Page 44 of The Crafting Con

“You’re going to be a big sister!”

Wait, what did he just say? “I’m… what?”

“Becky’s pregnant.” Dad’s voice is brimming with pride and excitement, but I can barely process what he’s saying. “I’m going to be a dad.”

“But… you are a dad.” My dad.

Something shatters, loud and sharp. I look down at my mug, half expecting to see it in pieces, but it remains whole within the white-knuckled grasp of my hands. Foreboding creeps up my spine, swiveling me around on my bar stool. And there’s Mom, pale-faced and slack-jawed, surrounded by a sea of broken glass. Dad prattles on, but I don’t even try to hear him over the pounding of my heart.

The expression on her face.

That empty, wide-eyed stare.

I’ve seen that look before, and it’s far more chilling than yesterday’s rage-fest.

I fumble for my phone, interrupting whatever Dad’s saying with a mumbled, “Gotta go,” and hanging up without ever taking my eyes off Mom. She blinks, a flicker of life returning to her deadpan face, and glances down at the glittering wreckage as if only just noticing it. Words usually reserved for traffic jams and door-to-door solicitors slip from her tongue in a muttered jumble.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it. Just don’t move.” I make a mad dash for the utility closet and grab the broom. When I get back, Mom is crouched down, picking shards of glass up off the floor with her bare hands. “Let me get that.” I hold out the dustpan for the few she’s already lifted, grateful not to see any blood coloring her fingers.

She sets them dutifully into the dirt-stained tray. “Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. Talk about klutzy.” She laughs, but it’s a shaky laugh. An “I’m on the verge of either screaming or sobbing” kind of laugh. I swallow a growing lump of fear and sweep up the remaining shards in double time.

“It’s just a little glass, no big deal,” I assure her, miraculously managing to keep my tone light and casual despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I’m halfway to the garbage bin when she says, “So your dad and Becky are having a baby. How exciting.”

I stomp on the bin’s pedal and thrust the broken bits inside with far more force than necessary. “Um, yeah. I guess.”

“A baby,” Mom repeats, softer this time. Wistful. Her hands brush her own stomach, lashes fluttering briskly. “That’s…” She trails off. Turns, giving me her back. The inward curve of her shoulders is like a knife to my heart. “Excuse me,” she whispers, wandering out of the kitchen as if in a daze.

Going to her office?

Her bedroom?

Her keys are still hanging on their hook by the espresso machine, so at least I know she isn’t planning to leave. Not yet anyway.

It’ll be fine. Everything is going to be just fine. I put the broom away and use a wet paper towel to wipe the floor, checking for stray bits of glass with an almost robotic efficiency. There’s a dull hum buzzing in my ears, punctuated by the memory of Mom’s soft voice. “A baby.” It whispers through my mind, repeatedly, until I think I might scream.

The humming fades, leaving a weighted silence in its wake.

My phone buzzes with an incoming message, and I check it from sheer habit. Declan, answering my earlier text.

Declan: I don’t know, what?

Tears prick my eyes, and I walk out of the kitchen, leaving the message unanswered on the counter. My chest squeezes impossibly tight as I move up the stairs, one lumbering step at a time. A baby, a baby, a baby. I pause when I reach the top, catching my breath. “I’m going to be a dad.”

My knees hit the lush, ivory carpet, and I double over, arms hugging my waist.

You are a dad.

You’re my dad.

The dam breaks, tears streaming down my cheeks and soaking my jean-clad thighs. A shudder ripples through my entire body, and I choke back a sob, not daring to draw Mom’s attention. She can’t see me like this. I’m the strong one, her rock. I can’t just…

Another sob.

I slap a hand over my mouth, eyes squeezing shut.

No. I can’t go back there. Can’t watch her unravel like that again. I swipe a hand over my eyes with a bruising roughness and plant both fists in the carpet. Get up, damn it. Get up and fix this.