By mid-January, I am at the end of my first trimester and have not gained any weight; in fact, I’ve lost three pounds.
“It’s not unusual,” the doctor at the clinic tells me. Her name is Dr. Hwang. She’s a soft-spoken, younger-looking Asian woman. I like her. She’s been nice to me since my first visit, when I confessed that I didn’t know what I wanted to do, that I hadn’t told the father or my parents, and that the only other person who knew was Renee, sitting beside me in the room, looking blankly ahead, almost as though she felt she had no right to be there. But I wanted her with me; I don’t think I could have gone by myself.
At the end of the month, Dr. Hwang brings me into her office for what she calls “a gentle talk.” I know what’s coming.
“Emily,” she says, my medical file sitting open on her desk, “it’s time for you to start thinking about a few things.”
I only nod. I can feel the tears coming again.
“When you first came in, you made it clear you were opposed to termination.”
The idea had been unthinkable. It’s funny; before now, I’ve always figured I’m pro-choice. But once it happened to me, I realized that I’m only sixteen. Sixteen trumps pro-anything. Sixteen means a decision this large is too much for one girl to grasp. So all I could figure to do at the time was refuse the option, and move on.
Dr. Hwang gives me a book called Stacy’s Story, which is really more of a thick, staple-bound pamphlet about a girl like me who gets herself knocked up by a nice boy at school after their condom breaks. I can’t say how many times I’ve gone over the first night I slept with Del, and the way I blindly believed that nothing could go wrong. And even as things between us have started to feel unsteady and uncertain, ever since the night before Christmas break, I’ve continued to meet him at night. I continue to love him as I withhold the knowledge of what we’ve created, and try to ignore the sneaking suspicion that he may not be all I hope he is. We’re stupid, I know; we’ve done the dumbest thing two teenagers in love can do. The longer my pregnancy progresses, the more afraid I am to tell him what’s happening. I don’t know how he’s going to respond. And my parents—my God, I haven’t even considered telling my parents.
In Stacy’s Story, she tells her boyfriend, Mike, as soon as she finds out she’s pregnant. At first, Mike (a football player with a heart of gold) is scared, and tries to convince her not to keep the baby. But then he “comes to his senses” and assures her that he’ll support her in any decision she makes. And when Stacy tells her parents, even though they’re angry and disappointed at first, they eventually forgive her. At the end of the story, Stacy’s baby is adopted by a young, infertile couple who couldn’t be happier to receive their little bundle of joy, and life goes on for Stacy with regular therapy and oral contraception. I might be over my morning sickness, but the story alone is enough to make me want to puke. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a different pamphlet for teenagers who choose another option.
Renee does me the favor of throwing Stacy’s Story out the window of her car as we’re driving down Route 1 on our way back to campus.
“Yuck,” she says, watching it flutter in the wind as we drive away. “You know who Mike reminds me of? That guy—you know—Stephanie’s brother. What’s his name? Evan?”
I’m floored that she could have been going to Stonybrook since the seventh grade without knowing exactly who Ethan Prince is.
“Ethan,” I correct her. “You know he’s Stephanie’s twin brother. Renee. Seriously. How could you not know him?”
She shrugs. “He’s so … so wholesome. So apple pie.”
The description annoys me. She doesn’t even know his name. I think back to the phone call he made to me over Christmas break, to the way he remembered all the songs I’d sung at previous holiday parties. “He’s really nice,” I tell her. “He’s actually, like, the nicest guy I know.”
She raises a single eyebrow, looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Oh yeah? Since when do you care about someone being a nice guy?”
The question stings. “I care about things like that.”
“Uh-huh.” She glances at my belly. “Sure you do.”
“ …”
“ …”
“You know, Emily,” she says, changing the subject, “it’s possible you could go the rest of the school year without anyone even knowing that you’re pregnant.”
I take a deep breath. I’m relieved that we’re talking about my pregnancy instead of Ethan or Del. It bothers me that we’re talking about Ethan at all. I’m with Del. I love Del. Even though I’ve been hiding the truth from him for months.
I can’t say I haven’t thought about trying to hide the baby somehow. The idea seems crazy on the surface, but is it really? My stomach is still pretty flat. I certainly don’t look pregnant yet. By the time school lets out, I’ll be a little over six months along. I’ve seen pictures of women at six months in the clinic; if I keep my weight down and wear loose shirts, the deception seems doable.
“What about the summer?” I ask. “Eventually, my parents are going to notice. And there’s always … you know. The baby.”
“I was thinking about that,” Renee says. “School lets out the first week in May. Why don’t you come and stay with me in the city this summer?”
“With you? In New York?”
She nods.
“I thought you were taking summer classes at Yale.”
“I was going to. But I can wait until next year.”
I stare at her. “Won’t I be a drag? Besides, I’ll be visibly pregnant. Won’t your mom—”
“I don’t live with my mom in the summers,” she says. “I live with Bruce.”
“Even so. What’s he going to say about you bringing home your new knocked-up friend?”
She hesitates. “It’ll be fine.”
“You already told him, didn’t you?”
When Renee doesn’t say anything, I know the answer. The fact seems surreal: I imagine Bruce Graham sitting in a tux on a leather sofa, drinking a dry martini, surrounded by his Academy Award and Emmy statuettes, pondering the ramifications of sheltering a pregnant teenager for the summer.
“Emily. You’re not going to keep this baby, are you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, no.”
“You’re gonna do things Stacy-style?”
I can’t help but giggle. “I guess so. And then I’ll live happily ever after, and come back to school in the fall and support Del at the games when he makes first-string quarterback, and everything will be—”
“Perfect,” Renee finishes.
It’s ridiculous. I doubt Del has ever held a football in his life.
Renee puts on her signal to turn into campus. “So you’ll come?”
“I have to ask my parents.”
She nods. “Your dad isn’t crazy about me.”
I bite my lip. “Bruce Graham is really okay with this?”
She nods again, smiling. “You can just call him Bruce, Emily. And he’s fine. It’s drama. He loves a good drama.”
“Is he making a donation to Stonybrook this year?”
Renee shoots me a look. But we both know what I’m thinking.
“I’m sure he could make one, if your parents have a problem with you staying in the city.”
“And then what?”
“We’ll find a doctor. We’ll find a family. You have the baby in July, go on a crash diet, and nobody knows the difference when we go back to school in the fall.”
“Do you really think it could work?”
She pulls her car into her parking space outside our dorm. “I think it will. I think it has to, Emily.”
“What makes you say that?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Because otherwise you’re in huge trouble. Don’t get me wrong, but Del is no Mike. He’s not even close to an Evan.”
“You mean Ethan.”
“Right. And you’re no Stacy. And your dad—well, let’s just say he might not
be intent on a happy ending.”
Renee and I part ways before I go into my dorm; she’s off to watch one of her mom’s movies with the still-awestruck and homesick seventh graders. When I reach my room, I find all three of my roommates waiting for me. None of them looks pleased.
“You’ve been out with Renee again, haven’t you?” Stephanie demands. Her bad mood has not faded since she returned from winter break. She hasn’t been willing to talk about it, but I’ve been spending plenty of time with Ethan at chorus practice, since we’re both soloists. We even have a duet together. I haven’t told Del yet.
Ethan has this incredible tenor voice that gives me chills every time I hear him sing. And the song itself is beautiful. The whole situation—after-school practices, looking into each other’s eyes while we sing—could almost be romantic. You know, if I wasn’t carrying Del Sugar’s love child.
Anyway, according to Ethan, it was a pretty grim holiday. He and Steph stayed with their mom in her new condo, and everybody cried pretty much the whole time. On Christmas Eve, a courier showed up with a boatload of presents for Ethan and Stephanie from their dad, and they all cried harder before deciding to return the presents, unopened, to their old house—where their father is now staying with his new mistress and her three-year-old daughter. Yuck.
So I don’t blame Stephanie for being angry or resentful. I can’t imagine for one second how she must be feeling. That’s just the thing, though—I’m supposed to be her best friend. I’m supposed to be there for her regardless, even if all I do is listen. That’s what Renee has been doing for me, and I haven’t even asked for it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, locking our door behind me, trying to think of what to tell them. If I admit I was with Renee, they’ll want to know what we were up to. “I was with Del.”
Despite whatever concerns they might have about him, both Franny and Grace find the whole secret-love situation with Del to be terribly romantic.
“Ohhhh,” Grace says, nodding in understanding. “Where did you go?” Before I can answer, true to form, Grace rushes on. “You went to a motel. Didn’t you? Oh my God, they went to a motel, guys.”
I narrow my eyes at her. It occurs to me that it’s beyond hypocritical for me to even pretend offense. “We went to the movies.”
Stephanie blinks at me. “You did? What movie?”
“Um, at the Mystic Theater, they’re running It’s a Wonderful Life until the end of the month.” I happen to know this is true.
Grace is getting ready to take a shower. “Well, we miss you. I know you’re in love and everything, but we are the Quad.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Franny says.
“Yeah, it’s real romantic. Weren’t you two about to take showers before dinner?” Stephanie is looking at me oddly. What does she know? She can’t know anything. How could she?
But once Grace and Franny are gone, Stephanie beckons me into her room, shutting the door behind us. “Okay,” she says, “spill. Where were you really?”
All I can think to do is try my best to uphold the lie. “I told you, I was with Del.”
She nods. “Right. At the movies in Mystic?”
“That’s right. At the movies in Mystic,” I repeat, almost willing it to be true.
“You’re lying to me, Emily. I was at Winchester with Ethan all afternoon. Del was there, too. In fact, I’m supposed to give you a message.”
“Stephanie—”
“Just shut up. I’m supposed to tell you not to come over tonight, because your father wants to talk to Del after dinner.” She shakes her head. “Are you going to tell me where you really were? God, I feel like … I feel so pathetic.” She stares at the floor. For a few long moments, we don’t speak. There is a small part of me that almost wants to tell her the truth. I want to believe that she would understand the same way Renee does. But she wouldn’t. I know Steph better than anyone does. At least, I used to know her better than anyone, before everything got so out of control. If I told her everything—especially the biggest thing—I can’t even imagine how she’d react. I simply don’t know her well enough anymore to take that chance.
Instead, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Renee’s mom is a mess, you know.”
Stephanie, always interested in some good gossip, raises an eyebrow, looking at me. “Really?”
“She’s on her third husband—”
“That’s right! To that cameraman whose marriage she broke up. I know.”
“Well,” I continue, totally making it up as I go, “it’s not going well. Apparently her mother has a drug problem.”
Stephanie rolls her eyes. “Everybody knows that, Emily. She’s been in rehab, like, six times.”
“I know, but it’s destroying her marriage. I guess her husband left a few weeks ago and went back to his ex-wife, and now Renee thinks her mom might be using again. Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so secretive. But I promised Renee I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Stephanie gives me a hug. She gives great hugs; she always has. When she was in seventh grade and homesick all the time, we shared plenty. I would listen while she cried and talked about her family, and how much she wanted to be home with them. Ethan was here for her, too, but Stephanie and I were inseparable. I don’t know what’s happened to us.
“If anyone can understand what she’s going through, it’s me,” Stephanie says. “I mean, my family is falling apart.”
I nod. “I know. I should have told you sooner.”
“It’s okay.” She hugs me more tightly. “You’re a good friend, you know that? It’s good of you to be there for her.”
“I should be here for you more. I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted. It’s been a crazy year.”
She pulls away. She gives me a sad look. “It sure has.”
Steph calms down after I tell her the lie about Renee. I feel terrible: life has become one lie on top of the next on top of a secret so huge I can barely comprehend it, a secret that’s literally growing larger inside me every day.
We get dressed for dinner and walk up together with Grace and Franny. The four of us link arms along the way. As we’re passing Winchester, Ethan comes up behind us, puts his arm around me (I’m on the end), and says, “Well, what do you know, lovelies. I’m a thorn among roses.”
Franny beams. “Awww. Look at us. We’ve even got our prince!”
Del isn’t at dinner; neither are my parents. Of course I’m nervous that my dad has somehow found out that we’re still seeing each other. But I’m not too worried; even if Del admits that we’ve been together, if anything, he will get an angry lecture and a pile of work details.
As we’re walking back from dinner, the four of us arm in arm again, Stephanie breaks away and begins to walk more slowly. Once she’s a good ten paces behind us, she calls to me to slow down.
“You know what’s funny?” she asks.
“Hmmm?”
“That it hasn’t been in the tabloids.”
I feel my whole body go cold beneath my winter coat.
“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
“Well, you said that Renee’s mom was using again. You said that her husband had left and gone back to his family.”
I squint at the sunset. I can’t look at her. “That’s right.”
“It’s just that you’d think it’d be in the tabloids. You’d think other people would know about it.”
She’s totally right; it would be everywhere if Renee’s mom’s marriage were crumbling again. But there haven’t even been rumors of a breakup.
“I guess they’re doing a good job of keeping it quiet,” I tell her. “It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it?” When she doesn’t answer, I say, “Stephanie, I’m telling you the truth.”
She appears to relax a bit. “Okay. I’m sorry. Listen, I want you to tell Renee that she can talk to me anytime about this. I kind of know what she’s going through, at least a little bit.”
“Okay. I’ll tell her.”
&n
bsp; “Good.” She smiles. “You sure there’s nothing else?”
I give her my best reassuring grin. “Positive.”
chapter twelve
“Your father is furious with me,” Del says. But I can tell he’s not worried. Already, a slow grin spreads across his face as he leans over me in his bed and brushes the hair from my eyes.
“Del! You didn’t tell him we’re still together, did you?”
“He knows, Emily. It’s like he has a spy or something. He just told me that you and I weren’t fooling anyone.”
That’s what he thinks.
“He’s going to try and have me kicked out,” Del says. “He promised me he’d find a way.”
I can think of more than a few reasons why that would be a plausible end to Del’s tenure at Stonybrook. But instead of saying that, I take a deep breath and stare at his ceiling, trying to be brave. I’ve been thinking long and hard about this. I’m going to Renee’s for the summer; everything is in place. There’s only one thing left to do. I’ve been working up the courage all week; I have to tell him sooner or later. I might as well get it over with.
“Del,” I say, swallowing hard. “I have to tell you something.”
His grin vanishes. “What? You’re not going to break up with me, are you? I didn’t mean to offend your dad, but come on, Emily—he’s completely out of touch. We love each other. He should know that he can’t go around telling you who to—”
“I’m pregnant.” I whisper the words.
He stares at me silently for a long time. Finally, he asks, “What did you just say?”
I don’t want to repeat myself; it’s too hard to say out loud. “We were stupid. We should have been more careful.”
“Emily. Oh, holy shit. Okay, Emily. Calm down. It’s okay. Are you sure?”
I nod. “Almost four months sure.”
He puts a hand on my still-flat stomach. “But you don’t look any different. You don’t seem any different.”