What You Left Behind by Jessica Verdi Read Free Book Online Page A

grandmother. I know none of this has been easy on her either, but she’s so much better at managing it all than I am.
    Mom passes me and walks into my room. She puts Hope down in her crib, turns on her mobile with the different colored dragonflies, and then sits on my unmade bed, patting the spot beside her. “Come here.”
    I drag my feet across the floor and collapse face-first onto the bed. The mobile serenades us with a tinny, four-note tune.
    â€œRyden,” Mom says. Her voice has that serious tone that I heard for the first time about a year ago. “We need to talk.”
    â€œCan we talk tomorrow?” I ask into the sheets.
    â€œNo. Now.”
    The lake, Alan, Joni…and now this, whatever this is. It is so not my day. I sit up and lean my head back against the wall. “What?”
    â€œWe need to figure out what we’re going to do when school starts up again in September. You’re not dropping out,” she says firmly.
    â€œ What? Why the hell would you think I want to drop out?”
    â€œDon’t look at me like that. Do you know how incredibly common it is for teen parents to drop out of high school? It’s a hard balance, being there for your child, going to school, keeping up with your homework, and providing financially for your family.”
    â€œMom, it was my idea to go back to school this fall, remember?”
    She continues as if I hadn’t said anything. “So, you’re not dropping out, and you’re going to have to keep your job. But we need my job too, which means I won’t be able to watch Hope while you’re at school and while you’re at work.”
    Don’t forget about soccer practice .
    â€œSo we need to work something out.”
    â€œWhat about day care?” I ask.
    Mom raises an eyebrow. “Day care is expensive.”
    As if I don’t know that. We looked into a few places in our neighborhood back when Hope was first born before we decided I’d do homeschooling for a while. The cheapest one we could find was $425 a week.
    â€œMaybe Grandma and Grandpa could help.”
    â€œYou can’t drive back and forth to Vermont every day, Ryden. Besides, they’re too old to take care of a baby.”
    â€œNo, I mean I could ask them for some money. To pay for day care.” After all these weeks of trying to figure out what to do with the baby when soccer starts up again, that’s the best option I’ve managed to come up with.
    Mom’s expression doesn’t change. “You really think that will work.”
    I shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”
    Mom holds up her hands. “Well then, by all means, don’t let me stand in your way. Can’t wait for the checks to start rolling in.”
    I may not know my dad, but there’s no question of who I got my sarcastic gene from.
    I ignore her. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”
    Mom gets up. “Great. Then tomorrow night, we’ll talk about plan B.” She’s about to leave, but Hope starts doing her baby talk thing again, and it sounds a lot like, “Da-da-da-da-da.”
    Mom stops in her tracks and blasts me with the most massive, out-of-control grin I’ve ever seen. “Did you hear that? She’s trying to say Daddy! That’s right, Hope, daaaa-deeee. Daaaa-deee.”
    It suddenly feels like there’s some sort of Panic Creature with lots of legs and super sharp claws crawling around my stomach, through my chest, and up to my throat.
    There’s no way Hope is trying to say “Daddy.” She’s too young for that. Right? My fingers twitch with the impulse to grab my computer and look up “average age of baby’s first word,” but suddenly there’s something even more pressing, something I need to do right now , just in case she really is trying to say what Mom thinks she’s trying to say.
    I can’t be Daddy. Not yet. Not before I know what it even means