Fragile

John and I sat silently in the back of my parent’s car, staring out the car windows. My parents were talking in the front seat about dinner for that night. I looked over to John, his eyes slowly closing. We pulled up to my house within the next ten minutes and I shook John awake.

“I’ll bring in your bags, Isabella,” my father said to me as I slid out of the back seat and straightened out my shirt.

“Thanks dad,” I smiled.

My mother grabbed my hand and we walked into the house, leaving John and my father to bring in the bags. Once they came back in the house with the bags, my mother set the table and started to heat up the food she had cooked earlier in the evening before picking John and I up.

“So,” John whispered to me as we walked up the stairs to my room to drop off my stuff. “Are you thinking tonight is a good time to say something?”

I gulped hard and sat down on my bed.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“What? Why? They’re gonna figure it out eventually; especially since you’ll be home for the next few months before fall semester.”

“John, my parents are going to kill me. Hell, they’ll probably kill you.”

“What? No. You’re the one who had this all planned out; you’ve gotta tell them soon. It’s gonna be so obvious soon.”

“And you promise you’ll still…”

“Say I’m the father?” He cocked his eyebrows and smiled at me. I nodded my head slightly and he sat down next to me on the bed. “I’d never let you down.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Come downstairs for dinner,” my mother yelled from the kitchen.

My head dropped slightly as I dreaded the moment that I was going to step into the kitchen.

“Ready?” John looked down to me as he stood up.

I sighed heavily and stood up. John put his arm around my shoulder and walked with me down to the kitchen. I sat down at the rectangular shaped table that seated six; John took the seat next to me.

“I made your favorite,” my mother smiled. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

I nodded my head.

“Yeah, thanks mom.”

She brought the pots of food over to the table and set them in the middle. She began to serve each of us. My father took his regular seat at the head of the table and my mother took the seat to the left of him; I was sitting on his right.

“So, Isabella, how’s school?” My father asked and he dug into the food.

“Uh, pretty good, I guess,” I said and pushed the food around my plate.

“Isabella, dear, what’s wrong?” My mother asked.

My hands were shaking and I suddenly felt dizzy, like the room was spinning around me. Both my mother and father set their forks down and looked at me worriedly.

“You can tell us, Belle,” my father assured me. He called me Belle, like from Beauty and the Beast; my favorite movie, even as I’m nineteen years old now. He continued to stare at me, as did my mother, until I was ready to speak again.

“It’s nothing,” I lied, knowing they could probably see right through it. Their looking at me suddenly turned into them glaring at me. “Really,” I added. They didn’t buy that either.

“Isabella, tell us right now,” my mother said and she gave me a stern look. Okay, that’s bad. And I never let my mother say something in a serious tone twice if she has that look on her face.

“Mom, honestly, I’m fine. I’m just…a little tired from the trip, that’s all.”

“Iz, you should just tell them already,” John said to me, quiet enough so that my parents stared as if they could understand him without hearing him.

I closed my eyes, wondering how I was going to tell them about my pregnancy, and opened them once more. My mother looked more concerned now instead of angry. But my father was giving John a look of almost hatred, as if he knew John did something.

“Uh,” I hesitated. “I, uh, have some news that I need to tell you both.”

“Well, what is it? Are you having problems with financial aid at school or something like that? You know we told you to let us know if there were any more problems with that,” my mother told me.

“No, I know that,” I explained. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it, Belle?” My father looked at me curiously now. “You know you can tell us anything.”

“I know, dad. And this is probably gonna be hard for you both to swallow, so please don’t be angry with me.”

“What ever it is,” my mother reached her hand across the table to calm my shaking hands, “you can tell us; we won’t be mad.”

Although my father’s expression made it seem that he didn’t agree, he nodded his head anyway in agreement. I drew in a long breath and was finally ready to tell them.

“Mom, dad,” I looked down at my plate and then back up to them. “I’m pregnant, and John is the father.”

I looked over to John, who seemed to be having a staring contest with my father. John was obviously being defeated, because he was blinking faster than normal. My mother took her hand off my hand and sat back in her chair. I had a feeling all hell was about to break loose.