“Nope. I’m sure they’ll call, though. One of these days.”
He was confident. In his world, parents didn’t turn their backs on their kids. Not permanently, anyway. He just couldn’t quite comprehend her world. In hers, mothers said things like Can’t you keep your legs closed, you little slut?
“It doesn’t matter to me if they do. They burned that bridge. Actually, they laced it with C-4 and blew it up.” She almost smiled but didn’t, trying to be blasé. He was intuitive enough to see through her, however.
He shook his head. “Don’t do that, Sydney. Don’t pretend that it doesn’t matter and nail shut doors that you might want to reopen someday. I know your parents love you even if they don’t show it sometimes.” As she stared at him, her expression turned into one of uncontained exasperation. What did he not get?
“Um, Stephen. Do you not remember the day I showed up on your doorstep? Of course you do—I fainted at your feet.”
And he had been taking care of her ever since, even if dinner was sometimes cold Spaghettio’s from the can. Her heart suddenly warmed at the thought. Stephen was a really good man. Gentle and good-hearted through and through.
And the feelings that she had been having for him lately were far from cousinly. She had tried to explain them away to herself a few weeks ago by pretending that it was because of her changing hormones. But the feelings wouldn’t go away. She quickly pushed them out of her mind for the time being and continued her rant about her parents.
“What part of my parents trying to force me to get an abortion paints a picture of wholesome, unconditional love for you? Don’t believe my father’s campaign platform bullshit for a second. My parents are definitely not Family Values First.” Her voice was cold and adamant. “They aren’t going to call unless I call them first and trust me, that’s not going to happen.”
While there was an icy edge to her voice, even she could hear the painful undercurrent that flowed heavily under the surface. And it made her sick that she was still so affected by her parents’ betrayal. It had been four months since she had left. Four months without a word from either of them. They had no idea if she was in a homeless shelter or on the streets. And if it hadn’t been for Stephen, that very well might have been how it turned out.
She had been brushing her hair as they talked and it now fell between them like a thick caramel curtain, hiding her delicate, angular features. As she raised her slender arms to wind it into a knot, the movement stirred her baby within. It reacted with another swift roundhouse kick to her bruised ribs. She cringed in response.
“I disagree. But we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” Stephen’s smile was patient, reflecting the kind man behind it. Reflecting a man who lived in a Mayberry kind of world.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
She edged past him, something that got significantly harder to do each day, and wandered into the kitchen. She wasn’t at the waddling stage yet. She could still walk with dignity. She stretched onto her tiptoes to search through the dingy white cabinets for something to eat.
“Ah-ha!” she announced triumphantly, turning to face Stephen. “Would you rather have chicken noodle soup or beef Ramen noodles?” She held one in each hand.
“Hmm. I’m not sure I like your menu today. What kind of chef are you, anyway?” He grinned cheerfully, unaffected by their slim pickings. “Okay- how about… I take the pasta and you can have the soup de jour?”
“Sounds like a plan. Would you like bread with your meal? Oh, wait. We don’t have any.”
She rolled her eyes and then smiled to make sure he knew she was only kidding.
“Actually, I think I’m going to walk down to the 7-11 and get a slush before I eat. Do you want to come?”
He shook his head. “Not really…too hot.” He raised his eyebrow. “Unless you want me to. But if not, can you bring me one back? Cherry?” He started to pull out his wallet.
“No, no- it’s my treat. It’s the least I can do.” She smiled gently, another subtle Thank You for his hospitality.
“Would you quit that? It’s not a problem having you here. I like it, actually. It’s the first time in two years that the bathroom has been clean.”
The state of his cramped little bathroom when she arrived was enough to make her gag even now. There had even been mold on the shower curtain. Cleaning the house was definitely not a priority for him. His priorities were: Writing, revising and then writing some more. Eating and cleaning were on the bottom of the list as non-essential items.
He was the first creative-type personality that she had ever been around and it was intriguing. He had a habit of dropping everything in order to write when inspiration struck. It didn’t matter if he was in the shower or out mowing the grass. But if she found him in the living room writing in his underwear at 2am, it definitely wasn’t to get attention. It was simply because he had happened to be undressed when an idea came to him.
Sydney wasn’t entirely clear on the process, but apparently, when an idea came along, it could be a very fleeting thing and Stephen needed to grab it while he could. It had taken a little while to get used to his erratic behavior, because her only gauge of male normalcy was her dad and Randall Ross would never be caught dead hanging out in his underwear- for any reason.
Her father never even poked his head out of his bedroom in the morning until he was wearing the classic ensemble of the Very Important Person that he was… perfectly pressed suit, coordinated tie and shoes so highly polished that he could see up his assistant’s skirt in them.
Sydney wouldn’t know if he wore boxers or briefs to save her life. But he was such a top tier snob, that whatever they were… she was positive that they were Christian Dior. It would be unseemly for him to wear anything less than extravagant.
Her cousin, on the other hand, was partial to boxer-briefs. Fruit of the Loom- five pairs for ten bucks. She smiled, remembering the first time she had found Stephen nonchalantly cooking in them as though it was the most normal thing in the world to do. She had stopped dead in the kitchen doorway, not sure where to look. Luckily, she wasn’t easily offended and by now she just took his crazy habits in stride.
“What’s so funny?” He was watching her face now, trying to read her thoughts.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. She would never say anything. He had no inkling that the rest of the world wasn’t like him and she wouldn’t change a single thing about him.
“I just appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your slush.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek before she left. Because her back was to him, she didn’t see the color flare across his cheeks.
Their little bungalow didn’t have a covered porch, so whenever they left the house, they were immediately exposed to the elements. Today, as Sydney stepped onto the front walk, she could feel the sun’s intensity slowly easing just a smidge as afternoon began the slow turn into evening.
A breeze kicked up and lifted her bangs off of her face, but even the breeze was hot and didn’t provide any real relief. All it did was move around the stagnant heat and the smell of sun-scorched grass. She wished that they had the money to run the air conditioner- she knew it would make a world of difference. It was just one more thing on the long list of things that she used to take for granted.
The kids in the rundown house next door were outside screaming as they took turns hurdling their sprinkler. Their skinny little shoulders were tanned from the sun and they were barefoot as they ran across their brown lawn. It was so dry that it crunched under their feet. It was also unfenced and far too close to the cars that flew by in a blur down the street.
It was clear to her from the drab shade of their grass that their sprinkler was not utilized as a lawn implement. It was strictly for entertainment purposes. But it didn’t matter. No one on this street really cared about their lawn, anyway.
It wasn’t like her parents’ neighborhood where there was an association that
regularly measured each lawn to ensure that it was kept a specific length and was the appropriate shade of green. Now that she was out in the real world, she realized the ridiculousness of someone taking the time to walk around another person’s lawn with a ruler and color-wheel. There were definitely more important things to worry about in life than that.
“Sydney!” The oldest blonde boy called.
She could never remember his name. It wasn’t just the pregnancy hormones messing with her, either. She had never been good with names. People used to mistake it for snobbishness, as though she didn’t deem them important enough to put forth the effort to remember. But that wasn’t it. She just had a bad memory for things like that.
She would admit, though, that she could spout off the name of every handbag that Coach had ever carried, along with the pattern, color and size of each one. But that was different. That was Coach. Her mom had given her Coach catalogues to look at instead of Dr. Seuss books. But she hadn’t bought a new Coach for four months now so it didn’t really count anymore.
“Sydney!” The boy called again. Apparently he thought that she hadn’t heard him.
She turned and smiled tolerantly at him. The kids were loud, rambunctious and sometimes annoying, but it wasn’t their fault. They had no guidance. Their parents left them home alone all day and they got bored. The three of them usually ran like wild little Indians through the neighborhood. This oldest boy couldn’t be more than nine or ten. His pale blonde hair hadn’t been combed today and he had peanut butter smeared on the corner of his mouth.
“How’s the water?” she asked him with a smile, as she inhaled the scent of the fat droplets sizzling on the sidewalk. “It’s so hot that I might join you when I get back.”
His two little sisters stopped jumping rope in the spray of the sprinkler and stared at her with wide, hopeful eyes.
“Sweet!” he nodded, clearly pleased by the idea that she might play with them. Whatever it was that he had been planning to say had been forgotten with the promise of a potential new friend to play with. She could feel them staring as she continued down the sidewalk. She was pretty sure that they were wondering if she really would come back to play with them.
She felt a pang of empathy for their situation. It was really pretty sad. They were so hungry for attention that they would take it from whoever would offer it. She hoped that no one ever took advantage of that. Child molesters and other weirdos seemed to have a built-in radar for the kids who were vulnerable. For the ones that would say Yes.
As she walked and thought, she absorbed her surroundings like a sponge, enjoying the shade from the trees lining the sidewalk. This neighborhood was such an alien-planet to her that she never failed to find something interesting every time she went out.
Her experience so far had been that most of the people populating this run-down little place never got out. Stephen was only here because the rent was cheap. His parents were from the North side of town. Not Highland Park, like her own, but a nice, suburban area nonetheless. She had no doubt that he was going to sell a novel and then leave here. Because any smart person would.
She was suddenly startled out of her reverie as her cell phone buzzed to alert her to a text message. It was her only luxury. She waited tables at the Sunshine Café on the corner to pay for it and even though she was prudent with it now, it took a large chunk of her tip money. She had even downgraded from her Smartphone with the unlimited data plan and it was still an expensive extravagance.
She now paid for each individual text that she sent from her no-nonsense, basic little cell phone, which was a big change. She used to rattle off texts a mile a minute, choosing to text rather than talk half of the time. She definitely didn’t do that now…they were a dime apiece.
It buzzed again and she pulled it out to read the ten cent message. Apprehension flooded through her when she saw the name. Christian Price.
“What R U doing?”
She stared at the words. Why did he care? Why now? He hadn’t visited her since she had moved out of her parents’ house. And he knew where she was- she had texted him to let him know so that he wouldn’t worry. She had received no answer, so she had to assume that he didn’t care.
None of her former so-called friends had contacted her either, which was actually for the best. She didn’t have the patience to endure their chirpy, fake platitudes and empty babbling gossip, not now that her life had been changed in such a real way. It had all been very eye-opening. She could clearly see now how fake her prior relationships had all been. She quickly decided to ignore the text. She wasn’t going to waste a dime on Christian.
She had no sooner stuck her phone back into her pocket when it rang loudly, vibrating against her leg. Apparently he didn’t want to wait for her to answer. God- she hoped he wasn’t parked outside of Stephen’s house or something.
She gritted her teeth and answered.
“Hi, Christian.”
“Hey, Syd.” The voice was familiar, but the tone was not one that she had ever heard from him. It was one of resigned, coarse necessity. A vast departure from the sexy charm that he used to use with her.
“I’m calling to see if you need anything.” He was quiet and matter-of-fact.
She briefly wondered who he was dating now. The question flitted through her mind before she could stop it, but she would die before she asked him. It wasn’t that important to her because he wasn’t important to her anymore. It was just idle curiosity, but it rubbed her the wrong way because he was still free to have a life.
“Christian,” she mused idly, “Isn’t it odd how two people can be involved in the same exact act, but only one- the girl- has to pay the consequences?” She wasn’t trying to be snotty, but the injustice of it all astounded her sometimes. The universe certainly wasn’t an equal opportunity employer.
He sighed. “I don’t want to hear it, Sydney. This is what you chose. Everyone told you to get rid of it, but you wouldn’t. You made your bed.” While he wasn’t kind, he wasn’t unkind, either, just brusquely matter-of-fact. And Sydney could hear his parents in every word he said.
“But it wasn’t really a choice, was it? Deciding to kill something isn’t really something that you can choose. Or at least, I couldn’t. And I’m the one that would have had to live with it every day of my life. Not you.”
“Whatever, Sydney. No one held a gun to your head. Do you need anything?”
The agitated sound of his voice filled her with piercing regret. A girl only lost her virginity one time and every girl usually remembered that one boy with perfect clarity- the way he smiled in the dark or stroked her hand or the particular brand of cologne that he wore. And she would remember all of those things.
But in addition to all of those normal things, Sydney was going to have a living reminder of Christian for the rest of her life. And she knew that the only thing he saw when he thought of her was a big, fat, binding obligation. It made her sick. She tightened her grip on the phone.
“I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you. I’ve already told you that.” Her voice was snippier than she meant for it to be.
“I know. But I told you that I would help so that’s what I’m trying to do. Do you need diapers or anything?”
“Christian, it’s not even born yet! Why would I need diapers?” She was incredulous. Could he seriously be that clueless?
She walked into the 7-11 as she talked to him, moving directly back to the churning slush machine as they spoke. The ice cold air-conditioning washed over her like a wave, adhering to her slightly damp skin. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the temporary reprieve from the sticky heat.
Maybe this was why she liked walking here for a drink every day. The air-conditioning. It certainly wasn’t for the dingy floors or the company of the hairy guy behind the counter. He had ‘Chuck’ scrawled on his nametag in faded blue marker. She greeted him every day by name and he had never once asked for hers.
“I don’t know. I just thought maybe you wanted to st
ock up or something.”
Christian sounded offended, as though her refusal had hurt his feelings. She sighed. She had to admit that he was living up to his promise and the baby wasn’t even here yet.
“Look, I told you. It was my decision to keep it, even though I knew you didn’t want to. It’s perfectly fine with me if your parents want to draw up papers for you to sign away your rights. Then you wouldn’t be legally obligated, either. Send them over to me and I’ll sign them. I can raise her myself.”
“How, Sydney? You can’t earn enough money to live on your own, much less feed a baby and you don’t have any job skills. And what about college?” He sounded just like her parents.
For all she knew, they were trying to get information from him, too. That way they could keep tabs on her while still pretending like they didn’t care. And maybe they actually didn’t anymore. She wasn’t sure.
“I’ll worry about college later. Right now, I just want to concentrate on having the baby. That’s all I can do.”
She could practically see him shaking his head through the phone. She had been just like him once- not too long ago. Impatient, entitled and slightly self-absorbed. It really wasn’t his fault, it was just a by-product of their upbringing. But she realized now that she didn’t know anything back when she was like him.
“I need to go, okay? My hands are full. I’ll talk to you later.” She flipped her phone closed and carried the two giant slippery cups to the counter to pay for them.
“$2.11,” Chuck grunted.
That was it, not another word. No Please, Thank-you or Come Again. Of course, he knew that she would. Come Again. Every day that she had enough money, she came. It was the only thing she could do to treat herself. She didn’t have enough money anymore for a massage or a mud wrap.
She had $1.62 left, which was more than enough to buy the neighbor kids some snow cones. They were only a quarter each at the little Dairy Barn down the street. Not many people were nice to those kids. No one else saw past the annoyance of their noise. Besides, she knew that when she went to work tomorrow night, she would replenish her stash with tips. On a normal weekday, she usually made 20 or 30 bucks. People felt sorry for the pregnant young waitress with the swollen, Herman Munster feet.