Ashlie shivers on his lap and turns to me with a grimace on her face. “Yeah. You might want to wait. This conversation is long overdue.”
We shift our attention back to the study, and everything inside of me is screaming to go in there and rescue Willa. Even though she asked me to let her handle it, this doesn’t feel right. She’s dealing with her parents alone, getting attacked about things that have nothing to do with being pregnant. It all feels so wrong, and I’m letting it happen. I try to stand again, but this time, Ashlie’s the one to stop me.
“Just one more minute, Trev. This isn’t about the baby,” she says.
“We’re not helping you,” Jackie booms. “You made your bed; now lie in it.”
“I didn’t ask you to! I don’t need your help, and I damn sure don’t want anything from you. I’m done.” Willa rips the door open and storms right out of the house without so much as a glance behind her.
Before anyone can stop me, I run after her, grabbing my coat off the hook by the door and racing down the sidewalk. The chilly air shocks my system as I rush down the pavement.I should have gone in there. I should have followed them into the room and taken responsibility for the situation we’re in. Less than twelve weeks, and I’ve already let her down.
Willa’s walking fast. It takes me several jogged steps to catch up with her as the wind whips her twists behind her.
“Willa, wait.”
She doesn’t, and I can’t blame her.
“I’m fine, Trevor,” she snips over her shoulder. “Go back inside.”
“I’m not doing that…” Falling in step with her, we round the corner at the end of the block. We cross the street and enter a large field. The sun has been down for at least an hour, the frigid wind curling around us as I try to keep from shivering inside my sweater. “It’s freezing out here.”
“So put your coat on andgo inside.” She marches through the damp grass, straight for the playground ahead of us.
“This isn’t for me, Gem.” I slide my coat over her shoulders, and for the first time since I caught up to her, Willa looks at me. From any other person, I’d expect a tear-streaked face, but the only sign of wayward emotion is the flicker of hurt in her eyes before she takes a deep breath. She slides her arms into the sleeves and ambles over to the swing set, holding out the other swing for me once she sits. We sway back and forth silently for minutes that seem to stretch into hours. I want to apologize.Needto. But Idon’t know that breaking the silence is whatsheneeds right now. As much as I like to talk things out, I’m learning she needs time to process. For now, I hope my presence is a sufficient peace offering.
Shifting my eyes to her periodically, I check the progress of the waning scowl on her face. She twists in her swing, the metallic clink chipping away at the tension each time the chains cross above her head. Finally, she sighs. “I used to spend so much time on this swing after fights with my parents.” She chuffs bitterly. “I’d sit here and imagine running away—starting a new life—until one day, I finally did. I guess old habits die hard.”
“Willa, I’m—I should have been in there with you. I’m so sorry.”
“You being in there wouldn’t have mattered. It probably would have made it worse. Don’t worry about it.” Her eyes lift to mine, but there’s no anger. The remnants of hurt have disappeared too.Apathy. Considering what just happened, my heart breaks for her.
“It matters to me…”
She shrugs, sliding her feet along the rubber playground tiles as the chains on her swing straighten out. “They said almost the exact same things when I told them I was going to art school. I’ve spent all these years trying to prove to them and myself that I could make it on my own. Gave up so many frivolous rites of passage in college to get where I am today. No parties. No breaks. Very few friends. Still, no matter how much I achieve, they shit on it.” Willa turns to look at me head-on. “Do you know what that feels like? Trying to be seen by your own parents? Killing yourself to earn an ounce of support from them?”
I can’t say I know what that feels like. Not really. My parents are the most supportive people around, and my memories from before I was adopted are fuzzy, at best. As she searches my eyes with what feels like longing for a kindred spirit, I want so badly to give her the support she deserves. I failed her back there, and after tonight, it’s clear to me she doesn’t believe she has anyone in hercorner. I want her to know she’s not alone. “Come home with me,” I say, side-stepping her question.
“What?” Her eyebrows dip, and she stops fidgeting in the swing.
“For Christmas. Come home with me. Meet my family. Let me show you there are people out there who will support you.”
“They don’t even know me…”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. You’re carrying a part of me. That’ll be enough for them.”
“Aren’t you from Iowa or something?”
“Nebraska”—I chuckle—“but same difference. They’ll love to have you, especially after we share the news.”
“I don’t know, Trev. That sounds eerily similar tomeeting the parents.” She squints at me, but a playful smile creeps across her lips.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows. Laughing, she rolls her eyes, which I’m learning is her tell before giving in. “Yeah?”
Chewing on the inside of her lip, she nods. I can’t deny the elation spreading through my chest at the thought of bringing Willa home.
“I’m not going backin there.” Willa shakes her head as we near the walkway to her parents’ house. “Ashlie can bring my stuff out. But I’m not?—”
“It’s already handled.” Slipping my phone from my pocket, I shoot off a text to Ashlie and Hunter. While we sat out on the swings, I had them pack up our bags and book the next flight back to LA. I’d already planned on flying back with everyone to make Willa’s twelve-week appointment on Monday. A few extra days there is worth it just to get her out of here tonight.
