumed me.
I dashed upstairs and slammed my door shut behind me, allowing the tears to flow freely. I needed to release it all. I refused to join him for dinner, retreating further into isolation.
The alarm blared, jolting me awake. I must have been in a deep slumber because it took me a moment to gather my thoughts.
I stumbled into the bathroom and was met with a shocking sight in the mirror: my eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
I quickly splashed cold water on my face and applied some eye patches to help reduce the swelling.
I made my way to the kitchen for a much-needed cup of coffee, and I spotted my dad sitting at the table in the same spot Zane had occupied the last time. I remained quiet, choosing not to break the silence. I started the coffee maker, and once it was done brewing, my dad spoke up.
“Be ready by 8:30 AM. We'll leave a bit early since I have patients later,” he instructed. I nodded in response and carried my coffee back to my room without saying anything.
After showering and getting dressed, I was downstairs by 8:25 AM. It felt like I was facing a trial; my stomach twisted in knots, making me feel queasy.
We drove in silence, pulling into a small parking lot by a four-story cream-colored building.
The first floor housed several shops, including a grocery store and clothing boutiques.
I felt the weight of people's gazes on me, as if they could sense the reason for my visit and what my dad was thinking.
Entering the building, we took the elevator with another person, who struck up a conversation with my dad. Of course, they knew each other; in a small town, everyone seemed to be connected. Thankfully, the older woman exited on the second floor, leaving us to ride to the third floor in silence.
My legs shook, and my palms felt clammy despite the cold outside. The moment we stepped into the office, a wave of heat enveloped me. I quickly shed my dark blue coat and gray hat, settling into a small black chair in the corner of the waiting room.
Across from me sat a girl, no older than fifteen, with her mother. She looked terrified, and I was reminded of my own first visit, when I had worn that same apprehensive expression. My dad had signed me up but opted to wait in the car, clearly uneasy.
I hoped the girl would be called in first, allowing me more time to prepare myself, but that wasn't the case.
Moments later, Dr. Paoli emerged from her examination room, smiling and calling my name.
I shot a glance at the girl, who appeared relieved it wasn't her turn.
I returned her smile and followed Dr. Paoli inside.
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing not to the exam chair but to a regular chair by her desk while she typed on her computer. My heart was hammering in my chest, but I reminded myself there was nothing to fear. I was eager for my dad to realize he had been mistaken about me.
“So, how are you feeling today?” The doctor asked, shifting her focus to me.
“I'm good, thank you,” I replied, giving the expected answer.
“Are you currently sexually active?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows. It shocked me, and my mouth fell open.
“No, I… I've never…” I hesitated, feeling awkward discussing such a personal topic with a stranger.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Your dad mentioned that you might be… pregnant.”
“Well, he's wrong,” I retorted sharply.
“Alright then. We'll do a quick exam just to ensure everything is okay, and I'll let you go.” She smiled and pointed to a paper gown on the exam chair, instructing me to undress and lie down before stepping out for privacy. I hurriedly complied, waiting about 10 minutes for her return.
The experience was uncomfortable; I felt exposed and vulnerable, but as promised, she was efficient. And my trial was over. I exhaled.
After inviting me to get dressed, she rushed outside with my chart. I opened the door and approached the front desk, looking at the receptionist, who was my neighbor from two houses down.
“Can I go now?” I whispered, unsure if she heard me.
“Yes, dear. You can go. The doctor will call your parents to inform them about the details of your visit.” I sensed her judgmental gaze; she knew why I was there, and shame washed over me again.
Once I reached the car, I wondered if Dr. Paoli had already spoken with my dad. I climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up, and glanced at him, hoping for an apology that never came. But then he spoke.