Disclaimer: Nope, not mine
Sorry it took so long for an update, the story is dragging a bit for me now, i'm open to suggestions! BTW, the chapters alternate from past to present, but i'm sure ya'll realized that.
Dad tried to act like nothing at all had happened. He didn't say a word to me that fateful day at the hospital, and afterwards never mentioned the incident again. He would mutter a gruff "Good Morning" at breakfast daily, and absentmindedly tousle my hair before he left for work, but that was about the extent of our communication. He started working late and on weekends, so even if we were speaking there was hardly ever a time when the two of us were in the house at the same time. Mom said he was just trying to earn a little extra money for when the baby came, that God knows we were going to need it, but I knew the truth.
My Father was ashamed of me.
He had always been the quiet one in the family, content to sit calmly in the background while Mom took the helm and called the shots. He never wanted any of the attention "his girls," as he called my mother and I, seemed to thrive off and preferred to look on adoringly as the tow of us basked in the spotlight. But this wasn't a ballet recital, or a cheer completion or even a school play, he couldn't sit faceless and hidden in the darkness of an auditorium, just another dad cheering on his little girl. Because this time his little girl was two months pregnant and wasn't surrounded by twenty other little girls in matching conditions. She was alone, stuck up on a stage she would rather not be on, and that he would rather not watch. This time his placid way of life was about to be shaken up, twisted around and thrown out on display for the whole town to take notice of.
And it was all my fault.
Of course he was far too much of a gentleman to express his embarrassment of me. He would never yell at me, or call me names, or even give me a dirty look, but I could still see it in his eyes. There was just this incredibly heavy, disheartening disappointment that seemed to consume his entire being. And I knew it was because of me. My parents were the only ones who knew yet, so I couldn't imagine the shame I would cause them once I started to show. We hadn't talked about anything regarding the pregnancy really, except for the fact that I was to carry the baby to term. But as for how we were going to deal with any of it I really didn't know. Were we going to keep quiet? Hide my belly in baggy clothes then ship me off to a school for unwed mothers, give the baby up for adoption then come home
and pretend I had been visiting relatives? Tell people I was expecting and try to go on with life as usual, disregarding what other's thought? I was clueless, and Dad obviously wasn't about to bring up the topic over dinner or anything. Mom wasn't exactly planning my baby shower already, either. She made my OBGYN appointments, bought me the right kind of vitamins, and reminded me not to lift anything over ten pounds, but never anything more personable or maternal than that. She treated me as any responsible mother would treat their sick daughter, but the thing was, I don't have the flu or the chicken pox-I was pregnant.
I knew my parent's wouldn't welcome me with open arms once they found out I was going to have a child, but some small part of me hoped for a bit of...comfort? Sympathy? I don't know, maybe a shoulder to cry on? But I should have known better than that. My parent's had always been very dignified people, and to offer their condolences to me for getting myself in such a messy situation simply wasn't in their character. They would support me, of course, but never was I to expect pity for my stupid mistake.
The whole thing wouldn't be so bad if I had my friends to turn to, but at that point in time sharing my big secret with my best friends wasn't a great option. The girls I hung out with weren't exactly the most discrete creatures. I mean, they meant well, but I knew that if I told them I was pregnant I could count in it being common knowledge before the first day of class. Obviously I would have to tell them before long, in just a few months I would be showing, but until then I would keep my mouth shut. It was hard though, they didn't understand why I couldn't lead the same lifestyle they had grown accustomed to any longer. They kept inviting me the same old types of parties, sending really hot (and really horny) older boys my way, and sneaking liquor into my room when they came over to visit. It was tempting, I'm not going to lie, a substantial part of me just wanted to say "fuck it all" and go on acting as I had before. But then I would see a young woman with an adorable bump poking out from under her tank top. Or a guy smiling up at the toddler with the same curly blonde hair as himself riding on his shoulders happily. Or a little girl who waved at me from a shopping cart as
we waited in line at the grocery store, and I knew I don't have it in me to do so.
Because secretly, I'm excited. I get on-line when my parent's aren't in the room and pick out nursery furniture. I checked out a baby name book from the library and poured over it every night, outlining a list of possible names for my kid. I hid behind the racks of baby clothes in department stores and rubbed the fleecy softness of pastel blankets up against my cheek. I would stand naked in the mirror after I got out of the shower and try to imagine how my flat stomach would look stretched out in all of its impending motherhood glory. I did these things, but secretly. I was ashamed, because I knew I should have hated myself at the time, but for some reason I didn't. Sure there were many nights that I cried myself to sleep, wishing fervently that I could take back my actions that night, but I just wasn't angry. Well, maybe I was angry with Ethan, who made no attempt to contact me since I told him I was carrying his child, and didn't hesitate to make his way through every blonde in town. Yeah, I didn't feel very kindly towards him.
Reviews, pretty please!