It’s been a week since I found out I’m going to be a mother. Seven days since I became aware that I’m growing a life inside of me. One hundred and sixty-eight hours since I sat shell-shocked on the bathroom floor, clutching that stupid little stick to my chest, wondering why me. My salty tears were a confusing mix of emotions…

Sadness, for the loss of my youth.

Happiness, because I know that I’m going to be an amazing mom, because I learned from the best.

Fear, for all of the changes coming my way. Will I be able to finish high school? Will my friends stand by me? Will my parents still love me?

And anguish, because how in the hell am I supposed to explain this to Alden? Hey, you don’t remember this at all, but you took my virginity, and it was awesome, for me at least, and now we’re gonna have a kid, so I hope your stupid girlfriend is down with being a stepmom! Yeah…I think not.

The thought of telling him is daunting. So much so, it makes telling my parents seem like a cakewalk instead of the death march it should be. Or at least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself as I walk down the stairs to face them.

They’re in the kitchen when I find them. My mom is standing at the stove, minding her sauce pot. Dad is at the island chopping veggies with chef-like precision.

My dad notices me first. “Why the long face, Nat bug?”

I bite down on my bottom lip. “Uh. Well. I was hoping we could talk.”

At my worried tone, my mom turns to face me, giving me her full attention; Dad looks my way but keeps chopping.

“What’s wrong, Natalie?” Mom asks, motherly concern lacing her tone. I wonder if I’ll sound like her when I talk to my kid?

“Maybe y’all should have a seat?” I scrunch up my nose. Why did I say that?

Mom walks over closer to me and wraps me in her arms. “Talk to us, sweet girl. You know we’re here for you.”

Deciding the Band-Aid approach is the best way to go, I blurt it out. “I’m pregnant!”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, my dad shouts, “Fuck! Goddamn it!” Apparently, my news caused him to miss the carrot and slice his thumb instead.

He should have sat down like I said.

“Oh, m-my God! Dad are you oh-okay?” I ask, my voice wobbly and tears streaming down my cheeks.

He grunts out some unintelligible reply and turns away from me.

Mom releases me from her embrace and passes him a dishtowel. He wraps it around his thumb, applying pressure. “Do you need stitches?” she asks.

Another grunt.

Taking my own earlier advice, I plop down onto a bar stool, tucking myself out of the way while Mom administers first aid to Dad. Good thing she’s a nurse, I guess.

My eyes stay on my parents while my mom works, but I’m not paying attention to them—not really. My mind is racing a million miles a minute. I can’t help but feel like I’ve let them down…like I’m a failure and a disappointment.

Before I know it, my silent tears have turned to gut-wrenching sobs. I know they say a parent’s love is unconditional, but how could they possibly still love me?

How could anyone?

I’m so lost in my own mind I don’t even notice that my parents have moved until I feel both of them wrapping me in their arms. Their comfort only makes me cry harder, because I know I don’t deserve it.