It hits me then how hard it must be for Ryder to have to put his own desire for adult time, time with me, even, so far down the list of everyone else’s needs.
I’ve only ever had to take care of myself. Pitch in with the dogs. Pick up some slack if Ma or Pops is sick. I’ve had such an easy life. I realize how much harder I could work. How much harder other people have it. It’s a humbling realization to think through. It’s gut-wrenching to look at my dad and see a glimpse into Ryder’s reality.
I get up from my chair and bend over to hug my father. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I say quietly. “I’m so sorry I worried you guys last night.”
Just then, my mom comes down the stairs still wearing her nightgown. Her feet are in fuzzy slippers, and her auburn hair is sticking up every which way.
“Baby,” she says, coming into the kitchen. “You’re home.”
I pull my mother into my arms, and we hug each other hard.
My dad watches the two of us, sipping his coffee and sneaking peeks at his newspaper. “Should I go?” he asks.
“No, please,” I tell him. “I want to talk to both of you.” I take a seat at the table and slug back some coffee. “Is now a good time?”
“I’ve got no place to be.” My dad’s grin lightens the mood. “I’m retired, kiddo. I’m permanently off the clock.”
Ma nods and heads toward the kitchen to pour some coffee. “I’m not due at the shelter until ten,” she says. “But I’ll call out if you need me here, honey.”
“No, Ma, this won’t take long.” I definitely don’t want my mom messing up her day any more than it already is because of me. I wait until the three of us are sitting at the table with refilled coffee mugs to start talking.
“I have some things to tell you,” I say, “and it’s stuff I probably should have told you last year. But I haven’t been dealing with any of it well.”
My mom’s face is drained of color, so I rush on.
“I’m fine, first of all,” I say. “Nothing really bad happened, I just, well… What happened was very hard, but I’m okay. I will be.”
I explain how the short fling I had with the pro football player ended suddenly. He apparently grew up nearby but went to private schools, so I never knew who he was until he came into the shop for a tattoo.
“He was here for a family wedding, I think,” I explain. “We hit it off, hooked up a couple times, and then that was it. He left town.” I shake my head, feeling embarrassment and shame heat my cheeks.
“He didn’t say goodbye, and it’s not like I thought we had any great romance or anything. We used protection,” I rush on, having a hard time believing that I’m thirty-one years old and sharing the details of my sex life with my parents. But this is the truth. This is my truth, and if I am going to face what happened, that means facing all of it. “He was the only guy I’d been with in a while, and I don’t know what happened. The condom broke or tore. I missed my period after he left town. I took a test, and it came back positive.”
I have to pause when Ma gasps and covers her mouth. “You were pregnant, Gracie?”
I nod, tears stinging my eyes. “I was so shocked and afraid. I didn’t know what to do. I called and texted, but Levi didn’t reply. Not once. That felt shitty enough. I figured he didn’t believe me or thought I was just some…I don’t know. But then I…”
This is where I lose my words. I haven’t said this out loud to anyone.
“I miscarried,” I blurt out. “It was early. I texted Levi to let him know what happened.” I grow bitter then, the irony and the rage and the emotions I’ve bottled up for so long coming out in a rush. “I didn’t want him thinking I was some dumb-ass chick trying to shake him down for money. I told him I’d lost the baby and he’d never be hearing from me again.”
Mom wipes her eyes, and Pops hands her the paper napkin he’s been using as a coaster for his mug.
“The asshole finally responded to that text.” I remember it like it was yesterday. I pull out my phone and let his words speak for themselves.
This number’s not in my contacts. Who’s this?
My mom’s hands shake as she passes my phone to my father. He reads the words and pounds a fist on the table. “What the hell does that mean? Was he fucking around with you, Gracie?”
I shrug. “That means after I texted that I was pregnant, he probably deleted my number from his phone. He didn’t block me,” I explain. “Which means he could still get calls and texts from me. He was sending a message that I meant nothing to him. That what happened to me was my problem and I mean nothing to him.”
“That son of a bitch.” Now my father’s furious. “What do we do? Do we call his agent? Call the team? What do we do?”
“Mario.” Ma’s voice is sharp. “Let Gracie finish. We’re not going to tweet about this and get the boy in trouble unless Gracie tells us that’s what she wants.”
I hold back a chuckle because I am damned sure my parents don’t know what tweeting is.
“There’s a little more,” I say, and I firm my lips and just get on with it. “With everything that happened, my gynecologist did an ultrasound. She thinks there may be some issues going on. Nothing like cancer, so don’t panic. But she wants to see if something might prevent me carrying a pregnancy to term in the future.”
