She was speaking rapidly, growing flushed. I put my hands on her shoulders, “Girl, breathe. It’s not that deep. And rotund? You’re pregnant. Not a donut. Fuck what everyone else thinks. You’re beautiful.” She gave me a skeptical look, and I shook her playfully, “You’re fine. Plus, I know of at least one person who will be happy to see you.” Her skepticism turned to confusion and she frowned at me. “Oh come on, I don’t even like the idiots. I literally just moved here. But Diego drools over you.”
“Diego?”
“Yes. His friends are all assholes, so he probably is too. But whatever. Curly brown hair? Dimples? Running back on the football team?”
“He doesn’t like me! He doesn’t even talk to me!”
I scoffed, “Yes, ’cause teenage boys are known for being eloquent and in tune with their emotions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But good thing it’ll be snowing. Otherwise there might be a fire, outside of the one Mr. Mills is planning.”
Now it was my turn to be confused, “Huh?”
My dad came in, gave us an odd look, and headed towards the kitchen where my mom was making dinner. Maria stepped back to let him pass and then leaned towards me. Her stage whisper was conspiratorial. “You and Jackson.”
I spluttered with indignation. “Are you insane? Are the hormones getting to you? Is this some kind of pregnancy mania?”
She smiled sweetly. “You guys pass each other in the hallway, glaring like you are on opposite teams at the Super Bowl or something. And didn’t you like, ‘My Little Pony’ his bike the other week?”
About a week ago, she and I were out maternity shopping. We had come across the boys, and Jackson had made some dumbass comment about her being my pet project. Sure, Diego ripped him a new one. But when they got back to their bikes? I might have bought a super glittery, foul-smelling perfume from a nearby boutique. And up-ended it over his bike and in his helmet. I smiled at the memory before shaking my head. “We hate each other. He’s an entitled, pompous man child.”
Maria headed towards the kitchen, and said over her shoulder, “Exactly, gasoline meet match.” I rolled my eyes and followed her. My mom was putting the finishing touches on a honey dijon chicken dish. It was her specialty, and she didn’t cook often, so I was pleasantly surprised when the familiar aroma greeted us. She had her back to us, graying strawberry blonde curls tied back with a piece of ribbon. Her over-the-top sundress and heels made her look like she had stepped off the pages of a Martha Stewart catalogue. As we took a seat at the kitchen island, she turned to us.
Her smile was forced as she glanced at Maria and then at me before saying with a saccharine sweetness, “Holly, please go ahead and set the table. Maria, be a dear and get the salad out of the fridge.”
Maria eagerly hopped from her seat, happy to help. My mother watched her as she walked to the fridge. I knew that look. The carefully placed, fake smile. Great. Mom was up to something. Tonight was going to be a shit storm. When dinner was finally ready, we all sat at the table in a tense silence. Maria was either oblivious or somehow managing to ignore it. Then again, she was used to dinners with Jesse, which I was sure wereabout a hundred times worse. My dad shook his head at my mother, who clenched her wine glass like a weapon and ignored him with pursed lips. I’d had enough. I slammed my fork on my plate, hard enough for the glassware to rattle. My dad’s eyes shot over to mine; my mom simply raised her chin and avoided my glare.
“What? What’s up?”
My mom cleared her throat, set her wine glass down after taking a dainty sip, and looked over at Maria. My friend was hunched, but she met my mother’s gaze with a soft smile. “Maria, dear. How long will you be staying with us?”
Before Maria could answer, I said, “Is there a problem?”
My mother finally looked over at me. “Of course not. I understand the need for a temporary solution. But this isn’t sustainable.”
“Temporary? Sustainable?” My dad and Maria were silent, watching us.
“Holly, your father and I have been very tolerant—”
I cut her off with a snarl, “You cannot be serious, mother. Are you actually trying to kick her out?”
“Holly, you never exactly asked-”
Again, I didn’t let her finish. “What’s the issue, Mother? We have plenty of room. Plenty of food. Plenty of fucking money. So what’s wrong with Maria staying with us?”
My dad cleared his throat, “Holly, language. Just hear your mother out. Maria, maybe you should go upstairs?”
Maria started to get up, but I stopped her. “First of all, no. You don’t get to banish her to her room. Second of all, language?” Maria slowly sank back into her chair.
“Holly, there are plenty of programs that are designed to help single mothers. As a matter of fact, I know of one about two hours from here. She can get the support she needs. They will help her find a home for the child so she can finish hereducation. And this way, you too can focus on schooling. We just moved here, dear. We’re not in any place to take care of…your friend.”
Maria gasped, her eyes shining with unshed tears and her hand going protectively to her stomach. I stood, shaking and fought consciously keep my voice steady. “No.”
“Excuse me, we are the adults here.”
I looked over at my father. “You agree with her?”
My father pinched his nose between his forefingers before looking back at me, “Holly, I want to help your friend. But your mother and I are a team. In order to keep this family functioning, we must be on the same page.”
