The hardest part of it all is that she isn’t this kind of person. She doesn’t just hook up with people. Jonathan? He was different. So very different. It made her blush profusely when she thought of the night in particular in which this debacle was conceived. How sweet he was, how patient, how… She tosses her head back and forth with a fond grin at the memory. She deplores the idea of being seen as some trollop that just wanted to bed him.
So it’s safe to say she’s panicking as she calls him repeatedly from her bathroom, nearly on the verge of screaming. It's morning, about seven. But she hasn't slept, not really.
There are six pregnancy tests in front of her (she’s careful, okay, not neurotic), as the nerves bubble in her stomach. All the signs are little pluses and her own heart rate is heightening at the thought.
Angela assumes it’s because it’s an international call that it won’t go through so she sinks to the ground, heavy tears filling her eyes and teeming over as she puts her head in her hands. How could she let this happen? How could she have been so careless? The hiccup sounds in the back of her throat when finally someone answers.
It sounds enough like him, the hushed tone, the calming sound of it (in the back of her mind she notices that it sounds deeper, a bit more regal), but as for now, the man on the phone is Jonathan. And he’s assaulted with first an onslaught of sobbing and broken phrases. Saying that she’s had six little pregnancy tests, how it could only be his because the only other person she’s been with is her ex-boyfriend and that was about six months ago.
She’s a mess, covering her face and listening to the reassurance, the warm tone, bringing her down to reality. And then he says something that makes her blood run cold but her face flush deeply.
"I-- I'm so sorry, sir," she sniffles. "I thought it was Jonathan, I'm--"
But silences her with the assurance that he'll have Jonathan call her.
The conversation doesn't last for much longer, hanging up and curling up into herself as she buries her head in her arms.
It's Don, her father, that walks in on her like that, noticing her on the ground, her hands coiled into her hair. And then the six pregnancy tests. He doesn't need to look at them to know what they say. His little girl. His little baby. If it was Ollie, he's gonna kill him.
"D-Daddy... I'm pregnant."
He sighs deeply, a hand running over his face. "I know, pun'kin, I know." He says, groaning as he sits down next to her, pulling her into his side and kissing the top of her head. She just curls up into his side and keeps crying. Angela loves her dad so much, but it's moments like these that she wishes her mother was still alive.
"It's going to be alright, Angie. This is a good thing. It might not look it right now. But we'll figure it out, we always do," he tells her, running his hand up and down her arm. He can't help himself, so he asks. "It wasn't Ollie, was it?"
A scoff sounds. "Dad, are you kidding me? No. No way," she says out loud, wiping her nose with her hand and sighing, a little pout on her lips but she retracts it. "No, he.. He lives in Italy. And I don't know if he's even.. Interested in more. Or wants to stay. Or if he's ever going to be in America again." He's about to speak but she cuts him off. "And before you get any ideas, I'm not killing this baby."
They've been through worse, he thinks to himself with a sigh. He leans his head back and winces, holding his back, disentangling himself from her as he slowly gets up and offers her his hands. "Come on, then. You need to eat. Feeding for two now. Pancakes? Pizza? Chocolate? All of it? Let's go. And if he's a little shit and doesn't pick up the pieces of his hot and bothered night, I don't want him around you. Okay, sweetie?"
The small blush and nod are offered to her father as she takes his hands and bounces up, immediately hugging him tightly. "Thanks, dad," she says, shrugging the anguish away with a deep breath and nodding up at him. She pockets her phone from the counter and tucks her hair out of her face as she walks out, making her way into the hall and into the kitchen, her father trailing behind.
It's a bit of a brunch that they make together in silence. Which they decide to eat outside on the patio. The breeze is nice. Not too cold not too warm, and the roof above them gives them a nice reprieve from the sun.
"So.. Do I get to meet him?"
"Dad," she says, fork clinking against her plate, blonde tendrils blowing as she looks over at him.
"If he has the audacity to stick it to my daughter, then he should be able to meet me. Got it?" He says, but his tone is the last thing from domineering or cruel. If anything he's just a teddybear, looking out for the one strand of family he had left. But he's gotten used to being alone. Despite Angela's urges to go and try dating. She'd even attempted to make him that.. Tander? Timble? Account.. To no avail.
Angela smiles fondly and looks down, not answering. But it's in that moment that she hears her phone ring, suddenly, and frantically, attempting to remove it from her pocket.
