“I wasn’t.”

He shifts in his chair. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“Do you think I would be here if they did? Mom would never let me out of her sight if she knew.” I set the water bottle on the counter and brace both my hands on the cold stone for support. “I needed to think this through. It still feels very new.”

Gradually, his eyes slide from me to Molly. Narrow in on the neighbor girl who’s been quiet this whole time.

“She knew.” A slight accusation.

I nod. “Yes, Molly knew.”

His long pause is followed by a slow nod. “Kid, you never cease to amaze me.”

Molly takes this as a compliment and sits up straighter. “I’ve had my eye on her for you, sir, making sure she’s safe and all that.”

Sir?

Oh lord.

Talking like she’s my Secret Service detail and I’m the president.

“Does Buzz know?”

“No.”

“When do we tell him?”

We.

“Uh—we don’t.”

“Why not?”

His questions are coming rapid fire and stressing me out. I do not want to talk about Buzz or why I refuse to tell him or who the baby’s father is.

“Wait—you said you’re nine weeks?”

My brother is clearly doing the math in his head, a virtual calendar in the back of his brain, ticking back, back, back nine weeks to solve whatever piece of the equation he thinks he’s missing. Because I will not give him details, he intends to discover the truth on his own.

“The wedding.”

Yes, the wedding.

My lack of a response is all the response he needs—despite his lack of actually asking a question.

Who is the father, True?

Who is it?

“Just how long do you think we’re going to be able to lie to Buzz? He’s over here, up my ass, a few times a week.”

“Isn’t he leaving for spring training?”

“Yes, but not for another few weeks, and that doesn’t mean he won’t be sniffing around until they leave. And you know how he is—if he thinks for one second something is off with you, he’ll be relentless.”

Tripp goes on. “And what about Mom and Dad? If Mom finds out you’ve been hiding this, she will be devastated, True. Devastated. This is going to kill her. Why are you waiting?” He hesitates. “Are you afraid of the father? Is that it?”

“No!” I shout, frustrated. “No, I’m not afraid of him. He’s a great guy.” I think. “He would never, ever do anything to hurt me.” I assume.

“Does he know?”

I’m silent.

“Goddamn it, True, what the hell is wrong with you?!” He’s up and out of his chair in a flash, pacing around the kitchen, arms behind his head, fingers laced. “Seriously, I don’t believe this.”

He sounds disgusted. Disappointed.

“Don’t get mad. I have my reasons.”

He spins. “Oh yeah, what are those reasons? Because it sounds to me like you’re being selfish.”

Selfish.

Selfish…

“I hadn’t…I-I…I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I stutter. For the first time since I found out myself, it hits me: I am pregnant and keeping it a secret from my family and the father and this is not who I am! Family means everything to me—every. Thing.

What am I doing?

I feel so ashamed, or maybe it’s just the hormones, or maybe I’m the biggest asshole on planet Earth.

I hang my head and begin to cry.

“Shit. Don’t cry,” my brother pleads, rushing to my side in an instant, patting my back like he’s trying to burp me. “Hey, sis, don’t cry, it’s going to be fine.”

“No!” I cry harder, shrugging him off me. “It’s not going to be fine—I’m a monster! A selfish monster!” Boohoo! Woe is me. “I’m a horrible human being. What kind of a mother doesn’t tell the father or her parents and hides the baby like it’s a terrible secret?”

Loud sobbing.

I feel Tripp and Molly glancing at one another above my lowered head, which only makes my racking sobs louder.

“I’m already a bad mom, living a lie!”

“You’re not living a lie.” Molly tries reasoning with me. “You’re just not ready to tell anyone yet.”

The thing is, I am living a lie, because I most definitely am keeping secrets. “I never want to tell the father—that is living a lie. I’m so embarrassed I blocked him and refuse to speak to him. Who does that?”

“You’re scared.” An actual teenager is mollycoddling me, and for that I should be mortified, but alas, I take comfort in her words.

“He is going to hate me!”

“No he won’t,” my brother lies. “Once you explain—”

“Stop trying to make me feel better, Tripp. He is going to hate me. He’s never going to understand!” I swat at my brother, so dramatic I could win an Emmy.

Okay, Mateo probably will understand. Eventually. He seems to be all that is good and kind and understanding. What guy wouldn’t be, raised with six sisters?

“Are you at least going to tell me who the dad is?”

My head gives a tiny shake. “I don’t know.”