YOU ARE NOT THE FATHER

Going downstairs, I find Dad out on the front lawn taking the dead roses off the bush. He looks up and gives me a warm smile. Then he straightens up and walks over to me.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He keeps his pruning shears away from me and gives me a one-armed hug. “How was your nap? When I passed your room earlier, you were snoring away like a steam train.”

“I was not!”

“Well, you were. I take it you needed that.”

I groan and lean into him, my head on his shoulder.

“You could say that.”

“Do you need me to get you anything? Your mother’s pregnancy was rough on her, and she found that a small bowl of ice cream worked wonders when she felt like crap.”

“Ice cream? Isn’t that too much sugar?”

If it works, I’m not going to argue.”

I had already told Dad about my pregnancy, trying not to break down in the car when I called him. Dad was surprised, but he took it well. He did ask if the father knew, and I had to lie to him and assure him that it wasn’t Nathan’s baby. Dad doesn’t like Nathan after