Page 100 of Slap Shot Daddies

As I reenter the room, my parents' heads snap up, their eyes widening in surprise.

I stand there, trying to steady my breathing, my shoulders pulled back with a resolve I barely feel. My hands, clenched into fists, tremble slightly at my sides. Before I can control it, the confession tumbles from my mouth.

"Mom. Dad. I’m pregnant."

The room falls into an unsettling silence, as if even the walls are holding their breath.

My mom’s grip on her cup slackens, and it slips from her fingers. The cup shatters against the hardwood floor, sending shards and tea skittering in all directions.

"Jesus Christ, Margaret!" Dad exclaims, rising abruptly from his chair.

Yet, Mom seems oblivious to the mess at her feet, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes as wide as saucers filled with shock and disbelief. "What did you just say?" she demands, her voice barely a whisper.

I swallow, feeling the dryness in my throat like sandpaper. "You heard me."

The color drains from my father’s face. He runs a hand through his graying hair, his expression tightening into a tense line.

"Kenzie," he says, trying to keep his voice steady, "who’s the father?"

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, void of any humor. I cross my arms, feeling defensive. "That’s…complicated."

His brow creases in confusion. "Well, I’d like to meet the man who’s going to marry my daughter."

That pushes me to the edge of my composure. I laugh again, the sound verging on hysteria. "Yeah? That’s gonna be a little difficult."

Mom grips the edge of the table as if to steady herself against an impending crash. "Kenzie, what are you talking about?" she asks, desperation tinging her voice.

I take a deep breath, feeling the room spin around me.

"Because, Mom…I don’t know who the father is."

Silence hangs heavy in the room, an oppressive weight that fills the air. Then, Mom's voice slices through it like a razor.

"YOU WHAT?" Her words are so sharp, so piercing, that I can almost feel the vibrations shuddering through the walls.

Dad's reaction is immediate and stark. He looks as though someone has landed a physical blow to his gut. His face drains of color, leaving it ashen. His jaw clenches so tightly that the muscles quiver, and his eyes narrow into thin slits of disbelief and anger.

"Kenzie." His voice is low, simmering with a dangerous edge. "That is not funny."

"I’m not joking." I lock eyes with him, refusing to look away. "I don’t know who the father is, because…I’ve been seeing three guys."

Mom staggers backward, her hand flying to her chest like I've just confessed to something unspeakable.

"Three?" she shrieks, her voice cracking with distress.

Dad's hands clamp down on the back of his chair, the wood creaking under the pressure of his white-knuckled grip. "Jesus Christ, Kenzie."

"They’re all really good men," I try to explain, desperation lacing my words. But Mom lets out a harsh, bitter laugh, her head shaking in disbelief.

"Oh, I’m sure they are! Good men don’t pass women around like a bottle of beer at a frat party!"

Frustration coils inside me, my teeth grinding at the accusation. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Dad demands, his voice clipped and as cold as ice. "Are you going to tell me you love them? That they love you?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the words falter, dissolving before they reach my lips.

Because I don’t know.

---