It wasn’t until Gram set a plate of spaghetti in front of Colby that anyone clued in. Colby took one sniff of it and nearly barfed right onto the plate.
“You’re pregnant.” Gram slid the spaghetti out of sight and narrowed her eyes at Colby. “I’m right. You’re pregnant. I knew this was going to happen. I thought it would be Gigi. But you? I didn’t think it’d be you.” Gram made a disapproving sound, a sort of sharp intake of breath. “I told you both.” She wagged a finger at Gigi and Colby. “This is what happens when you have sex before marriage.”
“I’m not pregnant.” But even as she said the word, Colby knew Gram was right.
“You totally are.” Gigi gawked at her. “You said you were late. And your period never came, did it?”
“Maybe,” Colby said.
“Who?” Gigi stared at her. “You don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend isn’t a requirement.” Colby sat back, the smell of the spaghetti hanging heavy over the table. She put a finger under her nose, blocking her nostrils. “It’s a perk.”
“Or a curse.” Gram had been divorced three times.
“Who did you sleep with?” Gigi folded her arms across her chest and stared at Colby. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t tell you everything.”
“Yes, you do.”
Colby shrugged. “Not really.”
“Who, then?”
“Just some guy.”
Gram put a hand on her shoulder. “Was it rape?”
“No, no, no,” Colby protested. “Nothing like that, Gram. Not at all.”
“Well, then?” Gigi raised her voice. “Who the hell was it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You hooked back up with Otto. That’s it.”
“No.” Colby had broken up with Otto three months ago, and she was only a month late for her period, now that she thought about it. She knew exactly who the dad was. “Not Otto.”
“Then who?”
But Colby wasn’t ready to tell.
She might not ever be. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to think of any baby. And she didn’t want to think of any father.
Her own father had disappeared. She hadn’t heard from him since her birthday in November, when he’d left a message on her phone.
Happy birthday, Sparkle.
That was it.
He’d left a couple of months before that, after getting into a fight with his girlfriend, Sheila. He’d ended up shoving her, and she fell against a corner and cut her forehead. She called the cops, but Colby’s dad took off before they showed up. Sheila had been screaming at him for hours about how he needed to get a job, and how he was a bum and a failure and a useless junkie. He’d been sitting in his chair in the living room, staring at the crossword in the paper, letting it all slide, but then he snapped. He lunged for Sheila, growling like a monster.
Gigi and Colby had heard the whole thing. They were in Colby’s room, eavesdropping to figure out when would be a good time to slip out. They heard Sheila scream, then a thud. Then the front door slammed shut.
Then the sirens.
Colby hadn’t seen him since.
He’d taken off a couple of times before but had always come back two or three days later, after a binge. He’d plod around with a guilty expression for a week or so, while booze reeked from his pores, and then he’d stick around for a while.
But this time, he hadn’t come back.
And then Sheila had kicked Colby out, because why would she take care of “that asshole’s bitchy kid”?
Which is how Colby ended up living with Gigi and Gram. Which is why she was having supper with them, and not her dad and Sheila. She didn’t miss Sheila. Not at all. But she missed her dad. A lot.
If she’d ever really known her mom, she might’ve missed her too. She’d died when Colby was three. Her dad said it was a seizure, but Colby was pretty sure her mom had overdosed.
Forget mothers and fathers. They were useless.
Forget the baby.
She’d get rid of it.
No way was she going to be a mom.
No way.
Colby reached for a piece of bread, then changed her mind.
Even that repulsed her.
She rested her hands in her lap instead.
Despite everything, she wanted her dad. Right now.
She wanted to tell him about the baby. She wanted to tell him about everything that had happened between the moment he’d slammed that door and this moment now. She wanted him to tell her what to do.
Gigi was still pestering her about who the baby’s daddy was. Colby glanced up. Gigi’s cheeks were pink with frustration. Her black curly hair bounced around her face as she yelled. Her hands flapped. Gigi always flapped her hands when she was excited.
“If you don’t tell me who you slept with, I won’t talk to you ever again. Seriously.”
Colby shook her head.
“Then get the hell out of my house! We’re more than best friends, Colby. We’re sisters. How can you lie to me?”
“Not lying,” Colby muttered. “Just not telling.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not. One is omission, the other is a falsehood.”
“What?” Gigi stared at her, hands on her hips.
Gram slapped the table, just hard enough to get the girls’ attention.
“Enough!” She pointed at Gigi. “Sit. Eat. Be quiet.”
Gigi opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it and sat. She glowered at Colby. “You’ll tell me. I know you will.”
“And you.” Gram placed a hand on Colby’s shoulder. “You are not going anywhere. You live here. Pay no attention to Gigi. She’s mad, that’s all. You keep your secrets if you want. We all have them.”
“Thanks, Gram. Don’t tell anyone I’m pregnant, okay?” Colby caught Gigi’s angry gaze. “No one. Please?”
“Just Milo.”
“No one. I don’t even know for sure. And maybe I’ll have a miscarriage.” No way was she going to mention abortion in Gram’s company. Gram firmly believed that abortion was murder. “Please don’t tell.”
“We won’t tell anyone. Not yet,” Gram said. “If you change your mind, you tell us. Then we tell only if you want. For now, it’s a secret.”
“Who was it?” Gigi tried again.
“Secret,” Colby murmured.
“We don’t have secrets. Not between us, Colby. Come on.”
“So what if she wants it to be secret?” Gram shrugged. “That’s okay.”
Gigi narrowed her eyes at Colby. “It was Mick, wasn’t it? I bet you slept with him to get back at Otto.”
For a moment, Colby debated saying it was Mick just to shut her up. But just knowing wouldn’t be good enough for Gigi. She’d want details, and that’s when Gigi always caught Colby in a lie.
Colby shook her head. “Not Mick.”
Colby stood up. “I’m going to go lie down.”
“Not in my room,” Gigi said. “Traitor.”
“Yes in your room,” Gram said. “It’s Colby’s room too.”
But Colby ended up in the bathroom instead, kneeling in front of the toilet. She’d never been so grateful for a clean toilet in all her life. Between bouts of barfing and dry heaves, Colby thought about the boy who was the father. And how she’d go about telling him. If she told him at all.