Chapter 17
MOMMY ISSUES
LYDIA
Ismooth my hands over my black skirt, hoping it’s nice enough for my mother.
My rust-orange sweater is tucked into the skirt.
It’s not extremely fancy, but it’ll do. I have tights under the skirt because I couldn’t be bothered to shave my legs, and it's chilly this morning. I’ll find a pair of nice shoes to help the outfit pop.
My hands shake as I run my hands over my shirt, and I pull the sleeve down in an attempt to cover the brace still on my left wrist. I’ve been nauseous all morning, and at this point, who knows if it’s from the baby, or the fear of meeting with my parents.
Of course, my mother will have questions about what happened, and I don’t want to share my news until I’m ready.
My phone rings with an incoming FaceTime call from Fletcher. His face is dripping with sweat as he bends over, taking off his skates. He should already be on his way.
“Hey, are you leaving soon?”
He groans. “Nope. Practice went long, and now Coach called an emergency team meeting for some reason. I don’t think it’ll take long, but you should drive separately in case I don’t make it home on time.”
A speck of fear digs into my chest. “You’re still coming, right?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise,” he says, determination strong in his voice. He glances up at the screen, looking at me for the first time. There’s a long silence.
“What?” I ask, my voice growing higher. Is my outfit horrible, or is my hair wrong? “Oh god, I look awful, don’t I?”
I prop my phone against the wall, trying to fix my curls. I can’t look like this. My mom will freak.
“Wait, no!” he blurts, halting my motions. “You look incredible. That’s all. I couldn’t form words.”
I let out an awkward chuckle, trying to play off the swirling butterflies in my stomach. “Oh, you mean the sheen of sweat from nausea?”
Fletcher shakes his head, and he shifts on the bench. “You’re beautiful, Lydi. Absolutely stunning. But to answer your question, yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Thank god. I really don’t want to do this alone. I absolutely can, but Fletcher is my biggest support, and my parents won’t be as harsh on me if someone else is present. At least I don’t think they will.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks. I appreciate you.”
“Right back at you. I gotta go, but I’ll text you when I’m on my way, okay?”
I agree, and we hang up, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t tell them today. I mean, I’m still early on in this pregnancy. You never know what could happen.
No, I have to tell them. They’re going to be gone for a month, and I should tell them this in person.
I sigh and check the time on my phone. I have to leave in fifteen minutes to make it to the restaurant on time. After finishing my hair and makeup, I slip into my shoes and pull on my favorite wool peacoat before leaving.
Traffic isn’t too bad right now, which is good. I don’t need more time to sit and overthink this brunch. When I pull into the parking lot, I scan the area in search of Fletcher's car. When I come up empty, I check my phone, but there's nothing there either.
He's going to be late.
It’s not his fault, but it means I have to do this on my own.
I take a deep breath and head into the restaurant.
My parents are always prompt, and I’m still five minutes early, but I’m certain they’re here.
Sure enough, they’re standing at the hostess station, waiting to be seated.
My mother is dressed nicely in black slacks and a deep mauve shawl.
Her brunette curls match mine, but she keeps hers longer and pulled back into a tight, smooth bun at the nape of her neck.
Her designer purse is slung over her elbow.
My father is in a button-down white shirt and black pants, with a striped tie.
They both look nice, and my heart aches.
I miss the relationship I could have had with them.
Not because of distance, but in a way, I wish they were different.
I wish they cared more. Maybe their first grandchild will change things.
“Hi,” I say.
They both turn. My mother gives my outfit a look, and my stomach sinks. I immediately regret my choice. I thought it was nice, but maybe it’s not nice enough.
“Lydia,” my father says, opening his arms for a quick side hug. I breathe in the familiar, clean scent of his cologne, and it triggers memories of my childhood. Of the same one-armed hug he’d give after coming home from travel.
“Hey, Dad.”
I hug my mother, who’s as tense as always.
The softness she had when I was a young child had faded away when I entered high school.
It seemed like she thought I was old enough to fend for myself.
As soon as I got my driver’s license, my parents stopped showing up for my competitions since I could get there myself.
I'd come home from events, and they’d ask if I made the podium, disappointed when I came in less than first, despite my best efforts.
Most nights, I would have to make my own meals, eating alone at the dining room table while my dad was at work and my mom was out with her country club friends.
The hostess leads us to the table. When we sit, she pours water and leaves us with menus.
I quickly decide what I’m having, and my parents peruse the menu in silence.
Some might find it awkward, but my parents have never been the type of people to fill the silence with meaningless small talk. Our waitress returns, and we order.
“Fletcher should be here soon,” I state. “I ordered for him.”
“I didn’t realize he’d be joining us,” Dad says.
“Yeah, he thought he’d say hi. It’s been a while.”
Mom hums under her breath.
“He’s had a good season so far.” Dad’s voice changes to a more curious tone. He’s always willing to talk about Fletcher’s stats. He doesn’t watch the games, but he keeps up with the analytical side of his career.
“Yeah, they had a great game yesterday. I wish you guys could have come.”
Mom sighs, sipping on her lemon water. “You know we don’t like crowds.”
The little girl in me is still yearning for their approval, for their attention.
“I know, but I would have liked to spend time with you.”
“We’re spending time with you now,” Dad says, a hint of irritation seeping through.
“Right.” I smile half-heartedly, taking a sip of my water. “So, Spain?”
My mother grins widely, starting on a tangent about all the things they are going to be doing while on vacation.
It sounds like it’s going to be an incredible trip, and I’m excited for them, but at the same time, I’m jealous.
We never went on trips when I was a kid, even though my dad got discounted or free airline tickets through work, and as a pilot, he made a lot of money.
When the food arrives, Fletcher still isn’t here, and I get nervous that he isn’t going to make it. I check my phone again, and there’s still nothing. What kind of team meeting goes on this long? Usually, when things run late, it’s never more than thirty minutes.
I take a few bites of my food, but it’s sitting in my stomach like a rock. I don’t want to do this without Fletcher here to support me.
It doesn’t matter. I think I have to.
I clear my throat. “I have news.”
My mom lights up. “Did you get a promotion? A new job?”
I shake my head. “No, um—”
“You know you should really find a different job,” Dad says. “You could be doing so much more.”
“It’s not work-related,” I blurt. “I’m pregnant.”
My parents are stunned silent for a long moment. The blood drains from my father’s face as he stares at me.
“You’re pregnant?” he finally says through gritted teeth.
I nod slowly, giving them another moment to take it in.
“You’re having a baby?” Mom gasps. “And who is the father? Lydia Elaine, I cannot believe how careless you are.”
“I’m not careless.” I look around the room, desperately wishing for Fletcher to appear.
I need my rock. “Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect.
I thought maybe you’d be excited. I mean, it’s your first grandchild!
” I dig through my purse for the ultrasound photo, ignoring the twinge in my wrist when I twist it just right.
I sit up, holding out the photo for them to see. “It’s still early, so I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but I’m excited.”
Neither of my parents takes the photo, staring at it in disbelief.
“You’re keeping it?” Dad asks incredulously.
“I mean, yeah. I thought through all my options, but I want to keep it. I’m ready to be a mom.” I rest my hands in my lap, clutching the photo of my baby as waves of sadness take over my heart.
My mother scoffs. “No, you aren’t.”
“I watched you practically be a single mom. Dad was never around. I can do this on my own.”
Dad makes an irritated noise, running his hands down his face.
“And Fletcher is the father?” Mom asks, gesturing at the empty seat. “Is that why he was supposed to be here?”
I shake my head rapidly. “No, no. He’s not the father. The father and I aren't together. He was someone I saw for a few dates, but he decided not to continue things.”
A bustling behind me pulls my attention, and Fletcher drags his hand along my shoulder, flopping into the seat beside me. He’s out of breath, his cheeks flushed as he pushes his still-damp hair out of his face. “Sorry, I’m late. How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Ward?”
“Did you know Lydia is pregnant?” Mom asks, her tone sharp.
Fletcher glances over to me, his brows furrowed like he’s not sure how I want him to respond. They don’t give him a second to try, though.
“She can’t do this on her own,” Dad snaps. “And the father isn’t involved, we’re learning.”
My frustration bubbles to the surface. I should have known they wouldn’t even be happy for a second. They can’t be.
“I can and will do this on my own,” I state.
“She’s not doing this on her own,” Fletcher responds.
My head whips in his direction, my eyes widening. What is he talking about?