"So are we going to find out the gender before or wait?"

I looked over at Amelia, knitting my brows together to hopefully express my distaste. "Whatever you want to do."

"You obviously did not like one of those options," she said, picking off a piece of cotton candy and holding it up to my mouth.

I kept my eyes on the road, opening my mouth for her to drop it on my tongue. I shrugged, leaning back in my seat. "Whatever you want to do. You're the one popping it out."

"You definitely want to know the gender before," she muttered, taking a huge bite of her cotton candy.

"You know me so well," I muttered, "who wants to wait until the baby comes out? Like, don't you want to buy it clothes before and decorate its room and stuff?"

"Well, a lot of people just get unisex things," she said, leaning her head back against her seat, looking over at me.

"No, I want to know what it is."

"Yeah, me too," she said, "just had to make sure we were on the same page."

Her phone began to ring and she picked it up, making me look over at her.

"Hey, Mom," she greeted, "yeah, Hero and I are out. We just went to get cotton candy."

I could hear her mother say she wanted her to come home immediately, making me clench my jaw and stop at the red light with a sigh. An annoyed sigh.

"Alright," Amelia said, "I'll be home soon. Love you."

She hung up, rolling her eyes. "She acts like I'm not already pregnant with your kid. Like I'm going to get pregnant again."

I smiled, looking over at her. "It's fine."

"So you don't want to spend time with me," she said, looking out the window.

"Nope, didn't say that," I said, and this was something I'd had to grow accustomed to — pregnancy hormones. Pregnancy assumptions. About everything. All the time.

I was also learning that I did have a sliver of patience in me, despite what I might have thought in past times.

She leaned her head back against the seat, sighing. "I want pickles and fries. So bad. Right now."

"Would you like me to drop you off at home and go get you some?" I asked, looking over at her.

"No," she said, "thank you, though."

"Alright," I said, gently patting her leg. We drove in silence to her house, and sometimes, that was all both of us needed. Silence. And the best part was that we understood that, so it was always pleasant.

I parked in her driveway, helping her grab her purse from the back. I held it over to her and she smiled, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Thanks, baby daddy. We'll have to do it again sometime."

I watched as she got out of the car, shooting her a wave as she walked to her front door. Her mother opened the door and looked at me, pulling Amelia inside, but not without shooting me a glare first.

I put my car in reverse and drove home, trying to refrain from thinking about literally everything in my life. Recently, I'd grown to be quite the over thinker.

I made it home and got out of my car, unlocking the front door. I hung up my keys and walked into the kitchen, seeing Dad standing at the counter.

"Hey," he greeted, "you're home early."

"Yeah," I said, "Amelia and I had a free, so we went out for a drive. Her mom wanted her home, though."

He nodded. "Want to go with me to pick up Charlie and Thomas?"

"Uh, maybe, yeah," I muttered, opening the fridge.

I chuckled when I saw a jar of pickles, pulling out my phone to snap a picture. I sent it to Amelia, earning Dad's eyes.

"What's that about?" He asked.

"Uh, Amelia's pregnancy cravings," I said, looking down at my phone, "pickles and fries. That and cotton candy."

I chuckled, but caught myself when I looked up from my screen. Dad shot me a soft smile. "I remember your mom's cravings."

I was surprised at his reaction — he typically brushed it off, or had a smartass remark. Precisely because he was Josiah King.

"Yeah?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

"Yep. With you, it was lemon. Anything lemon. Lemon cake, lemon pie, lemon water, I swear, all she wanted was fucking lemon."

I smiled, bracing my elbows on the counter.

"And with Fran, she was obsessed with tomato soup and grilled cheeses. I cannot count the amount of times I had to get up in the middle of the night and come prepare her that particular meal."

I chuckled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling, "and you know, as you get older, your mom's pregnancy cravings actually become your weird cravings."

"No way?" I asked, "does that explain those Bundt cakes that I was obsessed with? The lemon ones?"

"It absolutely does," he said, chuckling, "and I never would've thought about it until now."

I laughed, shaking my head. "How weird."

Our laughter died down, and that was the first time Dad and I had really had a good time together in a while. Between me falling apart and the pregnancy creating a rift between us, life had been a little different.

"I'm proud of you, Hero," He said, "not for, you know, impregnating a girl at seventeen, but for stepping up. For not running off."

I bit down on my lip and nodded. "Well, I've got a hell of a man to learn from."

He smiled. "You're gonna be a good dad. Definitely if it's up to me."

I matched his smile, nodding. "Damn straight."

~*~

Today was one of those days. One of those days when nothing felt right, like I was angry at the world.

I stared at myself through the mirror as I slipped a shirt on over my head, letting out a sigh. I missed my mom, and for no reason — she'd never once given me a reason to even enjoy her presence.

I closed the bedroom door and walked into the living area of the pool house, grabbing my phone before opening the door. Fran was standing at the patio doors, smiling as she opened one of them.

"Hi," she sweetly greeted.

"Hey," I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead as I brushed past her.

Fran picked up on my moods, and somehow, always knew how to deal with them. I'd never had that before.

"It smells great," I said, smiling at Mrs. King standing in the kitchen.

"I hope it tastes great," she said, "yours is on the table, sweetie."

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Thomas sang, earning the eyes of everyone.

"My man, I love Christmas music, too," Hero said, chuckling as he took a sip of his drink.

"It's always in season," Thomas said, dancing around in his chair.

I stared at him, realizing I was in the process of meeting an entirely new kid. I'd never seen Thomas nor Charlie be so carefree and actually act like children, until now.

"Thank you for dinner, baby," Mr. King said, pulling out Mrs. King's chair for her. I watched the pair, and could feel the love radiating off of them.

And for some reason, it added to my bitterness. Why hadn't I ever seen that before? Why hadn't Charlie or Thomas gotten to witness that?

I cleared my throat, rubbing my eyes.

"Hey, let's say grace, okay? Charlie, you wanna do it?"

"Sure," Charlie enthusiastically said, "God is great, God is good, let us thank you for our food. Amen."

"Amen," Mr. King said, rubbing his hands together.

Fran looked over at me, smiling a soft smile. She grabbed my hand that was resting on my leg, squeezing it gently.

"Everyone had good days?" Mrs. King asked, reaching for the pepper in the middle of the table.

"Yes, I got to talk about role models today," Thomas enthusiastically said, "and I talked about you, Mr. Jo!"

"Yeah?" He asked, a broad smile on his face.

"Mm hmm. I said you were my role model because you have a lot of money and a big house."

"Well, rightfully so," I chimed in, "Mr. King works hard for this. That should be the reason he's your role model."

"Your brother's a pretty damn hard worker, too," Mr. King said, smiling over at me, "he's a great role model."

I smiled, taking a bite of my food.

"So, we actually have to talk to you guys," Mrs. King said, smiling a warm smile.

"I love talking," Charlie said, gently wiping the corner of his mouth.

I was confused — Charlie Baker would have never wiped his mouth before. In fact, I'd seen Charlie with leftover Mac and cheese stains on his face for two days straight before.

"So, we have to figure something out," Mr. Jo said, "as-as far as I'm concerned, you haven't heard anything from your mother."

He looked over at me, and I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him that I had, and that we could go back home.

I simply shook my head, though. I couldn't lie to him.

"I have a friend who works in the system, and I wanted to see if maybe you guys would be okay with Mrs. Lena and I fostering you guys for a while?"

"What does that mean?" Thomas asked, "like, live with you? You'd be our parents?"

"K-kind of," Mrs. Lena said, smiling down at Thomas as she squeezed his hand.

"I would love that!" Charlie said, "this is the best place ever. I don't ever want to leave."

Mr. Jo smiled an accomplished smile, nodding. "Okay. Brian?"

I looked over at him, knitting my eyebrows together. "Uh, I'm- am I not too old for that?"

"Uh, no," Mr. Jo said, shaking his head, "no, you're still a minor, so we could foster you, too."

I wanted to say yes, but my body was giving a completely different reaction.

"Can I excuse myself, please?" I asked.

Mrs. Lena simply watched as I stood up, and I walked away from the table. I braced my palms against my forehead and walked outside, letting out a heavy breath.

"Brian," Fran softly said.

"Fran, I can't do it," I said, shaking my head.

"Why not?" She asked.

I turned around to face her, my eyebrows in a furrow. I shook my head, unable to produce words.

"You deserve it, Brian," she firmly said.

"They deserve it," I said, nodding, "for sure. I want them to have it. But I-I can't."

"You didn't answer my question," she said, "why can't you?"

"Fran, I still want my mom," I said, my voice breaking, "I still wake up every day and the first thing I do is check to see if she texted or called."

She bit down on her lip, folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't know what to do with this here," I firmly said, "and I haven't figured it out by now, I don't think I will."

"Brian-"

"No," I said, "I'm old enough to-to fend for myself. I'm seventeen, I make my own money, I don't need to be mooching off of someone else's pity for us. I don't want to be a charity case."

"You're not a charity case, Brian," she said, shaking her head, "you're a seventeen year old kid. Whether you think you need it or not, you need help. You need guidance. You need a home. And not to mention, you deserve all of those things."

"Why would I feel that way?" I asked, "I have lived the most uncomfortable life possible. Why would I deserve this?"

"Why wouldn't you?" She asked, and this was the first time Fran had ever gotten extremely adamant about something.

"Why wouldn't you finally want comfort?" She asked, shaking her head, "isn't it kind of nice to not have to worry about every little thing?"

"I still worry about every little thing."

"But some of the load is taken off, am I right?" She asked, shrugging, "you don't have to worry about if Charlie and Thomas get to eat today. Not anymore. You don't have to worry about your mom up and leaving out of nowhere."

I chuckled, looking away. "You're right about that, Fran, because she's fucking gone. Of course I don't have to worry about that, because I don't even know if she is alive."

She looked up at me, shaking her head. "Just take it, Brian."

"I didn't-I didn't work for it," I firmly stated, "so I don't want it."

"You did work for it," she said, "you deserve it more than anyone."

"I'll find something else, Fran," I said, "I can't live here."

"Where are you going to go?" She asked, shaking her head.

"I'll figure it out, I always do," I said, my voice breaking as I walked away from her.

~*~

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