Silence filled the bathroom, but when I checked, the call was still connected.
“Is—Is Dad still there?” My gut flipped.
She sighed. “Honey, he truly doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s under a lot of scrutiny because of the reason he went to jail. It isn’t a good idea for him to go back to the motorcycle club.”
“Oh bullshit.” The shout took me by surprise. My breath came in ragged gasps. “The Kings of Men helped us when no one else cared if we lived or died. Are you really telling me they won’t give Dad a hand? He’s one of theirs!”
The noise that left her was somewhere between a shriek and a sob. “They would, but they shouldn’t! Not for a while. Maybe not ever.”
My mind scrambled and the only important question surfaced. “Does Dad want to get to know me now?” A ridiculous upwelling of hope almost took me out at the knees. I braced myself against the counter and glared at my phone for making me feel this way.
“That isn’t something he ever wanted. I’m sorry. I know you deserved better. He’s stubborn.” Her breath hitched. “I was the one who wanted something different for you and him.”
I eyed the toilet, but it would be stupid to flush my own phone. “You know what? Weirdly enough, I don’t care what the selfish fuck wanted because no one held a gun to his head and told him to blow his wad in your?—”
“Oliver!”
“Well, they didn’t!”
She sobbed outright. “Wait! This isn’t why I called!”
Mom rarely cried. My heart squeezed. “Is something wrong?”
She laughed, but her voice sounded watery. “Well, he’s not gone, but he will be. I would love to have you home for Christmas.”
“Dad’s leaving? Why?” I used the hand towel to wipe off the counter. There was no way I could stand still. “You said he had nowhere else to go.”
Mom sobbed again, but it ended in a defeated chuckle. “Because I’m unlucky.”
“Huh?” I tossed the hand towel in the sink. She needed to start making sense.
There was a hiss on her end, probably a pop bottle opening. “How much detail do you want, kiddo?”
“I want to know what’s going on!”
Ice hitting a glass. A glug. If I didn’t know Mom wasn’t a boozer, I’d be worried she was trying to drink away her problems. “A month after your dad was released, I stopped having my period. I thought maybe it was stress or possibly menopause.”
I stared at the towel as the gears chugged along in my brain. “Are you sick or something?”
She groaned. “You sure are a boy. I’m pregnant. I’m telling your dad soon. We both know he’s going to hit the road.”
Silence.
The cogs in my brain popped. What. The. Fuck? “Are you keeping it?” My stomach churned.
“Yeah. I can’t bring myself to do anything else.”
I sank to the floor and rested against the cabinets.
“So, anyway, I was hoping, please, that we could set aside what happened for a day, and you and your boyfriends might come over. I have the tree up.” She sniffled. “Your stocking is on the mantel. I got one for each of them, too.”
“How could you do this to another kid?” I clonked my head against the cabinet hard enough to hurt. I didn’t wake up. This wasn’t a dream.
“Oh, honey, it won’t be the same. I have a nice job. Some savings. Benefits. I’m sorry, honey. Sorry you had the life you did.”
Guilt gnawed at me. Was I ruining something special for her? Someone had scooped out my insides. “I’m fine, Mom. But what will you tell.... Is it a boy or a girl?”
She laughed, an amused, musical sound that didn’t fit our conversation. “We won’t know for a while.”
