Well, two someones, now.
I rested my hand on my stomach. No bump yet, just a lot of bloating and a new awareness in how my jeans fastened. But I felt different. Like someone had spun me around a few times and finally pointed me in the right direction.
I wasn’tsellingthe house in the end. Jordan and I had agreed on that. I’d worked too hard for it to let it go. But I was renting it out. Turning it into something useful. That felt powerful in its own way, that we’d made a decision together.
The hard part was still ahead, though.
My parents.
God, I was already sweating.
We’d invited them to dinner. A quiet country pub not far from their place in Penarth. The type with low ceilings, exposed beams, brass tankards hung in a line from the bar, and a roaring hearth in the middle. They thought Jordan was just visiting. That we were still dating. They had no idea I was pregnant. Or moving out. Or jacking it all in for a man they hadn’t even met yet.
My parents weren’t bad people. They’d always loved me in the best way they knew how. But I was their only child, and somewhere along the way, I think I became their proof. The evidence that they’d done something right. Especially for Mum.
Motherhood hadn’t come naturally to her. I’d figured that out over the years. Not from anything she said, but from everything she didn’t. She loved me, yes, there was no doubt. But her love came with blueprints and benchmarks. The right job. The right husband. The right version of me to show off to the world.
Dad was softer, someone who I could be more open with. We probably had the closer relationship. He was a teacher, so we’d spent hours playing tennis or cricket together over the summer when I was a kid. Our deeper conversations naturally slipped in between matches. But Mum was the boss.
I’d always be grateful for the opportunities they gave me. But sometimes, I ached for a simpler relationship. Love without conditions.
And now, here I was, about to blow the whole bloody blueprint up. I just had to convince her that her daughter getting knocked up and living with tennis’ current golden boy was a good thing.
Jordan knew what we were walking in to. Still, he stood by me, steady as ever. As we walked into the pub, he pulled me back for a second.
“Remember I’m here, okay? You need me, you say.” And I believed him. Because he hadn’t flinched. He’d followed me after I broke. He’d stepped up when the test turned pink. He’d picked up the pieces of it all and put them back together, holding me like I was the best thing on Earth. ?
Mum watched us like a hawk, the way I knew she would. She thrived on suspicion and judgement, slipping them into conversation as easily as buttering bread. Elegant, immaculately turned out, she was the kind of woman who wore scrutiny like perfume. I’d inherited her cheekbones and her sharp eyes, though sometimes I wished I hadn’t.
To her credit, she was polite enough to Jordan. Asked about his matches, his family. All the expected niceties. But her tone had that glint to it, like she was examining him under a microscope, waiting for something not to add up.
What I hadn’t expected was how quickly Dad and Jordan hit it off. Within minutes, they were bantering like old mates, trading Aussie-Welsh digs and dissecting the last Lions tour as if the outcome had personally depended on them.
I waited. Waited until we were almost done with the meal. Then I looked at Jordan. He met my eyes and gave a small nod, squeezing my hand under the table.
“Mum…Dad.” My voice was steady, but my heart was thudding. “We…erm… we need to tell you something.”
Forks paused mid-air. Mum’s eyes narrowed, already on alert.
“You know I’ve been in the States with Jordan for the past month,” I began.
Mum nodded slowly, her brows furrowed.
“Well…I didn’t exactly come back alone.”
I paused.
“I’m…pregnant… we’re having a baby.”
There was nothing but silence. Painful, awkward, agonising silence.
“And,” I added just to break it, my breath hitching slightly, “I’m taking a break from work. I’m going with Jordan. For now.”
Mum stared like I’d grown a second head. “Kate, you can’t be serious.” Dad just stayed silent. Mulling.
“I am,” I said, my voice tightening. “Please, just listen…”
“You’ve only known him five minutes!”
