“It’s not work-related,” I blurt. “I’m pregnant.”
My parents are stunned silent for a long moment. The blood drains from my father’s face as he stares at me.
“You’re pregnant?” he finally says through gritted teeth.
I nod slowly, giving them another moment to take it in.
“You’re having a baby?” Mom gasps. “And who is the father? Lydia Elaine, I cannot believe how careless you are.”
“I’m not careless.” I look around the room, desperately wishing for Fletcher to appear. I need my rock. “Sometimes things happen that you don’t expect. I thought maybe you’d be excited. I mean, it’s your first grandchild!” I dig through my purse for the ultrasound photo, ignoring the twinge in my wrist when I twist it just right.
I sit up, holding out the photo for them to see. “It’s still early, so I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, but I’m excited.”
Neither of my parents takes the photo, staring at it in disbelief.
“You’re keeping it?” Dad asks incredulously.
“I mean, yeah. I thought through all my options, but I want to keep it. I’m ready to be a mom.” I rest my hands in my lap, clutching the photo of my baby as waves of sadness take over my heart.
My mother scoffs. “No, you aren’t.”
“I watched you practically be a single mom. Dad was never around. I can do this on my own.”
Dad makes an irritated noise, running his hands down his face.
“And Fletcher is the father?” Mom asks, gesturing at the empty seat. “Is that why he was supposed to be here?”
I shake my head rapidly. “No, no. He’s not the father. The father and I aren't together. He was someone I saw for a few dates, but he decided not to continue things.”
A bustling behind me pulls my attention, and Fletcher drags his hand along my shoulder, flopping into the seat beside me. He’s out of breath, hischeeks flushed as he pushes his still-damp hair out of his face. “Sorry, I’m late. How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Ward?”
“Did you know Lydia is pregnant?” Mom asks, her tone sharp.
Fletcher glances over to me, his brows furrowed like he’s not sure how I want him to respond. They don’t give him a second to try, though.
“She can’t do this on her own,” Dad snaps. “And the father isn’t involved, we’re learning.”
My frustration bubbles to the surface. I should have known they wouldn’t even be happy for a second. They can’t be.
“I can andwilldo this on my own,” I state.
“She’s not doing this on her own,” Fletcher responds.
My head whips in his direction, my eyes widening. What is he talking about?
“What, you’re going to pretend to be the baby’s father? And what will you get out of this, Fletcher?” Mom snarks. “You two are going to play a game of a happy little family?”
“It won’t be pretend. If Lydia wants me to step up and be the father, I will, but for now, I will be there for her in any way I can. And what do you two know about happy families anyway?” Fletcher reaches over to where my palm is resting on my thigh, taking it and squeezing hard.
I look up into his familiar gaze, seeing the sincerity there.
For a moment, all I can do is look at him, bask in his support and strength. Something in his eye looks different, but I can’t quite place it. There’s a determination, sure, but something about this almost reminds me of the moments right before he steps onto the ice. He always appears eerily calm and ready to take on anything the game throws at him.
The waitress appears.
“Can we get some boxes, please?” I ask.
For the second time in a week, I’m leaving a restaurant before fully eating my meal, but I can’t stay a minute longer. I don’t know what I expected.
