Chapter 10
Ilena
Harvard University
Nineteen Years Before the Outing
Ilena sat, scared, on a toilet surrounded by empty bottles—water and beer, a fairly even proportion because Mallory suggested
it, and Ilena needed both the hydration and the liquid courage. Though guilt twisted her insides with each sip of the cheap,
watery beer. Because what if it hurt the baby? Mallory searched the internet and told her it wouldn’t, that it was too early.
And, she pointed out, Ilena wasn’t keeping the baby even if there was a baby anyway. But one, Mallory lies, and two, was Ilena not keeping the baby?
She had fallen for Jonah the moment he’d stuck his arm in between the closing doors of the Red Line train at the MGH stop two years ago when they were both freshmen.
He’d kept the subway at the station long enough for Ilena to run across the platform, arms laden with the artisanal cupcakes she’d special ordered for Mallory’s birthday.
She’d thanked him by opening the box and letting him choose one.
He hadn’t hesitated. Chocolate–peanut butter, he’d said, if Ilena didn’t mind.
She did. That was her favorite too. But then she caught a glimpse of those unruly brown cowlicks and suddenly she didn’t mind so much.
They ended up sharing the cupcake on the train.
Jonah later admitted he had purposely missed his stop so they could keep talking.
And it was talking, but it was also the most arousing foreplay she’d ever experienced.
She’d never been able to look at cupcakes quite the same way again.
The artisanal confection had been her father’s go-to “surprise” when she was little—every birthday, every Hanukkah, chocolate–peanut
butter and lemon-raspberry and key lime. That was, until her dad stopped being there for every birthday and every Hanukkah.
Jonah had reminded her of her dad, or her dad before he became a word, simply a noun, something she knew of but that had no
bearing on her life, like Vegemite. She saw her dad not in Jonah’s cowlicks that would forever curl every which way, but in
his motivational-poster way of looking at life.
On the train, Jonah had pulled a coffee shop napkin from his backpack before Ilena could reach for the one in hers. He’d split
the napkin in two, and they’d each wiped their fingers.
Then he’d said, “If I kept a bucket list, I’d be able to check off ‘eating the perfect cupcake.’”
“Oh, are you morally opposed to bucket lists?” Ilena had asked.
“Principally. I prefer to be focused on what’s right in front of me.”
Ilena groaned. “Could you have a more cliché pickup line?”
“Probably? If you give me the chance.”
Jonah was all about mindset and finding pleasure in everything.
Alone, Ilena would breeze past the buskers in Harvard Square, but when Jonah was with her, he would stop and listen, really listen, not a polite pause and nod but staying through to the end of the song, two, three, tossing in tips or buying their homemade CD.
He was the optimist to her realist, the rule bender to her follower, and he didn’t mind that Ilena was outspoken or dogged when she knew she was right, which she nearly always was.
He was okay with that too. But he was also ambitious, loading down his schedule at MIT with extra classes and internships just like Ilena did at Harvard.
He wanted a future. One that didn’t include a baby before they were even old enough to legally buy alcohol.
“I think that’s enough,” Mallory said as the timer went off and she picked up the pregnancy stick. “Twelve negative tests
in a row. You’re just late.”
Ilena couldn’t let the relief take over yet. “But I’m never late.”
“There are some things even you can’t control, and that includes the expulsion of your uterine lining. Now, come on, let’s
celebrate.”
“Thanks, Mal.” Ilena wanted to wrap her arms around her best friend and squeeze her tight. But she was still her mother’s
daughter and had to wash her hands first.
“You’d do it for me.” Mallory scooped up the dozen pregnancy sticks and dropped them in the trash, not bothering to try to
hide them with tissues like Ilena would have. “Of course, you’d have only had to sit through one test, not the entire inventory
from CVS.” She winked, then said, “This calls for champagne!”
Ilena’s hand shot out and rested on Mallory’s forearm. “Wait.”
“No, for this, for our future staying intact, real champagne. None of that headache-inducing imitation crap that Jonah loves.”
“It’s not that.” Ilena looked at the trash, all those single lines on the plastic tests adding up to nothing. “It’s just,
a part of me, a tiny part, but a part, is disappointed.”
Mallory stilled, then gently placed her hand on top of Ilena’s. “I know.”
They stayed that way, listening to the voices in the hallway making plans to study or get pizza or down Jell-O shots, having
no idea that inside this bathroom, Ilena’s life had taken one path instead of another.