“I…. sob...think…hiccup—sob…that I’m…gasp—hiccup…pregnant…”
I let the news sink in. She had toned down her crying and was mewling softly into a tissue. I evaluated my position, her position, and his position. Things were looking shitty for all of us.
“Okay,” I breathed. “Have you told him yet?”
“No.”
“Does anyone know?”
She shook her head.
“My…sniff…parents would…disown me and …I’m so scared of…gasp…losing him.”
“Of course.” I sounded sympathetic, and part of me actually was. A part so miniscule it made an atom look like a fist.
“What are you going to do?” I plucked the dirty tissues from the sill and tossed them in the trash.
“There’s nothing I can do. I….I have an appointment on Saturday but I need someone to take me and I don’t want to tell any of my friends, you know? I’m still pretty new here. I don’t want them to look at me differently.” I highly doubted they would. The semester before Jessica arrived two of her closest preinds were rumored to have undergone the same procedure.
“Why don’t you tell Caleb? He would understand. I mean he’s halfway responsible for Pete’s sake.”
“Noooo,” she grabbed onto my arm and looked at me with her big eyes. “I told him I was on birth control…and I meant to start taking it again, I’ve just been so busy—school and him… I never thought this would happen. I was so careful about everything. I have no one that I can trust.”
She attached herself to me then; arms wrapped around my neck, head face-down on my shoulder. I realized with discomfort that she was hugging me, looking for some kind of consolation. I patted her back the way I would a smelly person and detached myself.
“I’ll take you.”
“Really?” she wiped away the wetness on her cheeks leaving scars of black mascara. “You would do that?”
“Of course. I’m removed enough from the situation. You won’t have to get your friends involved, and Caleb will never have to know.”
“It’s on Saturday at seven,” she replied grasping me in hug that was so desperate I flinched. “Thank you so much, Olivia.”
Now there was a surprise. After all the talking we did that day while tending to our clothes, she had never once asked my name, not even after I asked hers. Popular girls surmised that everyone knew who they were. Duh! Jessica Alexander. Don’t you read the school paper? Jessica had no reason to know my name.
“I don’t remember telling you my name,” I smiled at her.
“Everyone knows your name. You’re the girl Caleb missed the shot for right?” I felt the shock right down to my red painted toe nails. How could I forget my fifteen minutes of fame? My sour run with popularity? I shrank back suddenly feeling self-conscious. That had been a dark, dark time in my life.
“Don’t worry, he explained to me about your…inclinations…” The word ‘inclinations’ rolled off of her tongue like a well sucked lifesaver. It dropped in the middle of us, shouting its scary implications at me… “that you’re gay,” she buffered, smiling, “any woman that turns Caleb down has to either be a lesbian or crazy. See you Saturday.”
Touché.
I shuffled back to my room in a daze, considering two options.
One. Caleb, decided the only reason I could reject him was because I was gay. Two. Caleb tells everyone I am a lesbian as revenge for blowing him off. Either way, I was going to have to air my sexuality to clear things up.
Chapter Seven
The Past
I drove a somber Jessica to the clinic Saturday morning as scheduled. The day was fittingly dreary and she stared out of the window for most of the ride, making an occasional comment about a store we passed or a restaurant Caleb had taken her to. I was wondering if she was capable of talking about anything else other than Caleb when she pointed to a billboard for Calvin Klein and said that Caleb was so much hotter than the guy modeling the underwear. I pictured him in his boxers kicking around in the pool and suddenly got lightheaded. He was. Filthy, girlfriend impregnating, scumbag.
The clinic was posh, definitely not one of those shady, inner-city places that is tucked away in a storefront. This was where rich girls came to wipe away their indiscretions…Boca Raton style.
The waiting room was stuffed with oversized furniture and framed art. I chose a seat in the far corner and stared intensely at a macramé plant holder while Jessica spoke with the receptionist. She came to sit next to me while she filled out a mound of forms. The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the room. Before the nurse took her to the back, she looked over at me with saucer eyes and said…
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
A nerve in my eyebrow started twitching. I was simply the driver. I didn’t want to be her conscience coach. If I told her ‘no’ we would walk right out of here, she was looking for a reason to leave, and if I told her ‘yes’…well…it made me an accomplice.
I thought of Caleb. He would do the right thing and marry her if she kept the baby. They would probably be divorced within five years. Broken home, broken hearts…me without him. I swallowed hard.
“Absolutely, yes,” I said nodding.
She smiled brightly and grabbed my hand.
“Thank you, Olivia.” she said squeezing. I pulled my fingers gently away and tucked my hands beneath my purse.
Ohmygosh,ohmygosh,ohmygosh!
She stood to leave and I had the urge to snatch her by the hand and run for the car. What was I doing? I could change her mind! She took one step, two, and the moment for goodness passed, kidnapping my conscience as it went. The nurse led Jessica through a set of double doors and then she was gone. I felt sick—like all the blood in my veins had turned to vinegar. What had I done? And for what? Him? Did I really plan on using this information to get what I wanted? I rocked back and forth my arms wrapped around my belly.
“Are you okay?” the receptionist asked, peering around the slab of frosted glass she sat behind.
“Something I ate,” I said. She nodded like she understood and pointed me in the direction of the bathroom. I hid in the handicap stall for thirty minutes with my back pressed against the door, convincing my bruised conscience that it was all her choice and I had nothing to do with it. When enough time passed I slipped back into the waiting room and took a seat.
I flipped through a couple of magazines and bit away at my nails. One other girl arrived during my tortured time there. She looked to be about sixteen and was escorted by her mother who was hiding behind a pair of dark glasses. The mother hurried over to the window while her daughter slouched down in a chair and began texting on her phone, her thumbs moving like fast machinery over her keypad. I pulled my eyes away. My mother would have made me keep it. I remember her telling me, “I’ll be damned if a daughter of mine walks away from her responsibility. Do it once and you’ll do it for the rest of your life.” I really missed my mother. Maybe if she were alive, I wouldn’t be so rotten.