For The Love of Easton (For the Love Of #2) - A.M. Hargrove Page 0,1
greeted me. “Fuck it all, English. I’m sorry. Given that, you really ought to go to the hospital to let them check you out.”
Eventually, they both persuaded me and we went to the ER. Once there, the medical personnel asked what happened and, of course, I told the truth. I opted not to press charges though. Fortunately, even though it felt like I’d been flattened by a truck, I’d only sustained bruises and, as far as the doctor could tell, the baby was fine. It was early on in the pregnancy, only about eight weeks, so he said everything should be okay, but suggested I see an obstetrician soon.
When we got back to the apartment, the crying wouldn’t stop.
“English, you should call your parents,” Stacey said.
“Oh, God. Daddy hates Stuart. He always said he was worthless.”
“True, but your parents adore you and will be here for you. You need them now more than ever.”
She was right. My parents had always been there for me, no matter what. I dragged my aching body into my room and gingerly crawled on the bed. My dad answered after the first ring.
“Hey, munchkin, what’s up?”
At the sound of his upbeat voice, the dam broke again. “Oh, Daddy,” I sobbed into the phone, “I messed up.”
He went straight into serious mode. “English, what is it? What happened?”
“I need you and Mom. Can you come?”
“You bet. Are you home? Are you safe?”
“Yeah.” I sniffed.
“Is Stacey there with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Stay put and we’re on the way.”
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, munch. See you in an hour.”
It was the longest hour, but when they walked into the apartment, I’d never been so happy to see them in my life. While I sobbed in my dad’s arms, Stacey and her boyfriend slipped out, leaving us alone. Mom brought me a mug of tea as Dad continued to hug me. After the worst of the storm passed, I told them the whole ugly story. Dad’s eyes were filled with kindness, but also pain, and Mom was her usual empathetic self. Neither of them judged me, and they were behind me a hundred percent.
Daddy spoke first. “English, I—”
“Daddy, I know you hate Stu, and you’re right.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” He picked up my hand and held it. “What I wanted to tell you was having a baby at your age is difficult, but if you come home after this semester, your mother and I will help, as I’m sure Banana and Geepa will too.” Banana and Geepa were my grandparents. I could never say ‘Grandma Anna’ so I’d turned it into ‘Banana,’ and ‘Grandpa’ had been too much too, so they shortened it to ‘Geepa,’ a variation of ‘G-pa.’
The floor was my best friend as I asked, “Banana and Geepa won’t hate me?”
“Hate you? Why would they hate you?”
I shrugged. “You know.”
“What? Because you had sex?”
“Yeah.” This was so embarrassing. I wished I could crawl under the sofa and hide.
“Remember my own story with you? I had you when I was in college and they helped me raise you at first. They’ll be thrilled to have another baby around. That’s not to say the baby won’t be your primary responsibility. We’ll be your helpers, not the main caretakers. That is if you want to keep it.” His blue-green eyes that were so much like my own froze me in place.
A hand splayed over my chest. “Keep it? I could never… yes, I’m going to keep it. I made it, so it’s mine.”
A soft smile turned up the corners of his mouth. He had a way of comforting me with those small grins of his. “Fine. And what about Stuart?” He rubbed a finger over the bruise that had already formed on my jaw.
“Do I have to give him a say in the matter?”
“I’ll check with my attorney, just to be safe.”
I reached for my mom’s hand. “Mom, you haven’t said anything.”
“Your father has pretty much covered everything that’s on my mind. One thing though, and take heed of this. Your life will never be the same. You’ll not be a single, carefree young woman anymore.”
My head dropped. “I know. I’ll have to give up my dream of being a graphic artist.”
Mom asked, “Why would you think that? A baby won’t stop you from getting your degree. That’s where your support team comes in.”
Dad grabbed my shoulders and said, “English, don’t forget you were only four months old when you came to live with me, so I understand