She’s not wrong. Unfortunately. Because the truth is, when he put his hand over mine in that parking lot and said “I’m not going anywhere,” there was this moment where I believed him. Where I wanted to lean my whole tired body into that promise and let someone else carry some of the fear. Which is the scariest part of this entire thing.
“I know,” I say quietly.
“And who knows,” she adds, taking a sip of her coffee, “maybe this will blossom into a wonderful relationship.”
“Mom,” I groan.
“What?” she says, feigning innocence. “It happens. People have surprise babies and fall in love all the time.”
“I don’t do relationships,” I remind her. “I don’t do hope or love or any of that. It’s all a lie.”
Her eyes soften in that way that makes me feel both seen and called out. “You’re allowed to protect yourself,” she says. “You’re allowed to be careful. You’ve been through things that make that reasonable.”
I wait for the but. It’s coming. I can feel it.
“But,” she says, “there’s a difference between being careful and being so walled-off no one can reach you. You can’t spend your whole life building fortresses just to keep the pain out. The same walls that keep the bad out keep the good out too.”
It hits harder than I want it to. I look away.
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly. “You know what happened. You were there. You saw what he did to me.”
Mom’s face softens. “I know, baby.”
“There were no signs,” I continue, my throat tightening. “No red flags. Nothing that would have told me to run. And then he just…” I shake my head. “How am I supposed to trust my own judgment after that? How am I supposed to believe anything anyone says when I was so completely wrong about someone I thought I knew?”
“He made his choices,” Mom says firmly. “That wasn’t about you missing something. That was about him being a coward.”
“But I didn’t see it,” I say. “That’s the point. And now I’m supposed to, what, trust a guy I barely know because he made some promises in a parking lot?”
Mom reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “I’m not saying trust him blindly. I’m not saying forget what you’ve been through. I’m just saying don’t let one person’s betrayal convince you that everyone will do the same thing.”
I don’t answer because she’s right and I hate it.
“I’m not saying fling the gates wide open,” she adds. “Maybe just start with crackinga window.”
I roll my eyes, because the alternative is crying again.
“And you need to tell your father,” she adds, switching lanes smoothly.
“I know,” I say, stomach dropping.
“Soon,” she says. “He’s going to find out, and it’s better coming from you than from a medical chart or a gossip site or Jake accidentally saying the wrong thing in a meeting.”
“I want to talk to Jake first,” I say. “I want to know where his head is, what we’re even doing, before I drop, ‘Hey, I’m pregnant with your associate’s baby.’ I don’t want this to blow up Jake’s career.”
“That’s smart,” she says. She rises and starts gathering our plates. “And honestly? Of all the people in Los Angeles, I can’t believe you somehow managed to get pregnant by the guy who works for your father.”
Despite everything, my mouth curves. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” she says, rinsing dishes.
“It’s a disaster,” I say.
“It’s life,” she counters, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Messy and inconvenient and rarely on schedule. And for what it’s worth, getting pregnant by a man who is stable, employed, and apparently very invested in doing the right thing is not the worst outcome.”
My phone buzzes on the table and saves me from responding to her.
Your order is on the way.
