For right now, I need Saint.
My phone vibrates against my thigh again and I swipe it unlocked when I see it’s my father. “Hi.”
“Hey, baby. How are you holding up?”
I find myself searching the room, as if it can help me with my answer. How am I holding up? Truthfully, I’m lost, but that’s not something I have any interest in telling my father, since he’s already on edge since I left, and honestly, I would be worse if it wasn’t for Grace.
“Good, Dad. I’m in Auckland now. I’ve rented a hotel room in the city. I need a favor, though…” I leave out the part that I am still in New Zealand only thanks to my Esta Visa, and those three months are dangerously close to needing to be reset.
He sighs, and I can almost feel the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders. “Anything you want, baby. You need to come home, so anything to help make that happen, I’ll make happen.”
Squeezing my phone in my hand, I breathe out a sigh. “I need a driver, someone you trust. And Dad?” Suddenly the air seems heavy and my chest tight. The room I was just admiring for its vast space shrinks around my body and I fly up off the sofa, squeezing my eyes closed. “I need a doctor. A very good one.” And here it comes. I’m going to have to tell my father that not only am I pregnant, but I don’t know who the father is. I’ve caused him a lot of stress over the years, but despite everything, he has been my constant.
Silence. “Madison? Is something wrong?”
No. I want to scream down the phone at how not wrong this baby is. It saved my life. I was in a downward spiral to a silver bullet to match my status as a silver swan—so no, this baby is not something that is wrong. It is my reminder to take a breath. To fight for my life.
“No, Daddy…” My throat constricts around the words and my hand flies up to my mouth. “I’m pregnant.”
More silence. It’s a fear that I think most girls dread as teens—telling their parents they’re pregnant, especially a child in a position that I’m in; and even though I know my father, Elena, and biological parents are supportive as a whole, it still doesn’t cancel out the fear that’s crippling my bones as every second passes. I hear the sound of the clock tick in the background, the fridge turning off and on, a single raindrop hit the window. It’s not until I’ve curled up on the sofa with my phone still squeezed in the palm of my hand that he finally breaks the silence.
“Okay, baby. I’ll do what you need, and then promise me, Madison. I need your word that you will come home.”
That’s Dad. No questions, no judgment, no real parenting. It worked for me, though. Sometimes all a parent needs to do is show that they love their children unconditionally.
“I’ll send you over what I need, and Dad? I will need it in the next few hours.”
“Can I ask one question about my grandchild?”
The word grandchild in his tone warms my heart in a way I haven’t felt in so long. Almost as though it breathed the second breath of life into me—with the baby being the first.
“Sure.” I play with the leather bangles on my wrist, my thumb finding the crown pendant beside the swan.
A black leather box sat on the counter. It was the first thing I noticed when I came home today, and the little crown emblem embossed into the leather gave away what it was. I wonder…
No, he wouldn’t.
Bishop isn’t the kind to propose at all anyway, but if he did…
I reached for the box and popped it open. Gasping, my hand covered my mouth when the gold and silver opulence blinded me. It was a pendant for my leather strap. The same ones I’ve had since my first day at Riverside Prep. A little card slipped out from beneath.
“Always my silver swan. – your BVH”
My heart rate slows. I miss you even though I hate you.
“I think you know what I want to ask…” The fact he feels like he needs to ask should bother me.
“I do, and I can’t answer that right now. That’s why I need a doctor. Please, Dad. Someone good who can perform early DNA testing.”
“Leave it to me.” He hangs up and I’m left in the silence of this hotel.
The tightness of the air begins to subside the longer I take deep breaths. I know Dad will handle it, and when he does, that’ll be one less stress that I can tick off.
I tap my phone screen. She will be landing in three hours. That’s three hours to stalk Instagram and see what everyone has been doing. Even though I’ve kept in contact with both Tillie and Tate over the months, I crave to see their faces. All of them. Even Nate. Typing Instagram into Safari, I search Tate’s name first. Before I even packed my bags to leave, I had logged out of my account. I decided to keep it instead of deactivating it, with hopes that Bishop could open it and burn every time he saw my face.