Page 172 of Not Another Yesterday
He nods. “We’ll have to think of something.”
“You still got some time,” I say. “It’s not like this baby’s showing up tomorrow.”
“No, but six months will fly by, Ran.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “God, I’m not ready.”
The weight of everything presses in on my chest again like it always does when I think too far ahead. I don’t have the faintest idea how I’m going to make it all work.
My dad squeezes my shoulder lightly. “It’s okay. I’m here. Whatever you guys need. I mean it.”
I look at him, unsure what to say. For so long, I didn’t think Icouldcount on him. I still don’t know if I can—not truly—but maybe… maybe this is the start of something different.
“Do you know what you’re going to do about your living situation?” he asks.
“Not really. Right now we’re still in the apartment. Cat and I haven’t really figured it all out yet, but Shane thinks he’ll be fine with a newborn crying all night.” I shrug. “Whatever Cat wants, I’ll try to make it work. I just want her to be alright. I’m trying to save up as much as I can.”
“Whatever I can do to help, Ran, please let me know. You’re not alone, okay? If you need help, financial or otherwise, it’s no problem.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I appreciate that, Dad, I do. But it’d feel weird as hell asking you for money.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I mean… I managed to get a girl pregnant, but I still need to ask Daddy for help? Feels pathetic. Like, if I can fuck around, I can step up.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You seem to feel strongly about this.”
“I do.”
“But Ran…” His tone softens again. “I know you’ve never had anyone you could rely on, not really. But I’m telling you now: I’m here. You and Cat don’t have to do this alone. Please, ask for help when you need it. You don’t have to carry the whole weight on your shoulders.”
“I’m not,” I say. “Cat’s already carrying more than her fair share. The least I can do is make sure she and the baby have what they need.”
He nods. “And that’s exactly why I want to help. So you can focus on being a good… boyfriend… a good partner to Cat, and a good dad. Let me be a part of this, Ran. Let me show up this time.”
For a second I just sit there, staring at him. His ask is simple, but it lands hard, like a boulder plummeting into water, and all I can feel are the ripples spreading out from where it hits.
I want to hold onto the anger. I want to say it’s too late. But the truth is… I don’t think I believe that anymore.
My throat feels tight. My chest too. I don’t say anything, just lean forward, dragging a shaky breath through my nose as I press my forehead to his shoulder.
And then his arms are around me. Strong. Solid. Familiar in a way that makes my heart ache. He hugs me like he’s been waiting to, like maybe he needed this just as much as I did.
It’s awkward and cramped and the console digs into my ribs, but I stay there anyway. For the first time in a long time, I don’t fight him. I let myself stay.
“I missed you,” I mutter, voice thick. “I’ve missed you so much… for so long.”
“I missed you too, bud,” he says into my hair. “So damn much. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Sunday, August 13th
Cat
“Does it make me a terrible, horrible son that I really don’t feel like having dinner with the whole damn family every freaking Sunday?” Ronan mutters as he ties his shoes.
I stand next to him in the hallway, one hand on my stomach. I’ve definitely started to show. The bump is noticeable underneath my clothes now—much to Tori’s, Vada’s, and Summer’s delight, all of whom keep asking if they can touch my belly—and just yesterday I realized I was no longer able to button my jeans. I know it comes with the territory. I know it’s a change I have to accept. After all, this baby’s nowhere near done growing. But still, I cried to Ronan about it yesterday. I kept yammering about how soon I’d be so big he wouldn’t be attracted to me anymore. Of course, that boy did everything in his power to convince me otherwise. He finally managed to when he laid me down on his bed, then descended between my thighs until the only sounds I was able to make were mewling whimpers and moans.
“Not really,” I say. Ronan’s right. These dinners aren’t just dinners. They’re inspections, check-ins, our parents’ way of ensuring they have an eye on us. Ever since we told them I was pregnant, they’ve been hovering. Cooking elaborate meals. Making casual but loaded comments. Offering advice we didn’t ask for. Always with that thin smile that says, “We’re just checking in.” But the eyes say, “We’re worried. We’re watching you.”
