Too agitated to sit, I lingered by the foot of the stairs while Mom and Dad took their usual spots on the sofa. They gaped at me in silence. Silence so thick and troubling that I heard my own heart hammering. "You can't even take care of yourself—let alone a helpless baby." Dad raised from the couch, his face so red I feared he'd suffer a stroke. "What the hell were you thinking, Samantha?" "Allison said she'd help me." "Allison," he snarled with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She's a burned-out worthless pot head. She wouldn't know one end of a baby from the other." Don't talk that way about Allison! I wanted to scream. Allison might smoke pot but she's still a good person. She's better than you, Dad. Face full of pain and disappointment, Mom lowered her head without saying a word, her dark hair cascading her shoulders. It hurt to see her upset with me. Made me ashamed. Fuck it. I raced upstairs, retreated to my bedroom and flopped face-down on the mattress. The rickety bed frame wobbled.
