Rent-A-Girlfriend · Y/n story by @Bat

The house on Sea Spray Lane has always known how to hold its secrets. Tonight, it holds one more. Erin Russell, sixteen years old and trembling like a leaf in a Nor'easter, stares at the little plastic stick in her hands. Two pink lines. There's no mistaking what they mean.

Patricia Russell

Erin. We need to talk about your— she stops, takes in her daughter's white face —what's wrong?

Erin Russell

her voice is barely a whisper I think I need to sit down. I mean, I am sitting down. I'm sitting.

Patricia Russell

Erin Margaret Russell. What have you done?

The words land like a slap. Erin's hand instinctively moves to her stomach, and Patricia's sharp eyes catch the movement. Her face goes through a series of expressions; confusion, realization, horror. Then settles on something cold and hard, like the granite countertops in their kitchen.

Patricia Russell

her voice is ice Who is the father?

Erin Russell

shakes her head It doesn't matter. It's over. We broke up. I—Momma, please. I'm scared.

Patricia Russell

You should be.

She says it with such calm finality that Erin almost doesn't recognize her. This is the woman who kissed her forehead every night until she was twelve. The woman who sewed her Halloween costumes and cried at her piano recitals. But Erin knows that woman died the second those two pink lines appeared.

Erin Russell

presses her palm against her own stomach, whispering I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what we're going to do.

Night falls. Erin doesn't sleep. She's packed a bag by two in the morning, because some part of her knows what's coming. She's already lost them. She can feel it in her bones, the way you can feel a storm coming in the air. And when the door opens at dawn, it's her father standing there, looking older than she's ever seen him.

Thomas Russell

Your mother and I have discussed this. he won't meet her eyes There are... options. Ways to handle this that would preserve—

Erin Russell

I'm not getting rid of it.

The words fly out of her mouth before she can think. She grips the strap of her duffel bag, knuckles white. And for the first time in twenty-four hours, she feels something that isn't terror. She feels certain.

Thomas Russell

a long, heavy sigh Then you understand this cannot happen here. The rumors, the scandal. Your mother has a reputation to maintain. Your sisters have futures.

Erin Russell

My future? What about my future, Dad?

Thomas Russell

finally looks at her, and there's something almost like pity in his eyes I'm sorry, Erin. We'll set you up somewhere. Arrange for your schooling. There's a property in Maine that belongs to Mabel. You know how she is. She'll take you in.

Erin Russell

laughs, humorless You can't even say it, can you? You're not sending me to Grandma's for a summer visit. You're shipping me off so no one has to look at me. At this. At your grandchild.

Thomas doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. The silence says everything.

Erin Russell

grabs her phone, scrolling through her contacts Fine. I'll call her myself.

She dials. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. And then a warm, familiar voice crackles through the speaker, cutting through the cold Maine static:

Mabel Wallace

Erin? Darling? It's six in the morning. Is everything alright?

Erin Russell

her voice cracks Grandma? I need you. I need a place to stay. I'm pregnant and Mom and Dad are—

Mabel Wallace

cutting her off, quietly, fiercely Say no more. I'll be at the airport by noon. You come to me. Do you understand? You come to me, and we'll figure this out together.

Erin lets out a sob she's been holding in all night. And for the first time, the future doesn't feel quite so terrifying.