Meredith

Mom stops me as I streak through the living room. Her smile falls at the sight of the hurt in my eyes and tears streaming down my cheeks. “Oh dear, what’s wrong?”

You can do this. Be strong. Keep it together until you’re safely locked in your room.

But I am not strong—I am the opposite of strong. I was upset before, but now that my mother knows it…I come undone. She guides me to the kitchen table, blubbery and pitiful as I am, so I can tell her about my terrible afternoon. Before I even begin to walk her through my day, the woman places a piping hot cup of chamomile tea in my hands. My mind races a hundred miles an hour. Where do mothers learn these life secrets? How could she possibly know one sip of that nectar would have me spilling the beans?

And, oh how I spill. I am an open book, sharing details about the drive and the surprise and my frustrations. I confide some of my deepest, most private thoughts and emotions, until no stone is left unturned. Alright that isn’t entirely true. I may have left out one small detail. I mean, I don’t actually tell her that I broke things off with Gabe. I’m not ready to process it, much less hear what she and Daddy think of the subject.

I wipe at my eyes and blow at the steam wafting from my cup whenever I need a minute to compose myself. For her part, my mother waits patiently, handing me fresh tissues as I rehash the day. I tell her about Gabe’s plan to leave the ranch, and therefore his family. To illustrate how serious he is, I highlight the fact that he took me to look at a condo he had already picked out. I explain, in detail, how he was ready to put down a deposit, how his plan entails moving us hundreds of miles away, and how that means me leaving my family. In my desperation to be heard I even spell out how he did all of it without so much as consulting me.

Her response? “Sweetheart, if I’m being honest…”

Oh my God. Are you kidding me? This isn’t going to be good.

“…it sounds to me like Gabe is only trying to give you what he thinks you want.”

I pull a fresh tissue from the box. “Thanks for the support Mom. Are the two of you in cahoots or something?”

Mom smiles apologetically and places her hand on mine. “Now, you know better than that.”

I scan the kitchen, trying to orient myself to this strange, bizzaro world I’ve fallen into. Same clock above the sink. Same walnut cabinets. By all outward appearances, the place looks the way I left it this morning. But this woman—saying these words? Something has definitely changed. My parents are never shy about weighing in on, like, every single decision ever. Hell, I think they consider it part of their parental duties. But if I’d had a thousand tries, never would I ever have come up with a scenario where they take Gabe’s side.

Am I not explaining this as clearly as I think I am? Because for the life of me, I don’t see how she doesn’t see my point. I mean, hello. You don’t want us to live together before we’re married, but for some reason, if we move hundreds of miles away, you’re okay with the idea? So, I do what any perfectly sane, pregnant woman in my situation would do, I cry harder. Between sobs, I tell her how Gabe put the blame back on me, as if the argument was all my fault. I tell her how he went on and on about the job opportunities and the great schools. She listens and nods, but every chance she gets, she pipes up with one excuse or another about how lucky I am to have a man like Gabe and how wonderful it is that he’s willing to uproot his life and blah blah blah.

Can we not go there, Mom? Read the mood already.

Okay granted, I’m being irrational, but I just broke off an engagement with the father of my unborn child. And okay, granted, I neglected to share that tidbit with her, but that fact sits big and heavy and raw on my shoulders, and I thought I could depend on my family to be supportive and let me vent.

I’m at my wits end, about to give up all hope for sympathy when Dad comes in the door. One look at the mound of tissues in front of me and he slides out a chair and takes a seat next to Mom. Finally. I breathe a sigh of relief as I replay the abridged version of the day’s events, because I know without a doubt, with one hundred percent certainty, the second my daddy hears his teary-eyed little girl mention the name Gabe Wilde, he’ll be reaching for his shotgun.

Wrong.

He sits patiently beside Mom and listens to my diatribe, allowing me to get everything out without interruption. When I’m finished, he nods thoughtfully and takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it for what seems like a full minute. “Sweetheart,” he says as he slowly exhales through his mouth. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit emotional about the situation?”

Seriously? Is this a fucking conspiracy? Is the entire world out to get me?

I slide my chair back and swipe the box of tissues as I stand. “Why is everyone in this house against me? My whole life. First, you didn’t want me to be with the man I loved. A man who made me happier than I had ever been, by the way. Then—” I level a finger at my mother “—you convinced me to settle for a man who you knew didn’t make me happy. And, at least until today, I have your blessing to be happy with the man you didn’t like, as long as I don’t live with him until we’re married. Because…why was that again? And now? Now you do an about face and take his side?” I rub my neck. “I’ve got whiplash from all the wishing and washing in this house. So please tell me, what gives? Is it because I’m pregnant? The pathetic pregnant girl bringing shame to the family? Do the two of you see me as a burden too? Is that what this is?” I sob uncontrollably as I run to my room.

I slam my bedroom door for effect and crawl into bed to sulk in peace. A calmer, more rational version of me might be willing to concede that my parents only want what they believe is best for me. Even if what they believe is twisted and, quite frankly, at my age none of their damned business. But then again, a more rational version of me might have taken a beat and tried to understand Gabe’s point of view instead of pushing him the way I did and repeatedly calling his idea stupid. Deep down, I know I shouldn't have given back the ring. That was reactive, and emotional, and immature...

The thing is, I’m not ready to think about this maturely, because I don't know how to undo what I've done. I’m upset and I’m looking for a little understanding. Why is that so hard? I came home to find myself and now, in the span of three months, I’m pregnant and engaged. And I’m supposed to be excited about being taken away from the only remaining anchor in my life?

The pink walls push in on me and sitting here alone is too much to take. I need to get out. I need a change of scenery. Life keeps throwing me curve balls and I’m tired of striking out. I feel lost, now more than ever. But I don’t have anywhere to go or anyone to talk to. I’ve dug myself a hole and now I don’t know what to do, so I close my eyes and cry myself to sleep.

After a long night and most of the morning spent tossing and turning, the best idea I’ve come up with is a surprise visit to my brother and sister-in-law. I know I can’t run from my problems forever, but what’s one more day in the grand scheme of things? I reach for my phone to text Jenn and invite myself over, only to discover that the battery died sometime in the night. After plugging it in and powering it up, it buzzes in my hand, notifying me I have three new voice messages, several missed texts from Gabe, and one from a number I don’t recognize.

I’m relieved by the thought that he’s been thinking of me—until I read the texts however—then I’m pissed at him all over again.

He forgives me for overreacting?

In my fury, I almost miss the last message, the one from a strange number, but when I open it, the words catch me off guard and push every other thought out of my head.

(Unknown Number): Hi. This is Hank. I tried to call a few times, but it keeps going to voicemail. Um. Gabe’s in the hospital. I just thought you’d want to know.