Satin Princess(59)

“I assumed you were about to tell me.”

I bite back my annoyance, reminding myself that this conversation is not meant to be confrontational. It was supposed to be an olive branch. A détente.

“Okay, I, uh, I guess I’ll tell you then. Um… is Dad there?”

“He’s outside doing some gardening.”

“Do you think you could get him on with you?”

There’s a moment’s pause. “I suppose.”

I hear her set down the phone, then the muffled sound of her calling his name. She picks the phone up again and her breathing seems a little heavier.

“Should we be worried?” she asks.

Probably, I think. Out loud, I say, “No, this is good news. But it might come as somewhat of a shock.”

“Oh, dear. I’ll get him on the extension.”

Her tone is both tired and exasperated, and I immediately wonder if I’ve made a mistake calling to tell them about my pregnancy. But Dr. Mathers told me I’m three months along. I’ll start showing soon.

And they are still my parents. Even if sometimes it feels like they belong to a totally different species.

There’s a click and a “Hello?” as Dad's raspy voice comes on the extension.

“Hi, Dad. It’s Jessa.”

“He knows who it is, dear,” Mom chimes in. “I already told him.”

I suppress a sigh. “How are you, Dad?”

“Oh, you know, same old.”

“Jessa has something she wanted to tell the both of us," Mom says, cutting to the chase.

“You and Dane patched things up?” my father asks immediately.

My stomach drops with disappointment at the sound of the hope in his voice. I expected it from Mom, but this feels like a betrayal.

“No, of course not,” I say. “He cheated on me. He cheated on me with my best friend.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, honey,” Mom lectures.

“If it had been one time, I might have been able to wrap my head around it. Maybe. But it wasn’t just a one night thing. They were having an affair.”

“Jessa—"

“They were sleeping together behind my back for months. Including the day he was supposed to be marrying me.”

“Men are wired differently, dear.”

“Mom!” I say, raising my voice just enough to shut her up. “I’m not calling to discuss Dane.”

Angry silence. One beat of it. Two. Three.

Then: “You have news,” Dad prompts.

I look around the palatial suite that’s become my temporary home in the last few days. I wonder if this would be enough to impress them.

“Right. I have news,” I say. “That’s why I called.”

I open my mouth, but I feel the words shrivel on my tongue. The sad truth is, despite the fact that we’re not close, I do still crave their approval. I do still care what they think. There’s this deep-seated need to be validated by them, and I know instinctively that no matter how cheery I sound when I say it aloud, I’m not going to be able to spin this as a good thing.

“Jessa, dear?” Mom asks. “Are you going to tell us what this is about? Because I have Bible study in half an hour.”

Bible study. Great. That should make for a nice, smooth segue.

“Okay, well… the news is…” I decide to just rip the Band-Aid. “… I’m pregnant.”

I hear someone suck in their breath. I’m pretty sure it’s my mother. But neither one of them says anything for the longest time.

Neither do I.

“You’re pregnant?” Dad asks finally. His voice sounds steady, but I can still hear the disappointment in it. Like this will be the thing that breaks him at last.

“Yes,” I croak. “Almost… almost three months.”

“Three months?” he repeats.

I’m painfully aware of the fact that Mom hasn’t said a word since I made the reveal. “Yes.”

“Three months ago…” he growls, “you were about to walk down the aisle.”

“Darling,” Mom jumps in, her tone rife with a strange combination of desperation and hope, “don’t you see? This was meant to be.”

“What?” I yell.

“What?” my dad yells.

“You and Dane. You’re clearly meant to be together. Why else would God have blessed you with a child?” she says as if the answer is self-evident. “It’s important that you get married. Does he know? I’m sure if he knew he would insist that you get married. Darling, he was so devastated when you ran out on the wedding. I understand he did the wrong thing, but men are—well, they can be—”

“Stop!”

She falls silent immediately, and I feel a surge of satisfaction. It was something like Anton’s voice that came out of my mouth, powerful, automatically expecting compliance and fealty. “Mom, Dad… Dane is not the father of my baby.”

More silence. This one is worse than the last, leaking dread like motor oil.

“I… I don’t understand,” Mom says shakily.

“I’m having another man’s baby,” I say. “His name is Anton. He’s a successful… businessman. He’s the father.”