Dancing Through The Night

Chapter 12 - Alannah

Now that Gypsie is back with Laura, I really miss her. It's becoming difficult finding the energy for a decent walk. With Gypsie, there was always a reason to get fresh air and exercise, and I had her company. Who would have thought that I would enjoy the company of a pug.

Tomorrow, I'm meeting my parents for the first time after breaking the news of my pregnancy to them. I truly hope they've calmed down. Especially my dad. I had expected my mum to be the one to give me the silent treatment. The disappointment that had mirrored in dad's eyes made me feel like the little school girl I used to be. He adored both his girls but I always felt I could never fully live up to his expectations. My dad made me feel loved, but always a step behind. Dad will be thrilled though about the baby when it's there and it won't make a difference to how he'll treat his grandchild, but I'll always feel the failure in having this child out of wedlock. Right result, wrong path. His head shaking was the worst, the way he pressed his lips to a thin line before silently locking himself into his home office. Dad didn't even come out to say goodbye over an hour later. I know he always tried to protect me and encouraged me to be strong. As my sister Izzy so beautifully put it, this may be the first time that he realises he can't help me and is disappointed with himself. I wished she was here. I've spoken to her every week on FaceTime but she doesn't think she'll be able to visit from Sierra Leone where she's working for the next year as a doctor. She followed in dad's footsteps.
My mum was easier. She got angry for a moment. More because I upset my dad then the fact that I was pregnant to a man I wasn't willing to reveal to them. After five minutes she hugged me and started asking questions.

I have enough dwelled over my family. I can't sleep, I can't concentrate on work either, and so I decide to take a walk. With my earphones in, I walk the usual route, the fresh breeze as I approach the oceanfront a welcome feeling. I had nearly forgotten that I don't have a dog with me. Since I am a lone, human being, I may as well do the beach round. The waves always have a calming effect. How I wish my home deposit would have been enough for a beach-front villa. Too proud to ask my parents for help, I saved vigorously for over ten years. Should I ever move again, it would be a house here, by the sea. How beautiful it must be to wake up every morning to the sound of waves and the taste of fresh air and salt. Lucky jogger with his dog over there, walking up the stairs to his beach house.

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After the two hour drive, dad opens the door before I can ring the bell. My heart stops. I expected my mum to let me in, hoping to see dad at some point later, hoping he would be in a better mood than when I left here a few weeks ago. His face is set, emotionless. But his eyes don't stay on mine for long, before moving down to my bump. I must have doubled in size since I last saw him, maybe even trippled. It feels weird just standing here. But before I can ask him to move and let me in, my dad's face breaks out in a smile and he pulls me into a tight hug. Until now, I hadn't realised how much I needed this. The familiarity of dad's smell, his strength and support. Why couldn't he have called me and told me that all was good? I've been talking to mum, she told me that dad was getting there, but that was all. I would have loved to know that he had come to terms with it.

The afternoon with my parents is lovely. Mum has already bought boxes full of baby stuff and is planning a babyshower. It's wonderful to be surrounded by people who look forward to this baby as much as I do, and for the first time I truly feel the way I always thought being pregnant should feel like: Loved, supported and adored.

"Your mum and I have been talking, sweetheart," my dad says, taking a sip from his coffee cup. He looks at mum for support, but she's avoiding his glance, squashing the cake crumbs on her plate with her fork.
"What have you been taking about?" I look at my dad. He's the one who started this conversation, so he may as well tell me. Dad takes the coffee can and pours himself another cup. Uncomfortable babytalk. I can tell it's uncomfortable babytalk. Mum saves him.
"Sweety, we think you should move in with us."
I'm shocked. Move in with them? I expected Harry talk, child raising advise, but not that my parents want their single, thirty year old, pregnant daughter to move in with them. I stammer a range of one syllable sounds.
"You're all on your own. You don't work anymore," I want to interrupt her and tell her that I am working. I'm setting up my own business. I haven't made as much progress as I wish I had, but still.  My mum continues counting down my failures. "You have no support in the city and your place isn't in a child friendly neighborhood."
I swallow hard and look from my mum to my dad. She stares at me straight faced, backing up every single statement with her posture. My dad looks guilty. He can get angry but he's not one to emotionally blackmail me. "We just think that we could help you with the bub. And here's so much room." He waves his hand around to make a point. As if I didn't know. This is the house I grew up in. They are right. I could work from anywhere and my child would never be able to ride a bike down the road with friends living in my house. Too much traffic. But there's no way I'm going to live with my parents for the next eighteen years.

The next twelve months though? Or at least six?
"Thanks mum, thanks dad. I know my life isn't perfect, but it's okay. I'm fine."
"Sweetheart," mum chimes in, "just stay for a week." She looks at me with a knowing glance. I'm tired and it's obvious. "I put sheets on the bed in your old room. Stay as long as you like. Have a goodnight sleep."
One night does sound tempting. Just sleeping. Being surrounded by people who love me.
"Ally is staying for another two weeks before heading back to France. She's asked if you had some time. Make the most of it, sweetie." How could I say no to spending time with the best friend I've had growing up.

I agree to spend the night, and then to spend the week. Only now do I realise how much I craved company. That is, until on day two I come home from the local cafe with Ally. Mum and dad are still sitting for coffee in the dining room when mum asks me to join them. I've already had tea at the cafe but why not have another. I take the tea can, which perfectly matches the other Rosenthal china on the table, the blue and white blossom one, and pour it into a cup.  Even the tablecloth is a perfect match. Dad just smiles and mum offers me a piece of the appletart. I had a huge piece of chocolate mud cake just half an hour ago. There's no way I can have any more.
Mum clears her throat and then it starts: "Sweetheart, we'd like you to tell us about the babies father." Mum always does this. Every problem is discussed at the table as a family. Even when I was younger I'd always wished she would come into my room, sit down on my bed next to me and listen to my sorrows. Instead, my problems were on public display.
"There's nothing to say, mum." When after a while neither of my parents reacts, I add, "He's not in the picture."
"Maybe we can put him back in the picture,"Mum suggests, sounding ignorant to everything I'd told them before.
"No, I don't want him in the picture."
"And why is that, darling?" Mum can't drop it.
"I will talk to him. Talk some sense into that man," dad finally adds.
The conversation goes on like that for several minutes, going in circles, until I finally lose it. I stand up in a haste, my chair tumbling back with a loud bang and the precious tea cup lands a bit too hard on it's saucer.
"He's not going to be in the picture and you're not going to talk to him," I shout, looking from one to the other. "He's married and he's already got a kid with his wife. And that's the end of this."
I turn around just in time before the tears start running.

In my room I throw the few things I brought into my bag and stomp the stairs back down, straight for the exit. I'm not looking at my dad, who's standing in the hallway. I've already got the door open when he stares past me, the unspoken statement written in his eyes. The lump in my throat grows. The words are caught somewhere within. Whatever. Let them think whatever.
"I was the other woman," I mumble and let the door fall shut behind me. Neither mum nor dad follow me as I drive home. They don't call either. As I'm passing the fields before making it onto the highway, I pull over. With shaking hands I hit the steering wheel. I scream and cry until my throat is just as sore as my hands.