Page 69 of Embracing Trust

“A text. Aubree.” I stand. “She’s on her way to Mom and Dad’s and says she’s going to tell them about the pregnancy, if I don’t.”

Patrick sets his beer aside and rises to stand. “I can head over there with you.”

“No, just stay here and enjoy your game. I have to handle this on my own, but—"

“Are you sure? I can just hang out in another room.”

“Thanks anyway, but I better take care of it myself.”

“Good luck, Ry.”

“I’m going to need it.”

I make the drive to my parent’s house to face the hell I am about to endure. Feels like I’m in Afghanistan prepared for a mission. Never quite sure of the turnout.

On the drive, I mentally rehearse everything I’m going to say. After the way Aubree’s been pushing that she wants to get together, I’m sure she’ll keep up the pressure—especially around my parents. She’ll want them as her allies. I have to make it clear that Aubree and I aren’t in love.

I’ve broken several traffic laws on the way, but I manage to beat Aubree to my parents’ house. I scurry up the porch steps and enter the open front door.

“Hello,” I call out.

Mom answers from the kitchen.

Her eyebrows shoot up and her face lights up when I enter the room. “Ryan.”

“Hello, son,” Dad adds. “What brings you our way?”

I join them at the kitchen table.

“We’re just taking a break from some outdoor chores. Would you like a glass of iced tea?”

“That sounds great, Mom.”

She rises and gets a glass from the cabinet. “It’s good to see you.” She adds ice and tea to the glass, sets it in front of me, and returns to her chair.

I take a huge gulp of the tea as they watch me. Expectant for my explanation for this sudden visit.

“I need to talk to you. Aubree’s on her way over. There are some things you need to know.”

Mom’s smile is big again. “Oh, on her way here? That’s wonderful.”

“Not really. Look, there’s something you both need to know.”

Dad sets his glass down on the table and looks at me with the stern expression I remember from my childhood days. This expression is reminiscent of a bad grade, borrowing the car without permission or an unfinished chore.

There’s no other way to break the news except to rip off the bandage. “Aubree’s pregnant.”

The room is quiet with Mom and Dad frozen to their seats. Unmoving like statues.

“Pregnant?” Mom whispers.

Dad scowls. “And you’re the father,” he says matter-of-factly. It’s not even a question.

“It’s complicated,” I reply and rub the back of my neck.

Dad’s scowl deepens if that’s even possible. “Complicated? Nothing complicated about it. Are you the father?”

“She says I am.”

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