Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
My mother was eighteen when she had my brother Conrad.
She was a senior in high school and absolutely in love with my dad. When they found out she was pregnant, my mother dropped out and my dad got a job at a local construction company.
I think that company was owned by the Jacksons. Because everything in Bardstown is owned by them.
But anyway, they both dropped out and got married. My mom got a job as a waitress in a local diner and they both promised that they would do everything that they could to love their child and give him a good life.
And then slowly over the years, they had more kids.
With more kids came more jobs, more responsibilities.
Until they had me.
I was an accident. They planned on stopping after Ledger. And I think the fact that I was unplanned — the second unplanned baby after Conrad — made my father decide that he’d had enough.
And so he left.
I’ve never seen my dad. All I know is that his name was Jeffrey Thorne and he had golden brown hair and blue eyes. Conrad and me, we take after him. The rest of my brothers take after Mom, dark hair and brown eyes.
I guess when I was little, since no other father figure was ever around and since Con has always been there for me, I thought he was my dad. I think I even used to call him that, Daddy. I don’t remember doing any of this but my brothers tell me.
And then Con told me the truth one day when I was old enough to know it; by then my mom had already died.
He told me about our dad leaving right after I was born.
When I asked him if it was me who made him go, he hugged me and he said that no, it wasn’t me.
That Dad was going to leave anyway. When I asked him if he was going to leave too, he looked me in the eyes, the color of his slightly darker than mine, and said that nothing on this earth would ever make him leave me, nothing at all.
So I guess I never really wondered about my dad because I had Con and the rest of my brothers.
But I have wondered about my mom, Cora.
Over the years, I have dug out her old recipe books, her old clothes that my brothers never threw away. She was the one who always baked and who always knitted sweaters and mittens. I found tons of her knitting books in our attic.
I have wondered about how it would feel to have a mother.
In my head it feels like the most fun ever.
Someone to talk to, someone to gossip with, someone to giggle with. Someone to watch all the chick flicks with, eat ice cream with, talk boy troubles with.
It feels like heaven.
And hell at the same time, because I’ll never ever get to experience it.
I’m wondering about my mother now.
I’ve been wondering about her for the past few days. I’ve been wondering what she would tell me, how she would react. If she’d be disappointed in me.
That I’m following in her footsteps.
Or if she’d be supportive. If she’d lend a hand and guide me. If she’d be there for me.
Like my friends have. Wyn and Salem and Poe.
I told them. I had to.
I mean, they would’ve figured it out on their own. I’ve been throwing up a lot more this week than I was the previous week. And right now, as of this moment, I hate all kinds of meat.
I hate its smell. I hate when I accidentally see it on someone’s plate in the cafeteria. I hate when someone even says bacon cheeseburger.
So yes, I’ve been throwing up.
And not only in the mornings. At nights too.
The only good thing is that miraculously, somehow I make it through classes and so no one else, other than my girls, knows what is up.
I thought they would judge me when I told them. I thought they’d call me an idiot. If not that, then at least a cliché. A high school, small town statistic.
Because I’ve called myself that. A million times since I found out last Thursday in the woods.
I’ve called myself names.
I’ve called myself a stupid, idiot slut who couldn’t keep her legs closed for her almost ex-boyfriend. A stupid, idiot slut who didn’t think about condoms.
Who couldn’t move on and now her life is ruined.
In my most emotional and irrational moments — which have been a lot in the past week — I’ve cursed at him. I’ve hated him for ever coming into my life, for making me fall in love with him, for being so difficult to forget, so difficult to hate and so easy to love.
I’ve thought about not telling him too.
I’ve thought about keeping it a secret.
Just to spite him. Just to make him suffer. Just because he hurt me two years ago and just because I don’t want anything to do with him.
I don’t know. I’m irrational.
And pregnant.
I am pregnant.
Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant.
At eighteen.
I’m freaking pregnant.
It’s a word that never ever gets out of my head now. I keep saying it to myself and I keep touching my belly.
I keep thinking about what I’ll do.
How can I ever turn this around? What good can ever come out of this?
I’m ruined, aren’t I?
My life is ruined.
But then two days ago I woke up and my mind was clear.
It was so clear that I decided something.
I decided that I could call myself names and cry about what happened. I could call it a mistake and curse at the fates. I could punish myself like I’ve always done. Or I could wipe my tears and take charge.
I could make a plan. I could be strong like my mom was and do what needs to be done.
Besides, punishing myself in the past has never worked, has it?
Something that he taught me himself.
So I’m not going to do it again, and this time I have someone else to think about other than myself.
So I’ve been reading up at the library.
Apparently, they have pregnancy books. Like actual pregnancy books, not biology stuff. I wonder who thought to add those to the catalog, at a girl’s reform school no less.
But anyway, I’ve been reading and I’ve been making lists.
Because I read somewhere that you should make a list when you’re anxious. And I’m anxious. Books say that anxiety is a common symptom of being pregnant.
So I can’t eat meat. I’m throwing up day and night. I’m anxious and emotional. And I cry a lot too.
But it’s okay.
It’s fine.
I’ve got a plan.
It’s not a perfect plan, but this is all I have.
My girls seem to like the plan, but they hate parts of it.
“I really think you should reconsider,” says Wyn in a hushed voice because we’re at the library. “I really think there has to be another way.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, trying to calm her down. “It’s going to be okay.”
Wyn doesn’t listen. “Remember what Salem was saying the other day? She could talk to Principal Carlisle for you. I bet if Salem talked to her, we could find a way. I mean, I don’t think Salem’s her favorite person right now but still.”
Wyn’s talking on Salem’s behalf because Salem’s not here right now.
She’s taking a few days off.
Because remember the problems that she had? Or rather the problem: Arrow Carlisle.
Yeah, that problem blew up last weekend and resulted in what I think — and both Poe and Wyn agree — has to be the biggest ever scandal at St. Mary’s School for Troubled Teenagers.
Well, until they all find out about me.
That I’m pregnant.
But anyway, that’s the bad news, the scandal. The good news is that I think — and again both Poe and Wyn agree — that the soccer god, Arrow, might be crushing on her as well.
I mean, we’re not sure because he hasn’t said anything — because he’s a guy and he’s stupid — but I’m really crossing my fingers that he soon will.
“Okay, fuck talking to people,” says Poe loudly before she remembers where we are. Then with a lower voice, “We could try to keep it a secret for a while. I mean, you’re not gonna start showing until your seventh month or something anyway. By then it will be too late.”
I can’t believe she said that.
Especially when we have all these pregnancy books open at the table in front of us.
I look around to make sure no one is listening in before telling my dear friend, “It’s the fifth month. You start showing in your fifth.” I point to the book. “It says so right here: ‘you’re glowing and you’re showing.’ Which if my math is right is going to come around in March.”
Then before they can all start arguing again, I shut it down. I tell them that this is the only way.
But I have to do the hardest thing first.
I have to tell my brothers. Tomorrow when I go visit them.
That I’m pregnant with the baby of the guy they all hate.
Because I only have one week before I have to tell him, and this time I’m not going to run.
I’m going to face it all head-on.
I think I’m going to throw up.
In the middle of the dining table. At our house.
Because my brother Conrad has ordered all my favorite things. From my favorite restaurant no less.
Bacon and chicken. And mac and cheese.
There’s so much mac and cheese, and until I found it on the table, I didn’t know that it was one of my triggers. And now I’m going to ruin it all, all the effort he’s put in for me.
But it’s more than that.
It’s more than food.
It’s the fact that my other brother is here. The one I had no idea was going to be home this weekend and the one I’m dreading telling this piece of information that I have the most.
Ledger.
In fact he was the one who came to pick me up at school, completely shocking me. And then he whipped out a large pink box from Buttery Blossoms with enough cupcakes for my friends and I threw my arms around him and started sobbing, shocking him in return.
But anyway, here we are now, sitting at the table, eating dinner.
Well, they’re eating dinner and I’m just staring at it or at the soft blue wall that has all our photos, from childhood to high school.
Actually, now that I notice, the baby photos are only mine.
Me in a tiny tutu and ribbons; me with my mom at the park; me eating cupcakes with a six-year-old Ledger; me smiling toothily at the camera while sitting on a teenage Con’s shoulders; me smiling toothily at the camera again while teenage Shepard and Stellan kiss my fat baby cheeks.