23
Bea
I walked into the living room and took a deep breath before looking at my parents and saying the two most terrifying words in the world that could possibly be said to conservative parents.
“I’m pregnant.”
My parents were sitting on the living room couch watching the rolling news, my father sitting forward and soaking up the coverage of one of his key rival’s campaigns. There was no switching off if you wanted to be the President; even when he wasn’t engaged in campaign events, he was researching his opponents and world news. Mom wasn’t so engrossed, reading a book instead, but they both sat bolt upright when they registered my words. For a long time, neither of them said anything, just staring back open-mouthed as if they’d misheard me. I’d expected anger but instead they shared my own disbelief.
“Bea, don’t joke with us,” Mom said at last, after a couple of attempts at trying to read my father’s expression herself. “It’s really not funny at all.”
“I’m not joking. I don’t find it funny,” I replied. “I’m pregnant.”
It was quite clear that I was telling the truth. My makeup had run because of tears running down my cheeks, although it was an expressionless form of crying that found me now, as opposed to the wretched sobbing that had filled my nights since the revelation about Damon.
For a time now, I’d been demanding a change of character in standing up to my parents; trying to find a subject on which I could stand my ground. Damon had taught me that it was okay to do that, and he’d encouraged me to do so. I’d just never considered that it would come about because of a new life growing inside of me.
When the test was confirmed as positive, I’d wasted very little time debating how to respond. There was no looking in the mirror, tearing my hair out or calling Claire for advice. Instead, I’d simply put the test kit to one side, stood up and put one foot in front of the other, not breaking my stride until I was standing in the living room to give my parents the news. It was fair to say I wasn’t optimistic that they would give me the support I needed.
At the same time, I didn’t expect to hear what my father came out with next.
“You need to get an abortion,” he said.
He stood up as he spoke, sporting a face that looked like it wanted to kill me. Somehow, I knew that this time the fury would remain checked and he wouldn’t seek to harm me. There were no grey areas this time; no lessons to be beaten into me. I’d gone way too far beyond that. The consequences would be more severe, because this time, I was allowing him to be what he was good at; a politician who defeated his opponents by the decisions he made rather than the strength of his fists.
“You are asking me to have an—” I couldn’t even say the word right now, and I was unable to believe the sheer hypocrisy. “You? A pro-life Presidential candidate?”
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” he growled back. “If you weren’t a pampered little princess you’d know that sometimes, in life, principle and deed end up being two different things.”
“That’s called being a hypocrite, Dad,” I shot back.
“Bea, your father doesn’t deserve that kind of criticism from his own daughter,” Mom said, standing up as well.
“And I don’t deserve this lack of support from my own father!” I replied. “Be as mad at me as you like, but don’t tell me to kill my baby!”
“Who the hell is the father?” Dad asked, his face like thunder.
“I called it off with him,” I replied. “And I don’t want anything to do with him…”
“So he’s not even someone you’re in love with?” Mom cut in, her hand at her mouth.
“Who is he?” Dad asked again.
“His name is Damon,” I said. “But that’s all you need to know. I’ve told you I want nothing to do with him. He was a mistake, but this is my decision now.”
Dad took one step forward before checking himself. Maybe there was some genuine parental anger towards this man who had, in his mind, taken advantage of his daughter. There was his personal ambition at stake too, however, and he had always been pretty ruthless in that regard.
“You will have an abortion,” he insisted, without raising his voice, “or else you will pack your things and go. That is the choice before you, Beatrice. You are a disgrace. We will never accept the child of an unknown man into this family and, if you insist on making yourself clear in that you don’t want to be a part of it, then you leave us with no choice but to cut you off.”
“I won’t do it,” I insisted. “I won’t get an abortion.”
“Then go and pack your things,” he replied.
Though I had no plans or a single clue as to what kind of future my life now held, I obeyed my father for the last time and did exactly what he said.
I was leaving, and I was never coming back.