CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

AMBER

Never saw this day coming.

Pregnant and back home with my parents, in my old room. Isn’t that a kick in the chops?

Haven’t shared the news with anybody yet either, but it’s obvious I’ll have to. Also have to be careful about how I do it. Don’t want to blurt it out. Hey, Mom! Dad! Got knocked up and lost my job. Mind if I stay a while longer? They’ll let me, of course, because they love me. Just not the way I wanted things to be.

My heart aches, and my body is numb. How could Noah do this to me? I loved him so much.

“You coming down?” my mother hollers up at me.

I’ve been sulking in my room since I returned, and Mom’s not having any more of it. She said to me this morning, after waking me up, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, young lady, but you better snap out of it. You hear me?”

“Yes, Mom.”

I don’t see me snapping out of it, though. I’m damaged. A total wreck. But I need to humor her if nothing else. “Be right down,” I holler and start getting dressed. Let the games begin.

* * *

“I’m ready,” I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs. We’re going grocery shopping because Mom wants to have a family dinner tonight. My brother and sister are coming over.

“In the kitchen,” Mom shouts.

I head in, and there he sits. I smile. “Hello, Bobby.”

Bobby Franken is my best friend and has been since middle school. Back in high school, the girls constantly badgered me about him. Hey, Amber, can you have Bobby call me? Is Bobby seeing anyone right now? Do you think Bobby would go out with me? Can you hook me up with Bobby? Are you and Bobby doing it?

Can’t blame the girls for asking because Bobby was so handsome. Still is with his firm chin and broad shoulders. Wavy blond hair. Eyes bluer than the Maldives’ waters. And what a beautiful soul. He’s perfect for anyone except me.

“How are you, Amber?” he asks and stands.

We meet halfway around the table and hug. “Nice to see you, Bobby. How’s the shop? Business good?”

Bobby’s a mechanic and has his own place.

“Everything’s great,” he answers. “How ‘bout with you?”

I let my gaze wander. “Fine.” Bring my focus back to him. Tilt my head a skosh. “How did you find out I was here?”

“Ahh. You know. I heard it from somewhere that you were back in town, so I thought I’d better come and visit.”

“And that was nice of you,” Mom interrupts. “But we have to go. You can talk to Amber some more tonight if you’d like to come to dinner.”

“I’d like that.”

“Six o’clock?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good. Now let’s go.” Mom shoos Bobby, picks up her purse, and pushes my shoulder. “Come on.”

* * *

Grocery shopping was a needed distraction, and when we return home, I help Mom prep for dinner. It’s exhausting.

“I’m tired, Mom. Mind if I take a nap?”

“Not feeling well, dear? You’re looking pale.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Go ahead then. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek and go to my room. Fall asleep within minutes, wake up later of my own accord. Even more tired. I don’t understand.

I get out of bed and go to my desk to use the laptop. I got the desk when I was a freshman in high school. Made of reclaimed wood and pretty basic. A drawer in the middle and three on each side. I grab the handle on the bottom left-hand drawer and open it halfway. Kick it shut.

No. I won’t do it.

I had stuck my phone in there the second I got here because I didn’t want to look at it anymore. Noah keeps trying to contact me, and I don’t want to hear from him. Don’t want to think about him.

LIAR!

I open the laptop and begin searching. Google: Are expectant mothers tired all the time? It brings back 4,690,000,000 results.

“Over four and a half billion,” I mumble. “Jeez.”

I stay stuck in that rabbit hole until Mom knocks on my door. I eye the clock. A little early for dinner, but probably close enough. “Amber, you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Come on down.”

“Be right there.”

I close the lid on my laptop and yawn. Run a brush through my hair and step out the door. Pause at the top of the stairwell. It sounds like my siblings are here in the living room, and they’re talking about me.

“What’s the deal with Amber?” my brother, Charles Jr., asks.

“Was wondering the same thing,” my sister, Julie, adds.

“I don’t know,” Mom replies. “She hasn’t said anything, but something’s wrong. Doesn’t want to get out of bed.”

“Maybe I should talk to her,” Charles says.

“Let’s give her some time, okay? Whatever it is, she’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“Guess you’re right,” Charles agrees, and that’s my cue. I march down the steps.

“How are you guys?” I ask in a cheerful tone.

Charles is on the couch, and he stands up. He’s long and lean with brown hair, like my dad. “Good to see you, Amber.” We embrace.

“Hello, Amber.” Julie pushes out of her chair. She’s blonde and petite and the spitting image of our mother.

“Hi, Julie.” We hug and then all sit down and begin the small talk. They ask the questions I was afraid they would, and I tell them I don’t want to talk about it. With Mom in the room, my siblings have no choice but to honor my wishes.

“I’m home and look who I have with me.” It’s Dad, and he’s come through the door with Bobby.

“Hi, Dad,” I say. “Hey, Bobby.”

“Something burning?”

You seldom ever hear Mom swear, but she does now. “Oh, shit. Dinner.” She jolts from her chair and darts for the kitchen. “You girls set the table.”

Supper is fantastic as usual, and the dinner conversation is pleasant. Mom and Dad talk about the past, rehashing our youth. Those were good times.

“That was the best, Mrs. Allen.” Bobby leans back in his chair and rubs his belly.

“Yeah, Mom. It was,” I add.

“Thank you.” Mom beams. She takes pride in her meatloaf, as well she should. No one makes it any better, and I refuse to argue over it.

“Want to go for a walk?” Bobby asks.

Mom answers for me. “Go ahead.”

“You sure?”

“Your brother and sister are leaving anyway, so now they won’t have to hem-haw, waiting for an opening.” Charles smiles. Mom continues, “Your father and I will clean up.”

“Okay.”

We all get up from the table and head for the door. Mom kisses my brother and sister and tells them both to call. Of course, they say they will.

Bobby and I escort them to their vehicles, say goodbye, and they drive away.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Bobby says. “Lots of good memories.”

“They were.”

Bobby crooks an arm, I snake mine through, and we begin to stroll. “You wanna tell me what’s up?”

I lean my head into his shoulder, and we forge on in silence. He allows me that until we reach the end of the block, where he stops and faces up. Takes my hands. “Is it that bad?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“I see.” He might have winced; I can’t be sure. “And the father?”

“He’s a dick.” That’s code for he’s a lying and cheating FUCK—excuse my French—and that’s the nicest thing I can say about him.

“So, he doesn’t know?”

“No.”

“Parents either?”

“Un-huh.”

“Just me, then?”

I tighten my lips and nod. “Just you.”

Bobby’s understanding enough not to dig any further, and I’m glad. Don’t want to talk about how Noah was two-timing me with Farrah Conner, the blonde bimbo. God, I hate her.

He swings an arm around my shoulder, and we make a half turn to the left, walk the next block. We say nothing until we hang another left at the corner. At the halfway point, he asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it.”

We move ahead and take another left. One more left and three more houses, and we’re home. We stand out front in the yard. “Are you going back to New York or staying here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should think about telling your parents. They’re good people. They’ll understand.”

That’s questionable. “I’ll think about it.”

“Do that.” A horn honks. Mr. and Mrs. Jasper are driving by and waving. They’ve lived on this street longer than anyone. They’re wonderful people. Give you the shirt-off-their-back types.

“I better get in the house.”

“If you need anything, call. Night or day, doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.”

He kisses my forehead, and we stand for a moment. “Call me.”

“I will.”

We part ways, and I go into the house. Mom and Dad are on the couch close together, listening to classical music. It’s really sweet. Perfect example of everlasting love.

“Bobby go home?” Dad asks.

“Yes.”

“Have a pleasant talk?” Mom inquires.

“Yes. I’m going to my room.”

“Okay.”

I take two steps up the stairway and stop. Bobby is right. My parents are good people, and they will understand. I turn around and plod back into the living room.

“Forget something, dear?” Mom asks.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

I sit down in a chair. “I’d like to tell you why I’m home.”