Melanie heard a clatter from the kitchen through the open screen door, and she pushed herself to her feet. Had Tilly’s cooking improved in the last year? She took another sip of coffee as she headed back inside, pushing aside the stone frog that had been propping open the door so the screen could swing shut behind her.
Tilly had pulled out a bowl and some cereal and was rummaging through the fridge when Melanie came into the kitchen.
“What are you looking for?” Melanie asked.
“My cashew milk.”
“I don’t buy it for myself, Tilly,” Melanie said. “And I forgot when I went to the store yesterday. Can’t you just have regular milk?”
There were no allergies—Melanie knew that much.
“I’ll have something else, then,” Tilly said. “But you need to pick up cashew milk.”
“You can pick up some cashew milk,” Melanie replied. “I won’t be drinking it.”
Tilly cast her a mildly perplexed look. “Dad can pay you back.”
“It’s not about the money.”
Tilly swallowed, and her lips turned pale. She put a hand over her stomach and hurried toward the hallway.
That was honest-to-goodness nausea, if Melanie had ever seen it. Great...so it looked like Tilly had the stomach flu. She grimaced as she heard the sound of vomiting from the bathroom, and she waited until it stopped, the toilet flushed, the water ran and Tilly came back out.
“You need to go lie down,” Melanie said. “You’re sick.”
“No, I’m not. I’m fine,” Tilly muttered. “I’m actually hungry.”
“It’s only going to come back up!” Melanie said. “Do you want to lie on the couch and watch TV?”
Tears welled in Tilly’s eyes, and she shook her head. “Why does no one listen to me?”
“Because you just threw up for the second time!” Melanie said with a low laugh. “Come on, Tilly. Are you so bent on proving me wrong that you won’t even go rest?”
“I’m not sick!” Tilly’s voice rose. “I’m pregnant!”
Silence descended upon the kitchen and Melanie stared at her in shock.
“What?” she breathed.
“I’m pregnant.” Tilly took a step back. “Are you going to tell my dad?”
Melanie shook her head. “Who’s the father? Simon?”
“Yeah. Who else?”
Simon...cruel, immature, manipulative Simon... It couldn’t be worse.
“When did you find out?” Melanie asked.
“A month ago.”
“So you’re what...two? Three months along?” Melanie asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know,” Tilly replied. “Doesn’t a doctor tell you that?”
“Haven’t you been to a doctor yet?” Melanie asked.
“I only just told Simon!” she snapped. “I haven’t had time! I’m busy. I’m...” Tears welled in her eyes again, and Melanie sighed. The girl was scared. Tilly wasn’t mature enough to buy her own choice of milk, and she was pregnant...
“Come sit down,” Melanie said. “Let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Tilly retorted. “I’m pregnant, and it’s my business. Okay?”
“Is this what you and Simon have been fighting about?” Melanie asked.
Tilly didn’t answer, which was confirmation. Then she said, “I want to have this baby. It’s mine. Simon can do whatever he wants.”
“Actually, Simon needs to financially support his child,” Melanie replied. “I don’t care what he wants, he fathered that baby and he has a responsibility.”
“And that is why I didn’t say anything!” Tilly said, shaking her head. “That!”
“What?” Melanie demanded. “I’m on your side!”
“What if I don’t want to share my baby with him?” Tilly asked, her voice shaking. “What if I just want him to go away, and I’m fine with that?”
“Tilly, he’s going to be a father just as much as you’re going to be a mother,” Melanie said.
“What would you know about that?” Tilly snapped. “You don’t have any kids. You aren’t even a mom! You have no idea what any of this feels like!”
Melanie felt the words like a punch. She’d never experienced a pregnancy, that was true. But she’d known what it was to worry about, to love three kids more than she loved herself. And she sure knew how much raising those kids cost! It wasn’t only a financial hit, either. It was emotional, spiritual... And whether Tilly liked it or not, that baby was going to grow up one day and ask about its father.
“I raised you, Tilly...” Melanie said past the lump in her throat.
“Whatever...” Tilly shook her head. “But you have no idea what it’s like to be pregnant, so don’t act like you know!”
Tilly headed back down the hallway and her bedroom door slammed. And Melanie stood there, trying to put a cap on the tears rising inside of her.
You aren’t even a mom! Those were the words that hurt the most. And maybe Tilly was right... She didn’t know what this stage felt like, but she did know what it felt like to be excluded from it. She remembered being asked once by a young pregnant woman in a kids’ clothing store if she should be afraid of the delivery, and Melanie had been tired of telling her complicated story. She was tired of the exaggerated sympathy. That poor little thing. Losing her mommy. Aw. So Melanie had faked an answer—something about how she’d forget the pain afterward, and how it was all worth it in the end. She’d even reached out and squeezed the young woman’s hand, then fled.
Melanie definitely knew what it was to feel like an impostor.
She put her hands flat on the counter and let out a slow shaky breath.
Don’t cry. Don’t let that girl see you cry...
Melanie looked around the kitchen, then headed to the freezer and pulled out some frozen waffles. Tilly liked these, too. And if she was pregnant, she needed to be eating. Melanie dropped two in the toaster, then pulled out the glass jar of blueberry syrup.
“Tilly?” she called once breakfast was ready, her voice sounding stronger than she felt right now. “I’ve got some waffles here. You’d better eat.”
Because being a mother also meant putting her own complicated emotions aside for the needs of the child in her care. It meant swallowing her own grief and womaning up when she was needed.
Tilly would also need a doctor’s appointment and some prenatal vitamins. Melanie might not have
