Pregnant with My Roommate’s Dad by Sofia T Summers
Maxie
I’d been having a perfectly content morning. Our Buddhism instructor didn’t believe in taking attendance because she ‘didn’t like the negative energy of forced learning’, so I decided to use that time to study for my first calculus test.
Since our shared furniture was ruined in the burst pipe fiasco, Brandy’s father offered us some staging furniture he kept for his house flips. We borrowed a brown leather couch, a set of accent tables, and two sunflower yellow chairs for the living room. Brandy propped her television over the old fireplace, while I tucked my books away on the low bookshelves flanking it.
I placed some African violets in the windowsills above the shelving, and the space became a pretty little room. I wanted to study there, but I needed the dining table as a worktop. Admiring my flowers from afar, I spread out my textbook and notes under the light of the dated chandelier.
I learned the triangles confusing me were delta, the Greek letter, with the help of my tutor. He’d picked out some supplementary questions for me to try, and the equations were starting to make sense.
Then, Ian freaking Weiss showed up with his handsome face and big, stupid mouth. He didn’t even know what he was talking about when he started making accusations. I wondered if the man needed glasses because it seemed he couldn’t see past his own nose.
Bless his heart, did nobody ever tell him how bullheaded he could be?
I’d taken another sip of my coffee, trying to ignore Brandy’s high-pitched demands as the fight ensued. With every word, the morning nose-dived straight into hell. There was no avoiding their drama now.
“Brandy!” I heard Ian call out, but to no avail.
“Lord, you’ve really done it now,” I groaned aloud, giving up on my studying.
Looking up from the table, I saw Ian standing there like a lump in the ugly brown kitchen. His glowering blue eyes cut my way.
“I’m not the one skipping class,” he shot back like it mattered.
Slamming my textbook shut, I left the dining table to fix the mess he’d made. I walked through the living room, past my bedroom, and reached Brandy’s locked door in the far left corner of the house. Ian, not leaving well enough alone, just had to walk around down the other short hall to meet me there.
“And I’m not the one being a fool right now,” I shot back at him, still annoyed about his blind judgement of me.
“A fool?” he repeated incredulously, his eyebrows raised. “I’m the guy who gave you a house!”
Ignoring the frustration strengthening the steel in his eyes, I insisted, “That line didn’t work on Brandy, and it won’t work on me. Besides, if this doesn’t get fixed, that won’t be true for much longer.”
He grumbled, knocking on the door before I could.
“Angel,” he called out to her. “Come on, let’s talk about this.”
As he made his feeble attempt to reconcile, I stepped back into the open door of the bathroom. I smelled the mint and eucalyptus scent of his aftershave standing that close. Actually, it was the first time I’d seen him without unkempt scruff shadowing his jaw line. He looked even younger without the facial hair. I almost wanted to reach out and see how it felt. Instead, I crossed my arms, staring at the remodeled bathroom and waiting for his words to fail.
“I’m done talking to you!” Brandy shouted.
“You can’t blame me for worrying about you, sweetheart,” he insisted. “I’m your father. It’s what we’re supposed to do.”
I stared down at the pale gray hexagon tiles on the floor. They were made to look like the marble countertop, but they were really ceramic. I didn’t have to worry about slipping as much when I stepped out of my nighttime showers.
“I don’t care!” Brandy yelled back at him. “Go away!”
Ian’s jaw clenched while I glanced around the paper-white walls. Brandy’s idea to get some silver shelves to stand over the toilet had been a good idea. All our necessities were neatly tucked away in woven baskets with some extra rolls of toilet paper. It freed up extra space in the cabinets under the sink.
Ian tried a bunch of silly lines, but none of them worked. How was I not surprised?
“I don’t want to have to count to three,” Ian insisted, resorting to old-fashioned parental techniques. “I have the tools to pick your lock, and I’m not leaving here until we talk.”
Sick of their back and forth, I groaned, “Oh, my God, you’re done with this nonsense.”
Aunt Jane would’ve been upset to hear how many times I’d taken the Lord’s name in vain that morning, but God had worse problems.
Ian had gotten his way for far too long. He needed someone who was unafraid to push back against his iron will, and today, that had to be me. Nobody else was around to save him from his own mulish ignorance.
Of course, no man liked being told off. Ian’s you-licked-the-red-off-my-candy look came back in full force. I ignored his contempt as I went to fix the coffee Brandy had abandoned in their argument. I added her generous spoonful of sugar and splash of chocolate milk, just like Brandy would’ve done herself.
“Excuse me?” Ian pressed following me into the kitchen.
Refusing to back away from his anger, I declared, “You’re going to take your little measurements and leave. I’m going to deal with Brandy.”
“No—” he tried to tell me, but I held up a hand.
“Stop it, Ian,” I demanded. “I’m done suffering through your foolishness, and I don’t have time to look for a new apartment today.”
“But—” Ian began, but I didn’t want to hear it.
“Take. Your. Measurements,” I snapped harshly, cutting each word through my teeth.
I could see all the swear words he wanted to launch at me in his eyes, but he said none of them. He just muttered under his breath like the angry grouch I knew. I just hated that he didn’t look like the grouch today. It would’ve been easier to scowl at his unkempt face.
Grabbing a cereal bar from the pantry cabinet, I walked back to Brandy’s door, still locked up like a fortress. I held the mug in one hand while I knocked with the bite of breakfast in my hand.
“Brandy,” I called out. “I finished fixing your coffee. Will you please let me give it to you? I even brought one of your cinnamon cereal bars you love. Brandy, you know you’re hungry.”
“Is he out there?” I heard her ask quietly.
Brandy had to be just on the other side of the door.
“No,” I assured her. “I sent him away.”
Slowly, the bedroom’s lock unlatched and the door crept open. She gave me just enough space to slip inside. The lock clicked back once I was inside.
The room had been decorated in an explosion of colors and sorority decor. The bed was covered in a daisy-clad comforter, the official flower of Alpha Beta Omega. Gifts of handmade art adorned the walls over her bed, while her closet was packed with an assortment of party outfits and “pin attire”. I would’ve called them church clothes. The way Brandy praised her sisterhood, it sometimes felt like a cult religion rather than a Greek organization.
Her dresser was covered with nail polish, makeup, and an overflowing jewelry box. The little yellow computer desk in the far corner remained neat and untouched.
“Thanks, Maxie.” She sighed, obviously weary from the fussing.
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “But, um, do you wanna talk about what just happened?”
“Let me just get a bit of caffeine in me first,” Brandy joked, trying to make herself smile.
Smiling at her remark, I perched at the end of her bed. She took a few sips of coffee before setting the mug on her little gold nightstand.
“I’m sick of being treated like a little girl,” she admitted.
“I know, Brandy,” I assured her.
Since befriending her freshman year, I’d seen how people treated Brandy because of her girlish features, and I’d noticed how it cut into her every single time. One paper cut was harmless, but a thousand little scratches could cause a girl real pain. It wasn’t just with our friends, either.
Professors did it too.
I wondered if Ian Weiss ever knew why his daughter struggled in certain classes. If she couldn’t figure it out on her own, Brandy didn't ask questions in class because she didn't want to sound stupid. She didn't reach out for help for fear of being treated like a child.
I watched her struggle in silence before giving up last fall. I didn't want to watch it twice, so I offered to take the classes with her. Beyond the one math class, I just needed to finish my hours to graduate. Helping Brandy was a far better use of my time than coasting through some lame film appreciation course online.
“Dad’s always called me his angel or his little girl, but I’m not either of those things,” she fretted, ripping apart her cereal bar’s wrapper. “I’m not perfect, and I’m twenty-one. Why is it so hard for him to see that?”
“Because parents can’t get past the memory of you as their baby,” I guessed. “I think it’s easier for fathers to live in denial rather than realize their girls are grown women. It’s much safer for their sanity.”
“Was your dad like that, Maxie?”
Not a lot of people asked me about my parents, but Brandy knew I didn’t mind. We both had been raised by our dads, and the memories of our mothers lived in small corners of our lives. My mom lived in the sterling-silver locket around my neck. Brandy’s mom lived in a shoebox under her bed while the actual woman lived with a boyfriend in Chicago.
Between our two mothers, I didn’t know which existence was harder to bear.
I thought back to my childhood and laughed. “You should’ve seen my dad’s face the first time I asked him about sex. We’d started the health section of gym class, but the stupid abstinence-only lessons were giving me more questions than answers. I started asking them all as soon as he got home from the state capitol one night.”
My father, a well-respected lawyer and community member, had been elected as a state senator when I was eight. He spent a lot of time away after that, and I jumped on any chance I could to spend time with him.
“What did he do?” Brandy giggled.
“Oh, he had a quick panic attack.” I laughed. “His face got beet red. Then, he begged Aunt Jane to have a chat with me. She explained things using her honeybees and her garden out behind the house, and Dad kept me at arm’s length for a while. It was like I’d scared him or something.”
Brandy grinned as she took a bite of her food. “My dad got way too eager about explaining things to me. He bought a bunch of books and had his friend, Margo, take me out to lunch so we could have a ‘lady chat’.”
“A lady chat?” I repeated.
Brandy giggled. “That’s what he called it!”
“Your father is . . . a bit of a zealot,” I confessed while trying to find the right word. “But having a parent who’s so devoted to you isn’t a bad thing.”
“I know,” Brandy agreed. “But he does so much for me, Maxie. When I don’t appreciate it enough or meet his expectations, I worry that he resents all the effort. I was a toddler when Dad turned twenty-two. I mean, could you imagine having a kid right now?”
Last December, I spent my twenty-second birthday eating cake from the grocery store while watching game shows with Aunt Jane. After she went to sleep, I spent the rest of my night drinking whiskey and watching a fire burn in the family room. The whole house was so quiet. I heard every crackle and spark as the logs dwindled to ash. Even if it were with a baby, sharing that night with somebody might’ve been nice.
“It’s not part of my plan,” I confessed. “But if you feel that way, Brandy, you should tell him. I don’t think he wants to make you feel bad. It seems like the exact opposite, even if his attempts are . . . um . . .”
“Like a bull in a china shop?” Brandy suggested.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” She sighed, taking another sip of her coffee. “I’ll be sure to have a real talk with Dad, but let’s not worry about that right now. I had an idea last night that I wanted to run by you.”
“What?”
A scheming look sparked inside her baby-blue eyes. I knew what that meant.
“We should have a housewarming party Saturday night,” she declared, a smile growing on her face.
I wasn’t sure if Ian had left yet. Through all these old thick walls, it was hard to tell when someone came and went.
“Is that really the best idea?” I whispered. “I mean, we just kind of told your dad off, and this house is intended to be sold this summer. What if something happened to it?”
“Oh, it won’t get that out of hand,” Brandy insisted, already pulling out her tablet from her nearby tote bag. “Besides, Amber has been such a bitch to you lately, we need to do something to rub it in her face. A great party here would be the perfect way to show off how amazing you are and how obviously jealous she is.”
“Isn’t she one of your sorority’s vice presidents, Brandy?” I reminded her.
“What?” Brandy grinned. “Like sisters don’t fight?”
Nerves twisted in my stomach. I loved a good celebration as much as the next gal, but something about this had me worried.
“Amber isn’t a good enough reason to have a party,” I insisted, shaking my head.
Brandy reached across her bed, grabbing my hand as she pouted her lower lip.
“Then, do it for me? I could use some cheering up, you know.”
I rolled my eyes, unable to deny her puppy-dog expression.
“Fine,” I relented. “We’ll have a party, but nothing too . . . reckless.”
Like flipping a switch, Brandy went into full-force party planning. I wondered if she ever thought about using her superpower for good. She’d make a great event coordinator, and her marketing degree would be useful for building a business and attracting clients. I could see the untapped potential written out all across her tablet’s Notes app.
Brandy couldn’t stop beaming as she declared, “We’re going to make this weekend unforgettable.”
