Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Funny how I’d been called to multiple cases of obvious assault over the years, stomach-churning events that I’d somehow made it through and done my job as a paramedic. I could discuss all manner of horrible injuries with other medical professionals and never so much as stammer. But I’d never had to ask my daughter a question like this.
“Way to dance around the consent issue, Dad.” Maren rolled her eyes at me as I pulled into the driveway of our house. “Diesel got me a valentine. And then Jonas and Declan helped me make Diesel one. And…I guess we’re dating. Maybe? He thinks we’re dating.”
Fuck me. I suppressed a groan. Why did it have to be Diesel? And not simply because of the obvious Magnus complication. Magnus, who I continued to do my best to avoid. But Diesel was a problem in his own right, a prankster who’d never grown out of his role as the goth class clown, and his inability to take anything seriously had irritated me the few times we’d interacted.
“But you’re not so sure you’re dating?” I couldn’t claim to have dated everyone I’d ever slept with, so I tried for a neutral tone. This might be easier if they weren’t dating anyway.
“I like him,” Maren said softly, looking down at her pale hands in her lap. “A lot. It’s weird. I wasn’t attracted to him. Like at all. Not that I get attracted to many people, but at no point did I think Diesel was cute or hot.”
“I can see why.”
“Dad.” Maren drew my name out to four syllables before exiting the car. I did the same before Maren whirled on me. “I’m serious. However, one day, I looked over at him while we were playing a stupid card game he learned in Europe, and I was like, ‘I might want to kiss Diesel.’ Which was a heck of a strange impulse.”
“You’re telling me.” I groaned, happy Maren had discovered attraction, frustrated that it was Diesel, and terrified for the outcome.
“And obviously, a lot more than kissing happened.” Maren gestured toward her flat stomach.
“Obviously.” My voice was drier than Oregon tinder in August. “How far along are you?”
“I’ve never had regular periods.” Maren wrinkled her face. “I missed one, but that wasn’t strange. I already had an appointment at the student health center to get the pill. Spoiler alert: I didn’t need the pill.”
“I see.” I wanted to applaud her for trying to be responsible and get birth control while also wanting to shake her for whatever had happened prior to getting the pill.
“So, the student health center sent me to a clinic. And the ultrasound tech there said it looked like maybe six weeks. Which would make it eight weeks now.”
“So early then.” I looked up at my large yellow house, hoping my tone was nonjudgmental. Two weeks. Two weeks she’d known and not told. My chest clenched cardiac-event tight.
“I’m keeping it.” Maren’s voice was fierce. “Not up for discussion.”
“Okay.” I nodded slowly. I’d figured as much from her first defiant announcement. “I’d support you if your choice was to—”
“Which it’s not.” Her voice was firm, reminding me of Magnus’s when he’d present me with dessert. And why in the hell was I thinking of Magnus right then? This was one of the most pivotal moments of my life as a parent. Heck, of my life period. Maren needed my full attention.
“There are other options,” I said carefully, studying a nearby rosebush. Montgomery sure had loved his roses. I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d say in this situation, whether he’d be furious or sympathetic or maybe both. He’d had high expectations—for himself, for me, for our life, and for the kids. But he was also a rather empathetic doctor and human being. “Maybe something like an open adoption?”
“You think I would consider adoption? Really?” Maren’s outrage wasn’t entirely unexpected. I’d sat in on enough therapy sessions with her and Rowan after our adoption to know she, like all my kids, had big, complicated feelings around adoption. I didn’t doubt that she loved me, but she also wished Montgomery and I had never been necessary. Which was valid.
“Foster care adoption is way different from an open adoption at birth.” I chose each word like an instrument from my paramedic bag. Despite hours and hours of research and discussion on the topic when Montgomery and I first decided to bring children into our lives, I struggled to make my case to Maren. “What if it were someone you knew and loved, like Jonas and Declan?”
“Because they’re more suited to raise my baby than me?” Maren looked at me with utter rage in her eyes. In all those counseling sessions, even in the first trying weeks when we’d brought her and Rowan home, she’d never once looked at me with such anger.