Linus grabs a washcloth and cleans the stage makeup from her arms and neck like he often does after a show. He doesn’t treat her like she’s fragile. When she’s rinsed off, the two of us wrap her in towels and guide her back into the bed.
I scan the room service menu and order soup, bread, and salads.
She sits cross-legged on the bed, naked, hair damp and curling. She looks smaller now. Younger. The bravado from the stage stripped away.
“So, I’m pretty sure Seamus was on to something. I might be pregnant.” She pulls the sheet up around her.
Linus’s hand pauses on the duvet. I sit on the edge of the bed, heart thudding in my ears. We glance at each other. Not panicked. Or celebratory. The sobering possibility settles between us.
“I’ll run out and get a test.” He stands. “There’s a drugstore a block away.”
“Okay.” She pulls her knees up. “Either way, things have to change.”
I think about the way my family looked at her tonight. The kindness. The warmth. The unspoken line I refused to cross. How I introduced her to them as a role instead of a truth.
“If you are,” I squeeze my eyes shut, “I promise I won’t keep doing this halfway.”
She reaches for my hand. “I’ve got to hold you to it, Liam.”
“We’ll do it together.” Linus crosses the room and takes her other hand.
She looks at him. “Will you tell your parents?”
“Aye.” He doesn’t hesitate.
She turns to me, eyes filling with tears.
“I don’t want my child growin’ up learning silence from me.” I lean forward, press my forehead to hers. “I’m done hidin’.”
While Linus runs our important errand, Avonna and I huddle in bed waiting for room service. He’s back within ten minutes and the three of us eat. Quiet except for the clink of spoons.
Linus keeps refilling her water. Eventually, she has to use the bathroom and she takes the test in with her. The three of us wait, checking the clock like time might be something we can manage if we watch it closely enough.
None of us are surprised with two pink lines appear, clear as day.
Later, when she’s curled into sleep between us, I stay awake, staring at the ceiling.
This baby is a line in the sand for our family.
How are we going to show up for our child?
Linus reaches for my hand in the dark. “You okay?”
“No,” I admit. “But I will be.”
He squeezes once. Solid. Certain.
Avonna shifts, breath steady now.
Whatever comes next, we don’t walk into it alone.
Not anymore.
forty-seven
Avonna
The Next Morning
