“Well? What’d your folks say?” Jeff asks with a little too much enthusiasm as I walk back into the room and set my cell phone down on the coffee table.

My entire demeanor is heavy, and the weight of my body and my mind and all the hormonal baggage I carry with me these days sinks into the couch next to him.

“They … uh … they didn’t say anything, sweetie.” And not for lack of trying. When the phone picked up, I was nothing but sweet and upbeat and hopeful as I let her know we’re engaged, but all she gave me was silence.

I extend my hand, palm up on his leg, and he threads his fingers through mine exhaling in an audible humph. We had wanted to tell my parents about our engagement in person, and by we I mean Jeff. I just wanted them to know, period. Considering how swimmingly they took the news of their pending grandchild, I had (wrongly) assumed that my mother might actually show an iota of excitement for our engagement.

“What?” His incredulous tone matches my exact reaction.

“I know. It was weird. I was putting a few things away in the bedroom when she answered, and so I quickly got down to it. I mean, no sense in beating around the bush, right? So I had said something along the lines of, hey Mom! I’ve got some really exciting news!, and I took her silence as a prompt to continue, and so I told her about how you proposed, and reassured her that this wasn’t just some spur of the moment decision because we were expecting, and I told her not to expect a shotgun wedding because we don’t want to rush into things so we can focus on the baby, and that we’ll keep them posted on details and—”

“Whoa! Slow down, babe. Take a breath. You’re talking faster than that Micro Machine guy from the commercials when we were kids.”

I take a deep breath and give his hand a tender squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little bummed out, ya know?”

And like someone flipped a damn light switch, the tears fall without any warning whatsoever. It’s not every day you get the cold shoulder from your parents, but apparently, they’re doing the silent treatment thing right now. It’s clear she’s unhappy with me and the situation Jeff and I have found ourselves in. But if I can’t get what I want, it’s best to simply ignore my folks if they’re going to be such a killjoy. Besides, Jeff’s parents were happy enough for everyone, so I choose to focus on joy.

I lean over and wipe my eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of Jeff’s T-shirt.

“I can’t believe they didn’t say anything. I thought for sure they would be excited.”

“I know,” I agree with him in between sobs.

“This is almost worse than their reaction when we told them about the baby.” He clumsily runs his free hand against the adorable scruff on his jawline and contemplates the situation. “Maybe I should try calling them? I could help smooth things over. When I asked your dad for your hand in marriage, he was really positive about it all.”

Ugh. I’d really rather not be hit twice in one day. Being bruised over the silent treatment one time is enough for the week. No need to drag him into my parents’ social ineptitude and hurt his ego, too.

They can be such assholes sometimes!

Their silent treatment is a force to be reckoned with. Trust me. When I was a teenager, I came home with a B minus on my U.S. History midterm paper. My folks were so upset they didn’t talk to me for a week. The nothingness meant disappointment and contempt. It was my dad who cracked first, and I had to swear to raise my grade before the final—which I did. But for the daughter who fails at nothing, that week hurt! If we could bottle their unspoken displeasure and unleash it upon unsuspecting individuals, we’d have a real weapon on our hands.

Before I can ask him to give it a day or two before he reaches out, Jeff has his phone in hand and he’s dialing my mom’s number. He smiles confidently at me. After a few moments, he whispers, “Voice mail” in my direction and raises up a single finger silently asking me to hold on a second.

“Hey, Mrs. Carson, it’s Jeff. I just wanted to chat really quickly about the conversation you and Henley just had. I know our situation is a lot to take in, in a very short amount of time. But I just wanted to reassure you that I love your daughter more than a fat kid loves ice cream and cake, and I’m marrying her out of necessity. Not in the way that a baby needs a mom and dad who are married kind of necessity. But rather because Henley is necessary to my existence. Without her, I would be nothing. So when you have a moment, I’d love it if you could give one of us a—”

Jeff stops talking mid-sentence, pulls the phone away from his ear after a moment and then looks at the screen with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What?” I prompt, pulling him from whatever thoughts are flooding his head.

He hits the red end button on the screen and places his phone next to him on the couch. “That’s funny. It cut me off and said the voicemail box was full.”

Odd. My parents always keep their voicemail inbox clear.

We sit in silence for a moment, and from the corner of my eye, I see Jeff look from me down to his phone and then back to me.

“Henley …?” Jeff says my name slowly, almost questioning it.

“Yeah, babe?” I wipe another rogue tear away from my cheek.

“Did you actually hear your mom talking at any point during the call?”

I tilt my head and try to recall if she said anything. “No. Nothing beyond whatever she said when she first answered.”

“Henley …” He’s still saying my name in a delicate tone that makes me feel like a child being encouraged to see the error in their ways. Whatever it is he’s trying to say, I wish he’d just come right out and say it already.

“What, Jeff?” I hate that my tone is short. I know it’s not his fault my parents are being soulless punks hell-bent on sucking the happiness out of my life, but I’m just ready for this day to be over. At some point all little girls dream of the moment they tell their parents they’re getting married. In the movies it’s usually followed with squeals of delight and the mom makes a big fuss about how excited she is to go wedding dress shopping and the whole nine yards. But no, not my mom. My mom couldn’t even show her excitement. Maybe she was so distraught by the news she keeled over and died on the other end of the line?

“Is there any chance your mom never actually picked up the phone to begin with, and that you were rambling to her voice mail and getting yourself all worked up over nothing?” His voice is light and non-accusatory like he knows his words could break me.

Whoopsie!

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “God, I am such an idiot.” I throw my head in my heads, trying not to be embarrassed, but the effort is futile.

Jeff chuckles softly. “Hey now, don’t you dare talk smack on my fiancée.” He rubs my back softly. “It’s okay. Cam warned me that pregnancy brain can rear its silly little head in the most inconvenient of moments.”

Ah, pregnancy brain. My go-to excuse for all those things I don't want to do like switching over the laundry or grading papers or paying bills. Which reminds me, I never paid the electric bill, but I digress. All I can do is sigh and fight the urge to crawl into a hole and disappear. My stupidity knows no bounds.

“Come here, you.” He pulls me closer to his body and kisses the top of my head. “I can only imagine how tough it is being pregnant…”

I snort instinctively because he really has no freakin’ clue.

“What?”

“Let’s just say that pregnancy is like a group project for school. There is a lot of excitement and an all hands on deck approach the very first time you get together to work on the project, but now there’s one person stuck doing all the work—me. This growing a human thing really is hard.” The last part is more of a confession.

“I know it is, babe. But look on the bright side…”

I lift my head up to meet his gaze, wondering what the silver lining here could possibly be.

“You don’t have to deal with your period for a few more months, your tits look great, and you get to live in stretchy pants until this baby arrives.”

I guffaw. “You’re crazy if you think I’m putting the maternity pants away after this kid debuts. They are, hands down, the most comfortable things in existence. They are never coming off.”