Chapter 22
Mitch
I waited until Sunday dinner. Partly because I wanted to get it over with, partly because I was stalling. I sent Macy out, told her it was “for her own good.” She doesn’t need to hear Mom’s reaction, and she’d only jump in to defend me anyway.
The kitchen smells like spaghetti and garlic bread. The air conditioner hums loud enough to fill the silence. Mom’s plating the food, moving around like she’s too busy to notice I’ve barely said three words since I got home.
Dad’s at the table, phone in one hand, fork in the other. His plate’s already half-gone.
When Mom finally sits down, she glances up. “It’s supposed to be hot this week,” she says, taking a sip of water.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble.
We eat for a few minutes. My stomach’s twisted too tight to swallow, but I take a few bites just to look normal.
Finally, I set my fork down. “I’ve got something to say.”
Mom looks at me; Dad looks at her first, then me.
I take a breath that barely reaches my lungs. “It’s about Callie.”
“Okay?” Mom says.
My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it. “She’s pregnant.”
Silence.
Mom’s smile disappears instantly. Dad looks at her again. She blinks. “What?”
Dad leans back in his chair, arms crossing loosely over his chest.
Mom shakes her head. “No. Mitchell—please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” I say quietly.
“How?”
“What do you mean how?”
“You just started dating!”
“Yeah, and we messed up.”
Silence settles heavy over the table.
“When?” Dad finally asks. “When did this happen?”
“Back around the time of the fair.”
Mom’s eyes widen like the math just clicked in her head. Her fork slips from her fingers, clinking against the plate. She lifts both hands to her temples, rubbing slowly. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” I say quietly. And I hate how it sounds, because it’s not that I wish this away—just the fear, the timing, the way it all happened.
She leans back hard in her chair, arms crossing tight over her chest. “So,” she says, voice sharp, controlled, “are you proud?”
“What?” I frown, genuinely stunned. “No. Of course not. We didn’t plan this. We made a mistake.”
The word hangs there, bold and honest and not nearly enough to explain everything underneath it.
“Damn straight you did. You’re eighteen!” she bites.
“I know,” I say again, trying to keep my tone even.
Dad’s staring at his plate, shaking his head, jaw clenched.
Mom keeps going, voice rising. “Do her parents know?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We told them the other night.”
She scoffs. “And what? What did they say?” She tilts her head at me like she can’t wait to hear the answer. Like she wants the guilt to eat me more by saying it out loud.
“They took it better than I thought they would,” I admit. “They were shocked, sure, but they were nice. Supportive, comforting.”
“And what about us, huh?” Her hand gestures wildly between herself and Dad. “You just expected we’d say the same thing? Smile and pat you on the back?”
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t expect anything.” I shake my head.
She just stares at me, those scary mom-eyes, the kind that used to stop me midsentence when I was a kid. Sometimes still do. The look that says “fix this right now or you’re in serious trouble.”
Except there’s nothing left to stop. Nothing to undo. What’s done is already done.
I stay where I am, shoulders stiff, forcing myself not to shrink under her gaze. I can’t rewind it. All I can do is sit here and not let my fear be the loudest thing in the room.
She shakes her head again, mumbling, “Unbelievable.”
Dad finally speaks. “You plan on marrying her?”
“Yeah,” I say without hesitation. “I do.”
And it’s not a lie.
After church today, I didn’t go straight home. I drove for a while instead, windows down. And somewhere along the way, without really planning it, I found myself in Maven. Parked in front of a jewelry store.
I went inside. Asked questions. Nodded like I knew what I was doing, even though my palms were sweating the whole time.
And I walked out with a ring in my pocket.
I don’t know when I’ll ask her. I’m not scared, though. I know she loves me too, and this just feels right. Not only because there’s a baby, but because it’s her. Because I love Callie. I want to choose her, every day, even when it’s a little messy and a little scary.
Mom cuts in sharp, “Damn straight you’re gonna marry her. You’re stuck now, kid.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, I do love her, so…”
Mom scoffs. “No you don’t.” Her eyes glisten now, but it’s not sadness. It’s anger. “You have no idea what’s coming. You think you’re ready to raise a baby? You can barely keep your room clean!” Her voice gets louder with every word.
My chest burns, heat crawling up my neck, but I don’t argue. I swallow the urge to defend myself.
“Well”—I clear my throat—“I’m gonna try. I know it’s not what you wanted for me. Or for her. But it happened. I’m gonna step up.”
“You’re gonna need to,” Dad says simply.
Mom shakes her head, her voice tight. “Well, congratulations. Good luck,” she says bitterly as she stands. “Can’t wait for everyone at church to find out about this one,” she adds as she walks out of the room.
The sound of her footsteps fades down the hall, and the bathroom door slams shut, rattling the entire house.
For a minute, it’s just me and Dad. He looks at me with something like sympathy, soft, but worn, and still a little guarded with hesitance.
“She’ll be fine in a few days,” he says finally.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Maybe.”
“She will. I’ll talk to her.”
“You shouldn’t have to talk to her,” I say, quieter but sharper. “Even when you do, it doesn’t change her attitude.”
“Sometimes it does.”
“Okay, well, for once, it’d be nice if she didn’t need a pep talk. If she could just think for herself and realize her reactions to things aren’t always mature.”
Dad’s tone drops low. “Watch it, Mitchell.”
“I’m serious,” I fire back. “I’m eighteen years old. I’ve only been out of high school two months. I get a girlfriend, we mess up, she winds up pregnant. I’m scared out of my mind, Callie’s scared too, and yet, Mom still storms off and makes it about her. About how she feels.”
The silence after that is thick.
Dad just exhales and leans back in the chair, his arms loosely crossed as he shrugs. “Yeah, well, that’s just how she is.”
I nod once, clipped. “Yeah. I know. Always is.”
I continue, “You know, Callie’s parents gave us a hug. They didn’t yell at us. They told us everything would be okay. Were they disappointed? Of course! But they still love us!” I bite and stand, my pulse pounding in my head so loud that I can barely hear myself think.
I grab my keys off the counter without another word and head for the door.
The screen door slams behind me, the air hitting hot and heavy against my skin.
The crickets are loud, the sky painted gold at the edges as the sun sinks low. I slide into the truck, start the engine, and just drive. Again. I don’t even know where I’m going, just somewhere that isn’t here. Somewhere I can breathe without feeling like I’m ten years old again.
Once I get down the road, I roll down my window and let the wind slap me in the face.
“God, please help…everyone.” I huff out a defeated breath.
And I drive.
* * *
The creek is calm, glassy in the sunset light.
Crickets hum everywhere, and there’s a light breeze.
Callie sits beside me with her bare feet twirling slowly in the water, her hair pulled together into a loose side braid.
She’s quiet, tracing absent-minded shapes into the weathered wood of the dock with her fingertip.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally, voice small.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, though my chest still feels tight. “It was expected.”
“Still,” she whispers. “As if we’re proud of ourselves…it just makes it worse.”
I turn toward her. The sadness in her face, her eyes.
“Hey,” I say quietly, reaching for her hand. “What’s done is done. Let them be pissed. Let them. We can’t dwell on it for the rest of our lives.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I scoot closer, reaching my arm round her and gently nudging her head to lean against my shoulder. Her hair smells good.
And even though everything feels heavy right now, sitting here with her is the easiest thing I’ve been able to do all day.
And that’s when I know. It’s time.
My heart starts hammering, loud in my ears. I shift, pulling back just enough to look at her.
“Callie,” I say.
“Yeah?” She lifts her head, brows knitting together.
I swallow hard. My hand slips into my pocket before I can overthink it.
“I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” I start. “And I know we’re young. And I know everything is backwards.” My voice wavers, but I don’t stop. “But I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, even before we ever called this anything.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Mitch…”
I pull the blue box out, flip it open. The ring catches the last of the sunlight. It’s small and simple, but it’s something.
“I don’t want to do this because we’re scared,” I say. “Or because we messed up. I want to do it because I choose you. Because I want to do this life with you. So…Calliope Elise Carter…”
The world feels like it’s holding its breath.
“Will you marry me?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the ring, then at me.
“Mitch…” she whispers, head shaking, panic in her eyes.
My heart sinks.
“I-I can’t. We can’t. No. Not yet. Not right now.” Her voice is shaking.
The words shatter me. My eyes fall away from hers, staring at the ring.
“I love you too,” she rushes to say, grabbing my arm like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “I love you. But I’m too scared. Marriage is a big decision, and I think we need time.”
I nod slowly. “Okay,” I say, even though it hurts. “Okay.”
She leans into me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, tight. Like she’s trying to make me feel better. The ring box stays open in my hand, and for the first time, loving her hurts.