I’m not the only one.
She remembered getting the positive pregnancy test, how she’d cried to her mother for an hour straight. By the time her father had come home, she’d been so ashamed and humiliated that she’d screamed at him and hidden in her bedroom.
She hadn’t been able to make eye contact with him for weeks.
Had she started it? Had she been blaming him for something she’d initiated years ago?
Maybe. But he hadn’t helped.
Hannah looked up at Irish, and she felt a familiar shame creeping up her cheeks. “I don’t know who James’s father is.” She hesitated. She’d never shared this whole story. Not even with Michael. “When I started high school, my father got super strict. I didn’t mind, really—I’d always done everything my parents expected of me. But it almost wasn’t good enough. He’d grill me on where I was every minute of every day. I’d go to the library after school, and if I wasn’t home exactly when I said I’d be, he’d flip out. Once he sent police officers to a friend’s house to make sure I was really there for a sleepover. Just because I didn’t answer my cell phone. Can you imagine how humiliating that was?”
Irish smiled. “I don’t need to. My dad was a cop, too. He used to treat my friends as if they were smuggling pot and whiskey into my house. I wouldn’t accept a ride home from anyone because my dad would be standing in the driveway, wanting to smell their breath.”
Hannah faltered. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He shrugged. “I think some of it is just being a parent, and some of it is knowing the consequences of poor choices. Well—you know all about that, right? With James?”
She blinked. James wasn’t old enough for her to humiliate him, but she was more cautious than other parents. She’d seen too many injured children to be otherwise. She never let anyone other than her parents drive him around. Michael and his brothers were the first non-family members she’d ever let babysit. When James was invited for a play date, one of the first questions she asked the other parent was whether they had a gun in their home and how it was secured.
Irish was right. She knew too much.
Was that her father’s issue too? Did he know too much?
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your story,” said Irish.
All of a sudden, she didn’t want to finish. She’d always felt a little self-righteous about this part, but now, in this new light, she felt more foolish.
She traced a line in the wood of the table. “During my junior year, a friend’s brother was going to a frat party. He invited her. She invited me.” She shrugged a little. “It was your typical college party. Lots of guys, lots of music, lots of alcohol. I snuck out of my room and we went. I was so ready to break free of all those expectations that I just completely let loose. I met some guy, one thing led to another, and . . . well, you know.”
“I can connect the dots.”
“The party got out of control, and someone must have called the cops. I don’t even know what happened to the guy, but he must have gotten away.”
“And you didn’t.”
She gave him a look. “No. I didn’t. And you can guess who was waiting for me when his underage, drunk daughter was dragged into the police station.”
Irish gave a low whistle. “I bet that was a good time.”
She scowled. “It sucked. It was humiliating. I would rather have been thrown in jail. I sure as hell didn’t give my dad all the details of what had happened. And what sucked more was that I didn’t give the guy another thought until I peed on a stick six weeks later and came up with two pink lines. By that point, I didn’t even remember his name. My friend’s brother didn’t know who he was. It was this one-time random hookup.”
“So you think your dad has been blaming you for all this time.”
“Yeah!”
He spun his coffee mug on the table again. “You don’t think maybe you’ve been blaming yourself?”
“Okay, Dr. Freud—”
“I’m serious, Blondie.” He smiled. “Hannah.” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t even know you had a kid until I showed up at your house. It’s not like you tell everyone about him.”
She had good reason for that. She was sick of being judged by everyone. “You have no idea what it’s like, Irish.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I’m sure it was hard as hell being a mother at seventeen.” He hesitated. “But you’re not seventeen anymore.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me to grow up?”
“No. I’m telling you that you already have grown up.” He paused. “It’s okay to act like it. You don’t need anyone’s approval.”
Wow.
She blushed. “Thanks, Irish.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m glad you joined the station.”
He made a frustrated noise. “You’re one of the only ones.”