Not entirely sure if this will be a story, but tell me what you think!
Daughters
"She's got your eyes."
That's the first thing Darry ever told me the moment I held my baby girl in my arms. Four simple words – words that I wasn't even sure had any meaning to me up until now.
This kid – this little girl – was everything to me. Her momma, too, but damn, did this lil' thing have a hold on my heart without even knowing me.
Neither Darry nor Soda had any luck with girls; both of them had all boys – Soda with two, and Darry with three. Soda was pissed when Ella and I had told him and Dar the news – that not only was she pregnant, but it was with a girl instead of a boy.
Ella and I were grateful for the news. The train of testosterone had finally come to a stop.
Most people would be surprised to know that Ella got pregnant at seventeen. Especially from me, Soda and Darry's wishy-washy brother, who got good grades and nobody ever thought would sleep around. Ella was the only girl I'd ever slept with, and I guess we got lucky. I don't mean in the way of her getting pregnant – I mean in the way that we found each other, and the way we loved each other. It was something, all right. Something I'd never experienced before.
So when this hella cute girl, with these goddamn gorgeous gray-blue eyes, told me she was havin' my kid, I couldn't just take it lightly. I couldn't just sit there and be like, "okay, cool, see ya". I had to do something. I wouldn't let Ella slip away like Sandy slipped from Soda.
This was my fault; my decision. And though Sandy wasn't Soda's issue, he wanted to take care of her. I had to take care of Ella because it was my mess.
Ella's parents weren't the most ecstatic, but they reacted better than most parents would. I think they were just happy I was staying with her. Most guys don't do that – they don't take responsibility for their actions. I was raised on good morals and protecting those you loved; I didn't know it then, but I realize now that I wanted to protect Ella because I loved her, not just because she was carrying my child.
When we went to Darry's house – my childhood home – to tell my brothers, I got two very different reactions. Darry was all shits and giggles, completely happy, and his wife, Phoebe, was just as pleased. They'd had three rough, tough, but gentle boys: Beau, Randall, and Kevin. All three of them were mixed of their parents; Darry's rough-and-tough attitude, but Phoebe's gentle and caring nature.
Soda, however, was not as pleased. It was odd, seeing him so shocked; his eyes were dark, calculating the situation as if it were a problem he could solve. I knew he was thinking of Sandy – of how he thought he could just be a daddy to this kid that wasn't even his, how he thought he could fix her and fix the shitty situation that left him single and her knocked up.
I watched as Soda's wife, Heather, took hold of Soda's hand as if to bring him back from his memories. After five years, two miscarriages, and finally two healthy boys, Heather was still competing with Sandy for the affection of her husband. My brother looked at me, his eyes still foggy, and said good-humoredly, "Thought the redheads didn't have girls."
Ironically, I was in health class when I got the call.
One minute, I was answering a question on why drugs aren't the right route to go if you're an adolescent, and the next? I was in the hospital, staring at a small child wrapped what seemed a thousand times in a pink blanket.
"Which ones yours?"
I jabbed my finger at the glass, not looking up from where Soda stood behind me. "She's cute," he said, almost like he was taken aback. "Got that from her momma, no doubt."
I don't think I've ever seen Darry look at me with as much pride, as much warmth, as he did on that day. "She's got your eyes, though. What's her name?"
I smiled. "Grace."
