When my mother first told me she was pregnant, I didn’t believe her. I understood the basics of how babies got made, but I couldn’t imagine she’d actually allowed John to do that to her. Really, I couldn’t imagine anyone doing anything so completely gross, but picturing John doing it to my mother was especially disturbing. I also didn’t believe that she loved him and he had asked her to marry him, which was what she told me after she said she had a little brother or sister for me growing in her belly.
“He’s a wonderful man, Eden,” she said. We were sitting in the dining room, eating the grilled cheese and tomato soup I’d made us for dinner, when she got home from work. “He’s been there for me so much over the past few months. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
I didn’t look at her, instead used my spoon to toy with the bright red liquid in my bowl. “What if Dad comes back?” I said in a low voice. I lifted my gaze and stared at her defiantly. “What if he comes home and you’re with someone else?”
Her expression fell and she sighed. “Your dad and I are divorced, honey. He’s not coming back.”
“How do you know?” I asked, challenging her. “You don’t know. He could just be stuck in the hospital. He could be really sick and you wouldn’t even know because you divorced him.”
“We divorced each other, Eden. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but it’s really much better this way. Your father and I weren’t good for each other. He wasn’t good for you, either. You saw that. No one who was good for you would do what he did.”
“Yes, he was good for me,” I said stubbornly. My daddy was sick, that was all. He didn’t mean what he’d done. He was just very, very sick. I didn’t blame him for cutting his wrists. I couldn’t dream of the kind of pain he must have suffered that pushed him to that point. I told myself that the doctors were still making him well. That he’d get out of the hospital and come take me away.
“John adores you, you know,” my mother said, interrupting my thoughts.
I was silent. I hated John. I hated him with his big feet and his loud laugh and his stupid jokes about how many firemen it took to put in a lightbulb.
“Don’t you like him?” my mother asked.
I still didn’t answer. I stared at my soup, thinking how closely it matched the shade of my father’s blood, spilled on the bathroom floor. My eyes filled. “I don’t want you to have a baby,” I cried.
My mother reached over and rested her hand on my arm. “I understand it might be difficult for you at first, sweetie, but I think if you give the idea of being a big sister a chance, you’ll grow to love it.”
“Will the baby live with John instead of us?” I asked hopefully. I saw this as a possible compromise.
“No, it won’t. I’m going to marry John and we’re all going to live with him.”
I swung my gaze up to her face. “I don’t want to leave our house!”
She sighed again, pulling her hand back to rake back her blond hair from her face. “There are too many bad memories for us here. It’ll be a fresh start for all of us. You, me, John, and the baby. I promise, everything’s going to be better than ever.”
I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to leave my memories in this house. I wanted to take them with me, leaving a trail of them for my father to find when he finally came back to save me.
