Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(54)

She had no idea when, but she knew who.

But first, before she panicked about all that, she opened the pink and blue box. Pink and blue. Of course it was a pink and blue box.



oOo



Fuck.

Fuck.

Oh, sweet f*ck.

What the hell was she going to do now?



oOo



She thought about talking to Carlo and Sabina. They were trying to adopt. But that was weird and wrong.

For a brief few minutes, she considered abortion. But no. It didn’t even matter whether or not it was a sin—she was well acquainted with all sorts of sin—and she didn’t consider it murder. She was pro-choice and had been since college. But she couldn’t make that choice. Whether it was the way the Church seemed part of her cells or something else, she couldn’t even seriously think through that option for herself. No.

She was going to be a mother.

She looked around her beloved beach house. The loft bedroom. The tiny office with its daybed. The cozy space, perfect for one person. She tried to imagine raising a child in this home she loved, and she could not.

Again, she would need to move off the path of want.

She held her phone in her hand. She’d been sitting here forever, trying to decide what to say, how to say it. There was no question that she’d tell Theo. But she had no idea how he’d take the news and what it would mean for the future. Her intent was to absolve him completely.

But what if he wasn’t satisfied with that?

Fuck.

Deciding that she couldn’t confront him on the phone just out of the blue, she finally landed on sending him a text, which she did. Hope you’re well. We need to talk soon. She tapped ‘send’ and stared at the screen for a long time.

Nothing happened. She checked the time and did some time-zone math. Around nine at night there. Maybe he was out.

But he’d have his phone.

She stared longer. After half an hour without a response, she sent a follow-up: It’s important.

The next morning, when she checked her phone and saw that he still had not responded, Carmen closed that door and made sure it was shut tight.

On her own, then. That was better.



oOo



She waited as long as she could to say anything to anyone. She’d had her first prenatal exam before she’d even considered telling anybody, and by then she was, according to her OB/GYN, almost ten weeks along. Her clothes still fit—she’d always lived an active life and had the tone to show for it, and with all the puking, she’d actually lost weight—but her family had commented a few times on the fact that she looked tired and down. Rosa, who’d, of course, blabbed to everybody about Theo, had them all convinced that she was suffering from a broken heart.

That was true, too. That Theo had ignored her texts had shattered the last little bit of restraint she’d had left, and she’d tumbled into a pretty dark place. It was her fault, she knew. She had torn them apart, and he had no reason at all to reply to her texts. She thought about texting again and being specific, but how do you text the words ‘I’m pregnant?’ What would it be like to get a text like that? Then she thought about calling. But she just couldn’t.

No, that door was closed, and it was her fault.

So she let her family think that heartbrokenness was her only problem. But pretty soon, no matter how much puking she did, she wouldn’t be able to hide what else was going on.

One Sunday evening, a few weeks after she’d found out, while she was over at the house on Caravel Road—she couldn’t imagine ever thinking of the house she’d grown up in, the house she’d run after her mother had died, as her brother’s house—after a family dinner and round of games, she went into the living room, where Carlo was flipping through albums. Sabina and John were cleaning up. Adele had taken their father home next door. Joey, Trey, Rosa, and Eli were in the cellar, playing foosball, and their gleeful sounds came up from the open door. Elsa, who hated the open-riser stairs and almost never went to the cellar, whined at the top, sure she was missing something great.

“Hey, Carlo?”

“What’s up?”

“Can we sit outside for a bit? I need to talk.”

Her big brother stood up. “Sure, Caramel. You okay?”

“Yeah. Just need an ear.”

“I’ve got two.”

Just then, apparently something exciting happened in foosball, and a roar rose up from below. Eli’s voice carried up: “Eat that, bitches!”

And then Trey’s: “Yeah, bitches!” And then a lot of laughter. It was good to hear Joey’s laugh among the others. He’d started therapy again and had been getting better, needing oxygen less during the day. His speech seemed like it was never going to be better, but Carmen was glad to see his face again without the tubes across it.

Carlo laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know why we bother teaching him manners. He’s surrounded by the Lost Boys—and I mean Kiefer Sutherland, not Peter Pan. I think I like Eli, though. He sure likes Rosie.”

Carmen felt a sharp pain, but ignored it and smiled. “Yeah, he’s good people. Good for her, too. Really down to earth. You know she’s leaving, right? She said she was going to tell you.”

“He got a job in New York, and she’s going, too. Yeah, she said. That scares me. I don’t know how Pop’s going to take it.” He led Carmen out onto the front porch, and they sat on the settee.