I reach for her hand and give it a squeeze. “That’s not what happened, and you know that as well as I do. You cut them off.”
She makes a derisive noise and drops her gaze to our joined hands. “That’s not quite true, and you know it too. I wanted to still have a relationship with my parents. Want to. But … they don’t want me.” A fat tear slides down her cheek and makes a damp spot on her jeans next to our hands. She sniffs and scrubs at her eyes. “And now my hormones are all wacky, and I keep crying at the drop of a hat, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Megan,” I say calmly, waiting for her to look at me. “Listen to me. You are not the problem in your family. You gave your parents every opportunity to get to know you as the person you are and have a relationship with you. They are the ones who’ve decided that they want nothing to do with you. They are the ones who put untenable restrictions on your ability to be whole and happy and healthy.” I pause, examining her face. “You’ve been talking to your mom again.” It’s a statement, but she nods confirmation anyway.
“Why can’t my parents accept me for who I am?” she wails. “Why is being an artist such a horrible, horrible thing? Why can’t they accept that I’m in love with Chris and that marriage is just a piece of paper? What difference does it make if we say, ‘I do,’ in front of a witness when we say it to each other every day?”
I squeeze her hand harder, wishing I could do more than offer empty platitudes. “I know, Megan. It sucks. It super sucks. Your parents are just about the worst. I mean, my dad abandoned me, which is super duper shitty, but at least I don’t have to worry about him or what he thinks. Even if he showed up on my doorstep, I don’t think I would give a shit what he had to say about anything in my life. If he wanted to be a judgmental asshole, I’d invite him to go crawl back under the rock he ran off to a billion years ago and never return. I’m sorry your parents can’t accept you. You’re an amazing artist, and I’m glad that you’re my family, even if we’re not related by blood.”
She blubbers out a half laugh-half sob, and I release her hand to grab the box of tissues from the coffee table. Grabbing two, she presses them to her eyes then blows her nose. “You’re right,” she says after taking several deep breaths and calming down. “I know you’re right. It just sucks that they’re going to be grandparents, and I can’t even tell them. But I feel guilty for not telling them. I want to tell them, but I also don’t ever want them to know about their grandchild, because I know if they’re ever around, they’ll fill my baby’s head with lies and myths and judgment about their parents and by extension themselves. No, thank you. Hard pass.”
“It sounds like you know what you want to do. It’s okay to stop trying to heal a rift they have no desire to cross. You’re allowed to let go of people who hurt you.”
She gives me a trembling smile, seeming to calm down a little. “You’re right. Thanks, Abs. I’m glad I came.”
I give her a reassuring smile. “Me too.”
CHAPTER TWO
Megan
Spilling the beans to Abby makes me feel like a weight has lifted off my chest. When I peed on the stick two days ago first thing in the morning, I’d blinked in astonishment when the pink plus sign showed up in a matter of seconds.
I mean, I suspected I was pregnant. My boobs have been super sore lately, and they’re never sore like that on the pill. Plus my period was supposed to have started days prior. I was due to start taking my next pack the next day, so I took the test, because I didn’t want to keep taking birth control pills if I was pregnant.
But somehow, I didn’t quite expect the test to be positive.
And when it was, I freaked. I reverted back into some high school version of myself who was terrified my parents would find out I was having sex with my boyfriend and disown me.
Chris was already at the stadium when I took the test, working with his trainers to rehab his shoulder, meeting with the coaches, doing all the professional football player things he does during the season. Regular workouts still feature prominently in his schedule, strengthening the parts of his body that aren’t affected by his shoulder, though a shoulder injury is apparently more irritating than you’d think at first. He can’t do regular barbell squats, so he’s having to work in more isolation work on all his leg muscles, which isn’t his favorite. Being sick or hurt turns him into a grumbly bear at the best of times, and this injury is one of the more serious ones he’s suffered. He’s been out for a week or two here and there before, but he’s been out for over a month already. He’d caught an interception during a game at the end of October and got hit by two opposing players at the same time, and they’d jammed his arm up and back in its socket, damaging the rotator cuff.
One of the team PTs claimed surgery was his best hope, but another one insisted that no, a solid
