His hands remain on my cheeks, stiff and hard. He’s blinking, staring back at me like he’s trying to figure out if he’s even conscious—I wonder if he thinks he’s inside his own worst nightmare. I turn within his palms, facing my mother, who’s giving me the same expression.
My eyes flutter to Allie. She’s folded over her knees with a hand covering her mouth, brown eyes wide with awhat-the-fucklook.
Allie and I went to the local clinic a few days ago after I broke down in her apartment. I had an exam, a full STI panel, and theytook a urine sample too. I hadn’t even thought about pregnancy—a fact I’m ashamed of now. It never crossed my mind until I received a call from the clinic yesterday afternoon: all clear of infections, not cleared for a bun-less oven.
I don’t know how I hadn’t considered it sooner. I don’t know why it wasn’t my first thought that night.
Maybe it flashed through my mind, but I was too afraid to address it. I can’t remember now.
I’d been on birth control for years. I stopped taking my pills just a couple months ago because I was having side effects that I didn’t like. Honestly, I should’ve seen the signs then. Parker wasn’t happy when I stopped taking them and told him we had to use condoms. He was okay with my constant headaches, mood swings, and nonexistent libido if it meant he could explore his breeding kink without repercussions.
It was a point of contention for us, but I promised him I’d make an appointment to have an IUD inserted by my primary doctor here in Pacific Shores this summer during a visit to my parents. I didn’t want to have something like that done at a clinic I was unfamiliar with, and knew I’d be more comfortable doing it here at home. He was frustrated at having to use condoms for a period of time, but I thought he’d accepted it. I also thought it was unlikely I could get pregnant so soon after stopping birth control. I’ve heard it takes some women years, so I easily pushed any fears to the back of my mind.
I’m so fucking stupid.
Dad’s hands fall from my cheeks, and I look at my mom again. Her eyes are on him, some unspoken communication written on her face. She blinks rapidly, sighing before directing her gaze to me.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay. That’s...” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Okay.”
I turn to my father. His eyes are fixed on the floor as he runs a hand through his hair.
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” I whisper.
A strained laugh leaves my mom’s lips. “Is there a better way to say it?”
Suddenly, a chuckle escapes me too. I shake my head. “Guess not.”
She cups my face, smiling gently before pulling me back into her arms. A moment later, a second strong pair of arms wraps around me. Emotion pricks my nose once again, and suddenly tears are spilling over, soaking the fabric of my mother’s shirt.
She hushes me, running a hand over the back of my head, whispering reassurances like,We’ve got you, you’re all right, we’ll be okay, you’re safe.
My parents say that often. The reminder that I’m safe with them, we’re safe with each other. My dad once told me he couldn’t guarantee a life free from pain, but he could promise me a safe place with him. That there would never be anything I’d need to hide, nothing I could do beyond forgiveness—that I could always come back home and find acceptance.
I sure am testing those promises now.
Pulling back, I turn my head to face him. He’s still sitting on the floor in front of me and my mom. His hand rests on my shoulder, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze, offering a wistful smile.
“Do you want to talk about what comes next?” my mom asks quietly. “Or have you already explored your options?”
I sit up, wiping my eyes. “Oh. Well...”
“We don’t have to talk about it today,” Dad says. “If you need time, if you’re too tired, we can wait.”
“No. I’ve decided,” I say, looking at Allie.
Another moment I’m not sure I want to face my parents for. I know they’ll support me through any decision, but I don’t knowthat they’ll agree with it. I don’t know if it’ll disappoint them or make them sad, especially considering my mom’s history with infertility.
“I’m going to proceed with termination. I have an appointment with a doctor early next week. They’ll do an ultrasound to confirm, but it sounds like I’m early enough that I can do a medical abortion here at home.” I swallow, looking at them again. “If you’re not comfortable with that, I can stay with Allie instead.”
She nods in my periphery but doesn’t say anything.
“Of course we want you here at home, Sugar,” my dad says, the words falling from his lips immediate and rushed. “We’ll take care of you. That should never be a question.”
“I’d like to go with you to the doctor, if that’s all right,” Mom adds.
I nod, my throat heavy once again. “Thank you.”
It's Dad hushing me now, and they both pull me in for another hug. Allie quietly excuses herself, murmuring something about using the restroom, but I know it’s to give us a moment alone. She’ll wait for me upstairs in my bedroom. She was confident my parents would be understanding and unquestioningly supportive, but offered to be here anyway, just in case.
