That evening, the inevitable happened.
The unknown numbers had been my parents trying to reach me through various borrowed phones. Finally, they got smart. The text came from Rebecca.
Mom and Dad are freaking out. Someone saw you at Hastings estate. They want to know what’s going on.
I showed Michael and his parents.
“What do you want to do?” Robert asked.
“Nothing,” I decided. “They made their position clear. I’m not family anymore, remember?”
But my phone rang again. Rebecca this time. I answered on speaker.
“Laura, what is happening? Mom’s having a meltdown. She says you’re at the Hastings mansion.”
“I am.”
“Why? How? She’s convinced you went begging to Dad’s boss. Or—or worse.”
“Worse?” I laughed bitterly. “What could be worse in her mind than her pregnant daughter existing?”
“Laura, please. Just tell me what’s going on.”
I looked at Michael, who nodded.
“The baby’s father is Michael Hastings. We’ve been together six years. I’m staying with his family because mine threw me out.”
Silence.
Then, “Michael Hastings? The boss’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Laura, do Mom and Dad know?”
“Nope. They didn’t ask. Too busy calling me a disgrace and telling me to sleep on the streets.”
“They’re going to lose it when they find out.”
Rebecca was right.
The meltdown, when it came, was spectacular. I’d blocked their numbers, but that didn’t stop them from trying. They called Hastings Industries. They showed up at the gate. Security turned them away. They even tried going through their church, having the pastor call Robert to mediate this family dispute.
Finally, Robert had enough.
“Let’s settle this,” he declared over breakfast. “Invite them for dinner here tonight.”
“Robert, no.”
“You need closure, Laura. And frankly, I want to look Gerald Morrison in the eye when he explains throwing out his pregnant daughter.”
Michael squeezed my hand.
“Your choice. But Dad’s right. This limbo isn’t good for you or the baby.”
So I unblocked their numbers long enough to send a single text.
Dinner at Hastings Estate, 7:00 p.m. Security will have your names.
They arrived at six-thirty because even when desperate, my parents were punctual. I watched from the upstairs window as their sensible sedan looked hilariously out of place among the manicured gardens. Dad wore his best suit, the one from Rebecca’s wedding. Mom clutched her purse like a shield.
We made them wait twenty minutes. Petty, maybe? Satisfying? Absolutely.
When we finally entered the dining room, I wore a dress that showed my bump prominently. If they wanted to be ashamed, they could look at what they had rejected all through dinner.
“Mom. Dad.” I nodded coolly, taking my seat between Michael and Margaret.
My mother’s eyes immediately went to my engagement ring, the three-carat family heirloom that had been Michael’s grandmother’s. I watched her calculate its worth, then glance at my father.
“Laura,” Dad started, then seemed to realize he had no script for this. “You look well.”
“Pregnant. The word you’re looking for is pregnant.”
“We came to apologize,” Mom said quickly.
“Did you? When exactly did you decide to apologize? Before or after you found out who the baby’s father is?”
Silence stretched like taffy.
Robert stepped in smoothly.
“Perhaps we should start with dinner. These conversations go better on full stomachs.”
The first course arrived. My parents stared at the array of silverware like it might bite them.
“So,” Dad finally attempted. “Michael, I had no idea you and Laura were involved.”
“Six years,” Michael said pleasantly. “Though I understand Laura felt the need to keep it private. She was protecting your reputation at work. Didn’t want anyone thinking you were getting special treatment because your daughter was dating the boss’s son.”
Mom brightened.
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