Work Text:
I was tired, jetlagged, but couldn’t sleep any longer as I stared at the ceiling of my old childhood room. My phone was pinging every few minutes, and I could hear Mom talking to herself as she wrote something for work.
I wander down to the kitchen, finding what I could in the fridge for a snack before dinner.
“Don’t ruin dinner,” Mom warns me, and I just wave her off.
“I won’t, just need something now,” I tell her, settling on a yogurt as I go for a spoon. “Anything interesting happen since I left?”
“Well, there has been some work drama,” Mom starts shaking her head. “Royce and your Father have been butting heads again.”
”Nothing new there,” I find myself chuckling.
“Persis and Yosuke will be here in a few days, but you know that already. Let’s see what else was there? There was a family of raccoons in the neighbour's attic that had to be caught and relocated?” Mother goes on.
“I do think trash panda’s taking over is the news I was asking about,” I tell her with another half laugh. Something in my head goes back to my best friend's little sister, and I shake it out before I can go there again.
“Well, I suppose you’ll know soon enough, but little Rilla Blythe is pregnant,” Mom says simply. “Her parents are mystified as to where they went wrong and can’t understand why she kept everything such a secret.” I hear her go on as my heart beats faster and faster, and my vision wants to swim.
“Jesus,” I manage to get out, and Mom looks at me, shaking her head, and laughs at my reaction.
“I mean, Anne herself was a teen when Joy was born; it’s not that shocking that one child out of the seven followed their footsteps.” Mom reminds me of something I already knew about.
“How…pregnant is she?” I say, trying to act casually as I could. Please let it be…anything less than…what was August… four months ago?”
“She must be getting close to twenty weeks,” Mom hums for a moment. “In regular people terms, that is nearing five months? Poor girl won’t even tell anyone who the father is”.
“Shit,” I say under my breath. “I have to…go unpack more and check on a few things.” I race up to my room, to the small bathroom and look into the mirror, wondering who would look back at me.
I was supposed to be getting ready for the interview of a lifetime…
I check my phone for any sort of message I may have never gotten. Nothing.
Surely…
Surely she would have told me if she knew…if it was true?
I didn’t have her number, I realize, and I have never given her mine either. Why would I have needed it?
I find Facebook, signing in. Rolling my eyes at Maggie and her antics, but she’s always been like, We’ve been like this for ages. On and off again, sleeping together when neither of us had anyone else in the picture.
I type in Rilla, but nothing comes up, and I give up. I even tried Instagram for a moment, but it came up blank. What is with teenagers these days and social media?
I guess there was only one option.
I grab my dust duffle bag and my freshly cleaned clothes. I pack mentally, tallying how many hours it takes to get there driving. I could make it to Quebec City if I leave right now.
I turn at the sound of a knock on my door.
“What are you doing?” Momasksk is holding out another handful of clean clothing.
I take a deep breath because there was no way around this.
“I have to go talk to Rilla,” I say, managing to keep my voice steady, grabbing the socks and underwear from the pile she had and tossing them into the bag.
“Ken, what are you talking about?” Mom asks m, confused as theories and possibilities cross her mind.
“I don’t know, but I have to go, I have to clarify a few things with Rilla about the past summer., I tell her honestly. Truth falling over her face as she looks at me like she doesn’t know me.
“Ken….please no,” Mom shakes her head. I can only wince and quickly kiss her cheek. “I’ll call you when I stop for the night."
She's too much in shock to say anything until I reach the door.
"Please, Ken, what is going on?"
"It was an accident...it was a party." I try to tell her. "I have to go, I'm sorry, I have to go."
I get on the highway, using GPS because I had no clue how to make it to the Maritime's otherwise. On my first gas break, I looked up a hotel and booked one without much care for where or how much it was. Dad wouldn't cut off the credit card, not yet anyway.
Mom had called and texted, and when my father popped u, I finally picked up.
“Please tell me your mother is exaggerating,” I hear as the call connects. “You did not potentially impregnate a teenage girl? Do I even want to know how this might have even happened?”
“It was a party, it was dark?” I ssaysimply. “I didn’t know…I didn’t realize until it was too late…” I make excuses.
“That is a whole lot of Bullshite K, Enneth Wayne,” Dad says into the phone.
“Well, it’s the truth,” I say, ay gripping the steering wheel tight.
“You are that certain…” I can hear him choose his words carefully.
“I am…because I know what it was like to see her that morning, Dad. She isn’t….she wasn’t, isn’t one to…” I struggle with how to explain the situation without resorting to cruel language. "I was all too shocked and honestly annoyed that I was trying to make sure she got home alright."
“You’re stopping for the night?”
“Quebec City,” I respond.
“The Blythe’s know,” Dad says after a moment. “Your mother called Anne, and I believe that Rilla overheard some of the conversation and pulled the Blythe household into World War III.”
“I can’t find a way to contact her, I don’t have her number or social media that I can find easily,” I say, sighing.
“I believe your mother follows her dance on Instagram,” Dad says after a moment, and I sigh as if that would be the easiest to find. “I’m surprised you don’t know that or haven’t looked it up.”
“I was busy doing other things, plus…this is potentially weird and fucked up enough. I needed to put it to the back of my mind, not…” I break the silence. Reminding him silently that Rilla was only sixteen.
“Rightfully so,” Dad says gruffly as he tests me about the situation. “You truly think…”
“I know…I know, Dad, she wouldn’t have hidden the fact that it was me if it wasn’t me,” I say, trying to concentrate on the road. “I have to…I have to drive Dad. I’ll call you later.”
I hang up before he can respond, and I let out a deep breath.
I never once had a feeling like this. I never once the prospect of being a father thrust upon me. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to drive off the road, into the car beside me.
I didn’t, I just kept driving in my lane.
Could I be ready for such a thing?
Flashes of purple hair and sweet kisses came back instantly. The feeling of her skin, and then the panic and fear of that morning.
I had been toast, dead meat. I had scoured my duffel bag. Thankful that it seemed like I had enough foresight to at least use protection.
How could I have been such an idiot? I had learned to always ask a girl's age at college parties. I wasn’t an idiot, but this party seemed to throw all my usual rules out the window.
Had I recognized her?
I scan all my memories, the ones at the fire, before intoxication, before someone passed around the weed.
Purple hair, hazel eyes, the eyes should have been the giveaway. The last time I remember seeing her was…what? Joy’s wedding, maybe a summer afterwards? A few years of growing at the very least.
Nothing that said Rilla Blythe until the next morning.
Not until I looked her over in the morning sun, the hints of red hair beneath the purple and ruddy eyebrows. She had looked too much like Di Blythe as I scanned over her features once more, a sinking feeling had fallen over me.
If Di was two years younger than me….and this wasn’t Di…
This could only be one person, and the panic started to rise in my throat.
This was not good.
Then she had woken up, and everything came together. She barely looked at him as she grabbed her things and dressed.
“I’ll drive you home,” I remember my voice saying, and she just shrugged. The drive had been quiet, too quiet as she sat there in my passenger seat.
It wasn’t until we reached the house that she spoke up. I hadn’t expected her to be so outspoken….to be so mincing with her words.
When did the cheerful child I knew turn into this young woman who was almost cynical towards the world?”
A baby….
Now there was a baby to add to this unfortunate story that came around.
A potential piece of myself that would be carried throughout the future.
Could I even be a father?”
Did I have a choice?
I find myself taking a deep breath, and I blinked hard enough until the tears that threatened for a moment went away.
I drove. I drove until I needed coffee or a bathroom break. I drive in silence because anything on the radio drives me insane.
A Father.
Fuck that, that thought terrified me. If I was terrified, how terrified was she?
I checked into the hotel, one off the highway and fell onto the bed. I check my phone for the first time in hours before tossing it aside.
What in the world did I do?
I pick up my phone once more, clicking through the apps to Instagram to my mother's profile. I don’t know what to look for, but I scan through her followers, searching out anything for dance or ballet when it pops out at me.
Images of pointe shoes and videos of her dancing. I swallow hard at the images.
The faint recognition of the feeling of her body, the count of her ribs under his fingers. Wondering if he should feel them as he could in that moment.
Don’t go there. Idiot. She’s sixteen.
She looked tired in front of the camera, fixing her skirt, a glance as she seemed to suck in her stomach for the camera…for no reason other than to appear more waif-like.
Their child…if it was his child.
The morning is dark and damp as I hit the road, another three hours to New Brunswick, another six to the island after that. At least the snow seems to be holding off this winter.
I stop before the border sign and pick up my phone once more.
Taking a deep breath.
God, I hope you see this…so yeah… I stop there and look at the message before sighing,
I’m not sure what to say, but I’m about to drive into New Brunswick.
I have a feeling we need to talk.
It was done, I say, sighing. She must be getting ready for school; surely she would see this?
I wait a few minutes before looking back down at my old, battered screen.
Read….she had read it.
I grasp an ounce of bravery because someone had to in this moment.
Please just say something?
This time, I watch it intently as it pops up as read, and a bubble appears, and disappears before it finally pings.
Yes.
I’m going to be a father--am I even ready for this?
Did I even have a choice, as I knew the answer without the confirmation?