The Queen B* and the Homecoming King

by Crista McHugh

  Mom looked to Pete, and my stomach dropped.

  Then I caught the morning sunlight sparkling on the large diamond on her left hand.

  Shit!

  “Well, um, I don’t know how to begin this conversation,” Mom started. She gave a nervous laugh before continuing, “Pete and I are getting married.”

  Taylor lifted her head, her face slack with shock. “Get. Out.”

  Mom giggled again and nestled even closer to Pete, the joyful expression on her face a stark contrast to the worried one she’d worn after she’d gotten the positive pregnancy test. “We’re planning on a December wedding, and we wanted you girls to be the first to know.”

  Taylor was still slack-jawed with surprise, but my mind was already reeling from the implications. If they were getting married, then what would happen after that? Would he move into our home? Would we have to move to his home? And if we did, did that mean we’d have to change schools? And I couldn’t forget the little screaming bundle of joy who’d keep us all up at night.

  Like a chain of dominos, my fears fell one on top of the other until a vicious retort sprang from my tongue. “You know, an unplanned pregnancy is a stupid reason to rush into marriage.”

  The happy grin fell from my mother’s face, and the pink glow vanished from her cheeks. “Alexis, how—”

  My voice was hard, sharp, accusing. “I found the positive pregnancy test after you left, and seriously, let’s talk about what a hypocrite you are, pushing us to be on the pill and practice safe sex when you obviously didn’t.”

  Guilt and sadness and shame all washed over Mom’s face, and I knew I should’ve stopped there, but I’d had such a shitty morning so far, I kept going, if only to vent my frustrations.

  “And let’s talk about the odds of you actually having this baby when it’s due. I mean, after all, you’re forty-four—not exactly a spring chicken. You’re just asking to have some kind of complication by having a baby when you’re this old.”

  I expected Mom to say something to shut me up, but it was Pete who cut me off. “That’s enough, Alexis. Can’t you see you’re upsetting your mother when you should be happy for her?”

  “Happy for her?” I shot back, my voice rising. “For getting knocked up and feeling like she has no other option but to marry you?”

  “That’s enough,” Pete repeated with a steely glare. For a guy who’d never been married, he had a definite disciplinarian edge to him.

  “Fine, but forgive me for not being thrilled about your wonderful news. I’ll just go up to my room, play the part of the moody teenager, and revel in the craptastic day I’m having. Thanks for being the icing on the cake, Pete.” I nearly spat his name as I turned around and went upstairs, taking a note from Morgan’s behavior and slamming the door to my room as hard as I could.

  Chapter Eleven

  I plopped facedown onto my bed and muffled my scream of frustration with the mattress. I couldn’t even…

  ARGH!

  This day could not get any worse.

  I needed someone I could vent to, but Brett was in surgery, Morgan still hated my guts, and Richard wouldn’t rise before noon on a Saturday, especially since he’d claim to need his beauty sleep before his big date tonight. That left only one person.

  My dad.

  I jumped up from my bed and booted up my computer. A minute later, my dad’s face filled the screen as he answered my Skype call.

  “Hey, princess,” he began before taking a look at my face. “Oh…”

  “That obvious?” I asked, sinking down into my desk chair and propping my chin on my closed fist.

  “Who pissed you off now?”

  I loved that my dad could read me like a book. Outside of my little circle of friends, he was the only person who really got me. “Can I move in with you?”

  “What did you and your mom fight over this time?”

  I’d never asked to move in with him before. Sure, I’d spent a few weeks every summer with him, but we were usually on the road camping or going to concerts or hiking the Appalachian Trail. I think I’d stayed a total of ten nights in his actual home over the years, but I remembered it was cute. My dad was a philosophy professor at a small liberal-arts school in Vermont, and his home was a turn of the century cottage covered with ivy.

  “Please, Dad?”

  He ran his hand over his salt-and-pepper beard. “You only have a few months until graduation, princess. Can’t you tough it out?”

  Translation: Dad thought having me around would ruin his chances of banging his students.

  I rolled my eyes. “Never mind, Dad. Sorry I bothered you.”

  I went to click the close button and end the call, but he stopped me with a frantic, “No, no, no. If you’re considering moving across the country in the middle of your senior year, something must have upset you, so let’s talk.”

  I let go of the mouse and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that frat party last weekend?”

  I snapped my attention back to the screen. “How did you know about that?”

  “Your mother told me.”

  “Wait a minute—you two still talk?” My parents divorced when I was five, probably because my mom caught him in bed with one of his grad assistants. He moved across the country, and that was the only reason their split had remained somewhat amicable.

  “Yes, we still talk. Or rather, we email.”

  Which would explain why the communication had lasted this long.

  I didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm that crept into his voice as he continued, “Your mother sends me weekly updates on you and your sister and encourages me to set a good example when I talk to you.”

  “So since you heard all about the frat party from her, you should know the biggest consequence of that night is the fact Morgan isn’t speaking to me now.”

  “Because some guy got you drunk and tried to rape you?” Dad drew his bushy eyebrows together. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “It was the guy who caused the rift. Morgan had this crush on him last month, but after she went on a blah date with him, she lost interest and said she was moving on. Meanwhile, he’d been hitting on me the whole time she was crushing on him, and when I needed a guy to make Brett jealous—”

  “Brett?” Dad asked, interrupting me. “Isn’t that the guy you’ve been ‘crushing’ on?” He made air quotes when he said the term, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his attempt to sound hip.

  “Yes, Dad, and I’ll get to him in a minute. But I only agreed to go to the party with him because I knew it would make Brett jealous. I had no interest in him, and Brett ended up beating the crap out of him, and the next thing I know—bam!—Morgan’s taking his side.”

  “Whose side? Brett’s?”

  “No, Gavin’s. Try to keep up, Dad.”

  “Who’s Gavin?”

  I was about to give my dad an eye roll when I realized I’d never referred to the douchebag by name. I took a deep breath and slowed down so my dad could follow. “Gavin is the guy Morgan liked. She said she was done with him, but apparently, she ran into him and believed his account of the party, ending with my boyfriend beating him up. She didn’t even try to hear the reason why. She just believed the douche and called me a backstabbing slut.”

  Dad scratched his chin. “Sounds like there’s more to this story than just that.”

  “Exactly. Richard and I feel the same way, especially since she’s been avoiding everyone and hiding out in the library all week, and when I went by her house this morning, she’d bleached her hair blond.”

  “Morgan? As a blonde? I’d like to see that.”

  That did earn an eye roll. “Watch it, Dad. Not only is she underage, but she’s also my best friend.” I paused, sobered by the memory of her yelling at me this morning. “Or, she was.”

  “Don’t give up yet, princess. You two have been friends for too long to let some guy come between you.
”

  “I know, but I can’t even get her to listen to my side of the story, and that’s the most frustrating part of it all. Richard said he’d try to help smooth things over, but he’s been so busy this week with debate team tryouts and this new guy, he hasn’t had a chance to talk to her.”

  “Just give it some time. Sounds like she needs to cool down, and once she does, you’ll get your chance.”

  “I hope so.” I’d hate to think about Morgan staying angry with me forever. Dad was right—we had been friends for too long to end everything over someone like Gavin. But it still made me wonder what he had said to her to set her off.

  Dad rocked back in his desk chair, pausing for a few beats before changing the subject. “So, what’s this about a boyfriend?”

  Fire rose into my cheeks. I’d always been able to talk frankly about things like sex with my dad, but somehow, the mention of my boyfriend made me squirm in my seat with this newfound awkwardness. “Um, yeah, Brett.”

  “So you finally decided to give him a chance?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “And what about your concerns with Summer?”

  “Unfounded. At least, for the most part. Turns out she’d warped the story of how our friendship had ended. She lied to Brett and claimed she’d been the victim and I’d been the one who’d read her diary to everyone. But he finally got a clue thanks to Taylor, and I decided I could trust him. In fact, I care about him.”

  I glanced down at my phone, hoping to find a text message from his mom with an update, but the screen remained blank.

  “So why do you sound down about it?” Dad asked. “If anything, you should be on top of the world. You’re young and in love—”

  “We’re not in love. We’re just dating.” Although if I could love anyone, it would be someone like Brett. “Besides, I’m worried about him. He broke his leg in last night’s game and has been in surgery all morning. I’m still waiting to hear if he came out of it all right.”

  Dad nodded, his fingers splayed over his mouth in a thoughtful pose. “Just remember to use a condom.”

  “Dad, why does everything have to come down to sex with you?”

  “Because everything in the world is about sex—”

  “Except sex. Sex is about power,” I finished in unison with him. That Oscar Wilde quote was one of Dad’s favorites. And it was only fitting, since he was a well-known expert on the philosophy of love and sex.

  “Remember that if you ever feel pressured into having sex with a guy. There’s a reason why men pay for sex, whereas women don’t generally have to.”

  “Okay, but A—you sound like Morgan. B—ew! on the prostitution thing. And C—Brett has a broken leg, so I doubt we’re going to be doing it anytime soon.”

  “A broken leg won’t stop a guy from having sex. It’ll just limit the positions he could do it in.”

  “Again, Dad, ew!” I didn’t want to have a discussion about sexual positions with my dad. There was a good chance he’d tell me way more than I wanted to know. “But again, I don’t see us having sex for quite a while.”

  Although, there was the time I’d lost my shirt in the locker room while making out with him. And I couldn’t forget all the times I’d lost my head when he kissed me.

  My dad grinned as though he knew exactly what was going through my mind, so I decided to drop the bomb on him. “Besides, if there was ever a lesson about the importance of safe sex, it was the little bit of joyful news Mom dropped on us today. Did you know she’s pregnant?”

  Dad’s eyes widened, and he leaned back in his chair, staring into space. “Whoa!” he said slowly like a stoned hippie. He repeated the word as he dragged his hands along the sides of his face like a pair of squeegees trying to wipe away his shock.

  “It gets even better.” I wore a smug smile while I tattled on Mom. “She now feels obligated to marry the guy who knocked her up.”

  Dad spent a few more seconds appearing to mull it over before singing a few bars from a song about how it was a nice day for a white wedding.

  It was official. Mom’s news had even made my dad a little bonkers. “Hello, Earth to Dad?”

  “I’m here, princess. Just…whoa!” He wiped his hand over his face one more time before sitting forward and shifting his attention back to me. “So, how’s she doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I know your mom pretty well, and she usually doesn’t handle unexpected things like this well.”

  “She actually appears happy about it all, which is nuts. I mean, she’s only been dating Pete for a few months, tops, and she’s way too old to be having another kid.”

  “First off, if she’s young enough to get pregnant, she’s not too old to have another kid. Second, are you sure she’s okay with all this?”

  “She was glowing, Dad.”

  That earned me another look of shock and disbelief, followed by another whoa. “If I didn’t know your mom better, I’d wonder if she hadn’t been partaking of the recreational weed there.”

  “This is Mom we’re talking about, Dad, not you.” My mom was too professional, too straight-laced, too driven to smoke pot. My dad, on the other hand, had been growing “special herbs” in his greenhouse for as long as I could remember.

  He covered his mouth with his hand and turned thoughtful for almost a full minute. “This is so not like your mom.”

  “Tell me about it. She’s such a stickler about making sure me and Taylor don’t get pregnant that she seems to have forgotten to follow her own advice.”

  “No, it’s more than that,” he countered, shaking his head. “When I met your mom, she had every aspect of her life planned out down to you and your sister’s birth months. She knew what she wanted and exactly when it should happen, and damn if she didn’t stick to it. And she only wanted two kids, so the fact that she’s having a third would be a huge-enough deviation from her life plan to make her lose it.”

  I flashed back to the look of panic on her face as she flew out the door after the positive pregnancy test on Wednesday. “It seemed like that when she initially got the news, but now…”

  I focused on how she had looked this morning. All happy and calm and head-over-heels in love. “Now she’s almost like a stranger. I mean, I hardly know her since she started dating Pete. First, there was catching them together a few weeks ago. And now this. I mean, it’s a total lesson in irresponsibility, and yet she seems so chill about it, I’m wondering how much she’s drinking when I’m not looking.”

  “Your mom would never drink while pregnant.” The sternness in his voice stunned me. I would understand if it had come from Pete, but Dad and Mom had been over each other for so long, I’d just assumed he’d trash-talk her like most people did their exes.

  He must’ve seen my surprise because he added in a softer voice, “Alexis, things may not have worked out between your mom and me, but we did love each other, and part of me still cares about your mom. And for that reason, I’m asking you to go easy on her.”

  “Easy on her? For being a hypocrite and turning my life into chaos?”

  “You’ve always been too quick to judge and form a harsh opinion.” He didn’t have to add that I was just like Mom in that respect. I knew he was thinking that, even though he was too much of a pacifist to say it. Instead, he said, “Walk a mile in her shoes before you judge her, Alexis. Think about what she’s having to deal with and how you’d feel if you were in the same situation. Haven’t you had your fair share of momentary lapses in judgment over the past few weeks? Did your mom judge you? Or did she comfort and support you?”

  And now I felt like an utter and complete bitch. I remembered the way Mom had held me in her arms and comforted me while I cried last weekend. Yeah, I’d made some mistakes—some that might’ve ended with me in the same position—and she’d never once chewed me out like I’d done to her this morning.

  “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a joint to handle all this. Tell your mom congratulation
s for me.” Dad ended the Skype call, leaving my face reflecting back to me on the screen.

  Walk a mile in her shoes.

  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what I would’ve done if I’d been the one with a positive pregnancy test. Freak would be putting it lightly. I’d probably be devastated. My plans for college and a possible law career would be ruined by an unexpected kid, and I’d be cursing the guy who’d gotten me in this position.

  But as I continued to dwell on it, I began to wonder what I would feel if Brett had been the one who’d knocked me up. Yes, I cared about him. Probably as much as Mom cared about Pete. And maybe if we were in the same positions in life that they were—out of school with jobs and stable homes—I would’ve been happy to marry Brett and have his kid. Maybe I would’ve even worn that same sappy grin Mom did as I shared the news.

  Yeah, I’d screwed up.

  But that didn’t mean it was too late to make things right.

  When I came downstairs, Taylor was gone, and Mom and Pete were sitting outside on the deck, enjoying a cup of coffee together in the sunshine. Even though Mom appeared happy with him, I noticed the red rims of her eyes. She’d been crying, and my conscience dumped a load of guilt into the pit of my stomach.

  I opened the door but lingered inside, not sure what I should do next. I mean, this whole genuinely groveling for forgiveness thing was still a new concept for me. I was used to saying what was on my mind and walking away, not caring what the other person thought or what my words had done to them. For three years, my whole existence had been being hard and cruel, feeling superior to those around me after exposing their flaws. Now, I was being shown my own faults, and humility was a hard pill to swallow.

  Mom and Pete paused their conversation long enough to notice me. I had no idea what expression I was wearing, but it was enough for Pete to take one look at me and excuse himself, claiming he had a few phone calls to make inside.

  After he left, I took his chair and perched on the edge. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t look my mom in the eye. Every time I did, I saw the hurt I’d caused her. It hit me like a punch in the gut that left an ache that reverberated through my entire body. Instead, I focused on the half-empty cup of coffee Pete had left behind on the table and said, “I’m sorry, Mom.”