“Shari's pregnant. You're going to be grandparents!”
It's almost funny watching Grace's face contort, seemingly in slow motion. Phil is wide-eyed, mouth agape. Hettie drops her fork, and it bounces off the table and clatters onto the floor, completely unnoticed. But Grace goes through a gamut of emotions before settling on something that looks a lot like disgust. That doesn't bode well.
“Pregnant?” She repeats, quietly. “You're pregnant? Well, I guess that explains why Brad wants to keep you around.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Mum, you're being incredibly rude!” Brad seethes.
“Mum!” Hettie shouts.
“Sweetheart, why else would you want a long-term relationship with someone older than you? You can do right by this baby without being obligated to its mother, you know. Have you really thought about what life will be like if you stay with her out of a sense of duty?”
I am gobsmacked. I expected a negative reaction, of course, but not this extreme. And not before she even knows my actual age, which is going to make this so much worse.
“Grace, please don't talk about me like I'm not sitting here,” I manage with a steady voice. “I can understand your concerns about our age gap because I have them myself, but I want the best for both Brad and our baby. He isn't obligated to be with me, he knows that.”
She scoffs. Phil is still gaping, but I see his hand rising slowly as though aiming for a high five from his son. It would be amusing if I weren't quite so desperate to escape.
Grace leans forward with her eyes narrowed. “Exactly how old are you?”
“Mother—”
“It's a simple question, Brad. Why are you being cagey? How old are you Shari, what's your age gap?”
I swallow thickly and rip off the band-aid. “I’m forty.”
“Fuck me,” Phil whispers to himself.
“Whoa, what's your skincare ritual?” Hettie asks, fascinated, as her eyes roam my face.
Meanwhile, Grace's face had drained to the palest white at my declaration and is now turning a shade of red that has me concerned we might need to call an ambulance.
“Forty,” she says breathlessly. “You're forty. You're FORTY?! Jesus fucking Christ, Phil, she's closer to our age than his! Oh god. This has to be a sick joke. Tell me it's a joke, Brad, and you're not having a baby with a woman almost twice your age! Aren't youbarrenby now??”
“Mum! Seriously, what is wrong with you?!” Hettie screeches.
“It’s not a joke, Mum. But our age gap changes nothing. I care about Shari and we're having a baby together. You need to treather with respect! I know this is a shock, but when you calm down and get to know each other, you'll?—”
“No! I will not ‘calm down’! This is sick,” she glares at me then. “You aresick! What does a woman your age want with a young boy?? I have a mind to phone the police!”
I'm finding it harder to breathe with every hateful word coming out of her mouth.
“Mother! I will not have you berating Shari like this. She's done nothing wrong. She's not sick, I'm not a young boy, and if you phone the police to tell them that two consenting adults are having a baby together, they will indict you for wasting their time. And I willneverforgive you for it. You owe Shari an apology.”
Grace looks like she's on the verge of tears, but there is a lot of rage aimed in my direction and I feel so dirty.
“I think I should just go,” I tell Brad quietly. I genuinely feel like I might be sick, my stomach is roiling so hard.
I grab my handbag from where it's hanging on the back of my chair, pull out the copy of the sonogram we brought for his parents, place it next to my plate and slowly stand. I can't bring myself to look anyone in the eye, so I thank the table for lunch and make my way to the front door on wobbly legs.
I can hear the scrape of a chair against the tiled floor behind me, along with Hettie's hissedyou should be ashamed of yourselfbefore my knees buckle. Brad's somehow there to catch me, though, and as I break down against his chest, he picks me up and cradles me out to the car.
I can hardly take in enough air between my gasping sobs, and Brad refuses to let go of my hand for the drive home, constantly shooting me worried glances.
But even as I spiral, a sense of clarity washes over me.
I knew this would happen at some point. I knew our age gap would incite hateful words and that they'd all be aimed my way.I knew we would never work, and as much as it hurts now, it's better to end things before we even really start. Co-parenting is all I can have.
12
