I bared myself to him last night. The least he could have done was not toss me aside like I meant nothing. It isn’t until I get home that I realize we didn’t use a condom the night before. I convince myself that it doesn’t mean anything. We made a mistake in a moment of passion, and it’ll never happen again.
Michael Crane will always be a cautionary tale to me now.
* * *
The Crane brothers left Arcola a few weeks later to pursue some family business. Matt and I said our goodbyes with a promise to keep in touch, but deep down, I was feeling so guilty I thought I might be sick. A part of me already knew it was the end of our relationship. I slept with his brother. There’s no coming back from that.
The final nail in my coffin comes a month after I slept with Michael. I was scheduled to move to LA a week before, but I had been really sick. My mom eventually convinced me to go to the hospital, where I heard the life-changing news that I was pregnant. I was having a baby.
As soon as I hear the news, I feel numb. I have no idea how I’m going to deal with this.
“Hey, honey,” my dad says, walking into my room. He’s closely followed by my mom.
“I got an email this morning,” I tell them as they sit down on the edge of my bed.
“What did it say?” my mom asks.
“I got the job I wanted. The one with the big firm in LA.”
I’ve always wanted to move to Los Angeles, for no particular reason. I don’t know anybody there; it just always seemed like a challenge. It seemed like the best place to fully start my new adult life, all on my own.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” my dad says proudly.
“I declined it,” I say quietly.
The three of us fall silent after that. No one says anything for several minutes. I know I have to break it.
“I’m really sorry,” I say as tears well up in my eyes.
My mom moves closer and wraps me in her arms. “No, sweetie. You don’t have to apologize.”
“What am I going to do?” I ask through tears.
“You’re going to pull yourself together. You’re Christine Lawson. You’re my brave girl, and you will get through this,” my dad states assuredly.
I find myself nodding in agreement. He’s right. I’m an adult. I’m twenty-four years old. Surely, I can handle a child.
“I can’t do this without you,” I tell them.
My mom kisses my forehead.
“You won’t have to, baby,” she promises.
“Who’s the father?” my dad asks, addressing the elephant in the room.
I take a deep breath. I have to tell them the truth. I have no choice.
“It’s Michael,” I say softly, and
I glimpse the shock on their faces before burying my face in my hands.
“I fucked up,” I breathe.
My parents say nothing. After a while, I look up at them. They’re looking at each other and doing the thing where they have a conversation without saying any words. It’s weird.
Finally, they look at me.
“What do you plan to do, Christine?” my dad questions.