~4~


~Chapter Four~


She holds the hand that holds her down
She will... rise above...
Don't call me daughter, not fit to
The picture kept will remind me

~Pearl Jam, Daughter~


Damon and I left the hospital late the following afternoon—once we were both certain that Amelia would be fine. Which, to be completely honest, I'm still a little shaken up. I've learned more about the respiratory system in the past eighteen hours than I did in an entire semester of anatomy class.

And I would have much rather gotten the information from the pages of a beat-up, defaced textbook than the first-hand experience I received.

But when has life ever been that simple?

I know I can bring up many instances when that question wasn't a crapshoot, but they all feel so far away now, the minor issues I faced no longer things I would consider problems. And even some things that weren't a pain in ass, I now view as inconvenient.

A fact I'm hit in the face with as the door closes behind me, the soft click of the lock sounding much louder than it should. The muffled voices of my parents falling silent when they hear me enter the house. I had been aware that they were home—my mother's van is parked in the driveway, which meant that I had to park in the street. But… I don't get the frantic welcome I prepped myself for.

I had texted one of them—I don't remember who—to give them an update on what was going on, but I didn't look at my phone after that, so I don't even know if they responded.

My gut is telling me I should just avoid them, that I don't want to engage Mom or Dad, but I find myself longing for a hug. And not the sort of hug Damon would give me—I want my mommy or daddy to pick me up like they used to when I fell down and scraped my knees, hands and elbows. I want to be told from someone older and wiser that it'll be okay. I want my parents to hold me while I cry, beg them to explain away all the scary stuff.

Abby and Rudy haven't done that sort of thing since I was eight. Grams did it—up until she took her very last breath, in fact. And I've been on my own with the whole comforting thing since then, which is part of the reason I'm the problem-solver between Elena, Caroline, and myself—I became a pro at self-soothing at the age of fourteen.

So, why I go into the kitchen looking for emotional support, doesn't even make sense. Especially when Mom hadn't bothered to greet me (as she's the softer of the two).

But I do.

And, before anything happens, I get the feeling that I'll regret my choice in moments.

They are sitting at the table, sipping from matching Mr. and Mrs. coffee mugs, different sections of the newspaper spread out in front of them. Dad's reading the front page while Mom has immersed herself in the Dear Donna advice column—how fucking ironic.

"And where were you, young lady?" my dad asks suspiciously.

I glance from one parent to the other, confused. I guess they hadn't gotten my message. "The hospital…"

Dad scrutinizes my appearance—from my messy hair to my wrinkled blouse and shorts and back up to my face, taking note of the dark circles underneath of my eyes. "Oh, then where's Damon?" he makes a big show of peering around me in search of him.

"Stefan brought him home so he could get a shower and change his clothes."

Dad can't find any holes in my reply, so, he looks to his wife for confirmation—as if she would know something he didn't. "Did she tell you she'd be with that idiot all night?"

"No…" she shakes her head. "But service was unreliable up there. I'm sure she didn't forget to tell us, right Bonnie Bear?"

"Yeah, I let you know… I explained why, too. It was an emergency. Check your messages—it should've come through when you got home."

Dad turns his attention to his phone, which had been sitting on the table beside the Sports section the entire time. "Okay… here it is."

"Uh, yeah," I snip despite my better judgement.

"… However, I see any time you spend with Damon as an emergency, so, what happened?"

My vocal cords seize up. My father doesn't ask for details about Amelia. I'm pretty sure he still actively pretends she doesn't exist. He told his boss I had some made-up illness when he had to leave work to meet me at the hospital both times and I'd go into shock if he changed his story, though the rumors around town were confirmed as true when I stepped back into school after Amelia was born.

But Dad can't let my indiscretions ruin his reputation—if he said anything that alluded to the real situation, it was probably that I had a tapeworm cut out of me.

To him, that is pretty close to the truth.

"Amelia's… her lung collapsed…" I look downward, squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to keep calm. "I was scared… to leave…"

"She's okay now, though?" Rudy asks, and I don't know if he's actually concerned or if this is some kind of prank, a punishment for staying out all night with my boyfriend… the person who screwed me out of every opportunity my parents ever wanted for me.

"Dr. Wilson says so… but…"

"Well, I'm glad she's doing better," he interjects, tone gruff.

I'm sure he thinks that makes up for his gaff of downplaying my reasons for not being home, but it's still a huge slap in the face. It doesn't even sound like he means it.

"How do I do this?" I ask quietly, because for one second, I see Grams in my mother's face. They look so much alike… sometimes, it's hard to believe that they are actually so fundamentally different.

"Bonnie… this is why we wanted you to do something different. You're just not emotionally equipped to handle these kinds of things…"

Nope—that's not something Grams would say… that's not even something Aunt Calla or Emily would say…

"I couldn't!" I yell, hands balling into fists at my sides. "I tried—I told you I went to get an abortion. I told you I didn't want to… did you even tell Dad about it? Is that why he looks at me like that… because he thinks I was too stupid to even consider it?"

"Bonnie… calm down." Mom stares at me, silently pleading with me, begging me to shut up.

But the words pour out of my mouth like a faucet, and I hate how right I'm making her look, how she's got a point—I am clearly not managing my stress levels appropriately. They never needed to help me before and now they don't know what to do.

They've never seen me like this.

"No, I can't. I can't! I need you… to tell me anything—say something helpful!"

"We tried," Dad says, jumping to Mom's defense. "You didn't take our advice—now look at what's happening…"

"I just want to know why!" I cry pitifully, voice shrill. So loud and high-pitched that my throat feels raw.

"Why what? Why that boyfriend of yours left you to deal with this alone?" Man, Dad really wants me to regret everything I've done, doesn't he?

I find myself laughing hysterically as tears run down my face. "No—Damon hasn't left me alone. And he hasn't—not once since I told him about the baby. You… you do it all the time!"

"There's a reason people think of teen pregnancy in a negative light, kid—this is a prime example. You threw your life away for a guy who took advantage of your naivety and now you have to deal with all the problems that come along with it. I'm sorry the baby has health issues…I certainly want her to be alright… but I can't fix everything. This is exactly why we urged you to… think about every avenue possible—so, this didn't happen. I love you, Bonnie but I warned you… you don't get to take a break. This is your life now. Your grandmother always told you to look at things from every perspective."

"She also told me to follow my heart." I spit out, frustration hard to suppress. "So, I did."

"Well, that's also why we told you to only listen to some of her advice."

"Sorry—I must have missed that memo… Mom?" I turn to her once more, hoping she's had a change of heart. "Tell me how to be a mother… please…"

"We'll try, Bonnie Bear," she says grabbing onto her husband's hand. They share a look so unlike the one I've grown accustomed to that I'm utterly confused, too stunned to even be thankful that it doesn't signify they're desire to spend the rest of the day in their bedroom—and you know, forget I exist.

"Abby… I don't know if that is a realistic goal…" Dad's voice is an odd combination of diplomatic and irritated.

Mom smiles at him, tone light as she continues, "it's worth a shot, right?"

"I guess we'll see."

Okay, I'm missing something, clearly, but I can't even begin to guess what it is—something is very off about their dynamic, and it has nothing to do with the matter at hand.

The yellow curtains blow when the air kicks on, and it's so weird that they didn't bother to reset it when they saw I fiddled around with the temperature on the thermostat.

Great, yet another thing to worry about. Weird, disappointed, unpredictable Bennett's. That's never a good combination of personality traits—at least, not when Rudy and Abby are the family members in question.

My phone beeps and I feel a sharp spike of fear run through me like a sword. I'm terrified of the message I might find on the screen, an update from the NICU, telling me that something went wrong again, but it's not…

It's the opposite, believe it or not.

Relief washes over me as I read the note left for Damon and me via the hospital's NICU cell phone app. Lucille is just letting me know that Amelia's vitals are looking good, that they haven't fluctuated since we left.

Rudy and Abby catch on quickly—for once. "Everything's okay, right?"

"Yes," I let out a long sigh. "Thank God!"

I'm not paying attention—or not a lot of attention—when my parents begin speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones that aren't easily decodable. So, I take the free moment to say thanks to Lucille and fire off a brief text to Damon.

"Bonnie Bear?"

"Yes, Mom,"

"… is the offer to go see Amelia still on the table?"


Damon is staring at me in shock, eyes wide and mouth agape. I'm not sure if the way he's standing—with an arm braced on the doorframe—is for show or a legitimate response to what I just said.

I stick my finger in my mouth and make a move to reach for his ear, but he blocks me with his elbow, straightening his posture and recoiling. "Okay… your reflexes are still good… you really went into the wrong profession, you know. You'd make a very good actor."

"So, would you," he counters. "I really believed you for a second."

I look at him blankly. "I was serious—Mom and Dad want to come with us."

"The collapsed lung story made them have a change of heart?"

"Yes…" I think this over and shake my head. I don't know if I would describe their newfound interest as "a change of heart." If anything, they decided to be open to thinking differently, but there's no telling how long that will last. "No… sort of. Their behavior's a little concerning, to be honest."

Damon nods—if that explanation made any kind of sense—and it didn't—he would be able to find it. "That's intriguing."

"Maybe for you," I mutter. "Abby and Rudy aren't intriguing. They're… predictably inconsistent."

"Not a thing."

"It is, too. I can always count on them to say and do two entirely different things."

"… Which is intriguing."

"If you don't have to live with it—"

"Is everything going okay, Bonnie Bear?" Mom's voice floats into the foyer. "We're almost ready."

My back stiffens, gripping on the brass doorknob with more strength than I had a second ago. "Yes, Mom… Damon's so glad you're coming!"

"Yeah—because I want to make the idiot who knocked up my teenage daughter happy." Dad calls to us and when he steps into view, it's clear he's going to act as though he only meant for my mother to hear, when that really isn't the case.

"Nice to see you again, Rudy." Damon greets with an air of courtesy that sounds both sincere and backhanded at the same time.

My father huffs, "you, too," and grabs his keys from the dish on the hall table. "I'll be in the car."

Upon hearing the sound of the SUV door slamming shut, Mom swoops in and hugs Damon. If he's surprised by the gesture, he doesn't show it—not even to me as he peers over Abby's shoulder and sees my own bewildered expression.

"It really is nice to see you, Damon, don't mind him… we're still adjusting to everything."

"Of course, Abby, I understand."

My mouth drops open and I know I look exactly as he did when I said, "so, Rudy and Abby are pretending to care about Amelia…"

When Abby hikes her brown, leather purse on her shoulder and says, tone bright, "I'm going to check on your Dad, Bonnie. You two take your time."

"Um… okay… thanks…"

Damon steps aside, letting my mom pass by, and he turns to me as soon as she's far enough away that she won't be able to hear us talk. "She actually sounds like she means it."

I peer at my parent's silhouettes, their movements slightly obstructed by the windshield. I'm definitely suspicious. I don't like the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah… we'll see…"

"Come on, Nancy Drew, you can investigate the case of the pod-parents later—Amelia's waiting for us."

"I hope she never has to remember having to wait for us. Ever."

"Something tells me, that despite her incredibly weird, fucked up parents, that will never be a problem."

"Speak for yourself, Spock. I'm normal."

"Says the girl who willingly participated in the legendary penis or rocket ship debate."

I snort derisively and roll my eyes. "That is not how that conversation went."

"Well," Damon says. "That's how I remember it…"

"Of course, it is," I say, pulling the front door closed behind me, making my way down the driveway and to my dad's car, wanting nothing more than to hold onto my light bantering session with my boyfriend during what is sure to be the world's most awkward ride.


As it turns out, my parents seeing Amelia isn't what I had to be worried about.

Sure, neither Mom nor Dad gushed over her like my friends did, but they look pleased to see she's doing better after the previous days emergency. A good thing—because anything has to be better than outright disdain—but I certainly don't feel relieved or happy that this is what I get.

Because, at the end of the day, if this is the best response I can expect, I have no idea how I'm going to get over this crippling fear I have of inadvertently hurting Amelia.

For what feels like the billionth time in the past twenty-four hours, I find myself wishing I could speak to Grams again, ask her all the questions that I want to have answered.

Like this one:

If being a mom is so hard, how come you made it look so easy?

But I'm sure that is a question that comes with a variety of correct responses, and only my grandmother would be able to explain it in a way that made sense.

Damon's gaze flits from me to the plexiglass window that gives us a clear view of my parents interacting with our daughter. As usual, he is much more relaxed, calm whereas I'm on high-alert, ready to pump the brakes if I feel that something is going wrong.

My whole body is tense as I stand, knees locked and arms crossed over my chest, staring holes into the back of Mom and Dad's heads—not even Damon's reassuring one-armed hug can ease my anxiousness.

"They're doing okay," he tells me. "Way better than Giuseppe would. Actually, I expected them to disappear once Lucille pulled us away for that update."

"You don't think something weird is going on?"

"Oh, the fact that they acted like we stayed out all night partying and then suddenly wanting to see someone they act like they don't care about is definitely weird, but I don't have your Spidey-senses, Bennett."

"Chi, Damon, I listen to the way I feel."

"I don't think you're allowed to say that if you pick and choose what to listen to."

I scoff. "Says you—the naysayer of chi."

"I prefer the title of, loving and concerned boyfriend." He supplies, as if I'll opt to use his terminology instead.

"Of course, you would—it makes you sound better."

"Well, yeah. Why else would I suggest it?"

I throw him a pointed look. "Excuse me—your lame attempt at flattery makes me feel like I have to puke."

"Love you, too, Bon Bon," he calls after me as I make my way over to the bathrooms closest to the NICU.

In all honesty, I don't feel sick. I don't even need to go to the bathroom. I just came in here to try to gather my thoughts, which is really a ploy to get rid of my anger before I have to face Rudy and Abby again, listen to their fake exclamations about how they simply adore their granddaughter.

I push my foot down on the pedal that controls the faucet and splash cold water onto my face over and over again. When the temperature starts to rise, I turn the sink off and take a step backward. I examine my appearance carefully, practicing my smiles so that they will look believable to my mom and dad.

Though, I'm not sure they'd notice if I had a complete mental breakdown in the middle of corridor that connects the neonatal intensive care unit and the maternity ward. Damon would see it coming a mile away, then the hospital personnel would follow, then my parents might realize what's going on.

But I doubt it.

I wait another few minutes before I gather up all my patience and leave the women's restroom—I'm going to need much more of it than I think I have, so, this will definitely be a test of my emotional control.

I can only hope that my time-out made it stronger.

I'm rounding the corner, expecting to meet Damon in the waiting area, making snide remarks as he gives in and watches the rerun of Counting On currently playing on the television. I wouldn't even be all that surprised if my Mom and Dad lasted another five minutes in the NICU with Amelia… and yet, I'm met with a totally different scenario.

My parents aren't by the baby's incubator anymore—they're standing just outside the entrance, a strange, abstract sculpture partially blocking my line of vision.

I tip-toe to where I'll be concealed from view, directly behind a wall that dipped inward to make room for a water fountain. I wedge my body in-between the structures and peek at the orange and blue blocks that make up the three-dimensional art piece in front of Mom and Dad.

I can't see them, so they won't be able to see me. But I can hear them—sort of. Their words are garbled, but I am still able to understand the general meaning of their sentences.

"Rudy, she said we need to… it's… Bonnie is… I hate…" – Mom.

"I am Abs, I am… she's a… though… damn it… can't… stand this bullshit… I'm tired of…" –Dad.

I slink away when I realize I don't want to hear anymore. And, okay, maybe I didn't really get the gist of what they were communicating, but it didn't sound pleasant.

Not that things in the Bennett household have been pleasant since Dad found my misplaced nine-week scan before I had the chance to break the news to them personally, but I used to think a girl could hope—but I don't think I can keep having faith in people who probably didn't give a shit about me in the first place.