Our New Normal

by Colleen Faulkner

  I glance around the room. Turtle is asleep on the floor, wrapped up in a pink quilt. Arden and Molly are sleeping on the other couch; she’s kind of lying on top of him. The TV is still on. I think it’s The Last Jedi. Somehow, Arden had them all cued up and we were watching them in chronological order instead of the order they were released.

  I reach for the bottle of blue Gatorade Jack and I were sharing last night; my mouth tastes like spicy Doritos. I smile and sip. We had a really good time last night, making tacos with his friends. And not from a box. We made rice and beans and fresh guacamole. We had some beers, but nobody got super drunk. Nobody barfed. I like his friends. They’re funny and smart and a little geeky. Kind of like Jack and me. But still cool. Last night Liza even talked to me about Charlie and said she couldn’t imagine trying to take care of a baby. She never said a thing about how dumb I was to get pregnant in the first place.

  Being here with Jack was really fun. He was even cool when I told him I wasn’t having sex with him last night. I kind of wanted to, but I just got the birth-control-implant thing in my arm. I went to see Dr. Gallagher without telling Mom, just because I don’t want to talk to Mom about my sex life. Supposedly it should be working by now. I’ve had it eight days and Dr. Gallagher said no unprotected sex for a week, but I want to be sure it’s working because I cannot have another baby. I can’t do it. And in a way, it’s a good excuse not to have sex with a boy this time until I’m ready.

  Jack walks into the living room in his boxers and sweatshirt. He looks kind of cute, all sleepy-eyed with his hair messed up.

  My phone dings again.

  “Hey,” Jack says.

  “Hey,” I answer, picking up my phone.

  He kisses me on the corner of my mouth and I hope he can’t taste the Doritos like I can. “Guess we fell asleep.”

  “Guess we did.” We both keep smiling at each other.

  I actually woke up at about two in the morning and thought about going home. Because Gran was watching Charlie and I knew she was going to be really mad. And not watch her anymore. And then she’d tell Dad and he’d get mad and say he wasn’t watching her, either. And my life would be ruined because I’ll be stuck sitting in my parents’ house with Charlie until she goes to kindergarten. So, if my life is already going to be ruined, I decided I may as well sleep on a couch with Jack and let my parents and Gran go ballistic tomorrow.

  I haven’t told Jack anything about what’s been going on at home, mostly because everyone there already knows what a bad mom I am. I don’t want Jack to know, too, because then he’ll break up with me. Of course, now he’s going to break up with me because I’ll never be able to go out with him again unless I take my baby. So maybe I should have gone home last night at ten.

  I close my eyes for a second, thinking about what a mess my life has become. All because I stupidly thought Tyler was cute. Because I thought I was old enough, mature enough, to be a mother.

  I look at my phone and fall back on the couch, closing my eyes.

  I am in sooo much trouble.

  I’ve missed calls from Gran, Mom, Dad, and Sean. Sean?? And Katy. Katy’s called five times in the last thirty-six minutes. And I have nineteen texts and seven voice messages. The voice messages are from Gran, Mom, and Dad. People my age don’t leave messages.

  So much trouble.

  I’m going to be grounded for the rest of my life. Which is so not fair because I made one mistake. One time I had sex without a condom, and now Mom and Dad and Gran are going to punish me for the rest of my life.

  I don’t know what the big deal is. Charlie probably only got up once or twice last night to eat or be changed. She’s a good baby. For a baby. And she was happier with Gran than she would have been with me. She cries with me.

  “What’s the matter?” Jack steps into his jeans. He’s wearing red boxers with yellow cowboy hats on them. Which made me smile last night when I saw them. I’m not smiling now.

  “I need to go.” I’m still lying on the couch. I close my eyes, afraid I’ll start crying and embarrass myself.

  “Charlie okay?”

  I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, realizing I don’t know if Charlie is all right. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. What if she’s sick or hurt or something?

  I look at my texts from Katy first because she was the last one to call and text this morning.

  Where are you? You ok??????

  your mom called!!! she is really pissed

  The last message from her was sent thirty-eight minutes ago. The same time as the last call.

  your mom is driving around looking for you. for your car

  I bring my phone to my chest and wipe my eyes with my other hand. “I have to go,” I say again. I look around. “I need my shoes. Do you know where they are?”

  Then the doorbell rings. And I know who it is. I just know. Because my car is parked out front. Jack and I drove separately, so if he wanted to stay, I could still get home on time.

  The doorbell rings again. Molly sits up, looking around like she’s not sure where she is.

  “Here they are.” Jack pulls my Converse sneakers from under the couch and hands them to me.

  The doorbell rings again.

  And again.

  And again.

  And then Arden and Turtle both sit up.

  “I’ll get it,” I say, hurrying toward the front hall. Arden lives in a nice house. In one of the newer neighborhoods in Judith. “I’ll call you,” I tell Jack.

  “Hazel?” comes my mom’s voice from the other side of the door.

  Now the doorbell is ringing nonstop. I’m so embarrassed.

  “I’m coming!” I holler.

  I grab my coat off the bench in the foyer and yank open the door.

  Mom looks like she’s going to kill me. I mean, literally like she’s going to shoot me or knife me or however parents commit filicide. We learned that word in my honors English class when we had to pick a Pulitzer Prize–winning novel and write a paper on it. I did Toni Morrison’s Beloved and wrote about filicide, which is when parents kill their children.

  “Get in the truck,” Mom says. Her teeth are clenched.

  “My car’s here,” I murmur, not looking at her. I’m trying not to cry.

  I hear Jack behind me calling my name. I walk out of the house. “I’ll text you later,” I holler over my shoulder and close the door behind me.

  I follow Mom down the sidewalk in my socks because I’m carrying my sneakers. The sidewalk is wet and it soaks my plaid socks. I’m praying Jack doesn’t decide to try to be some kind of hero and come outside.

  “We’re leaving your car here,” Mom tells me.

  I look up to see her truck parked in the driveway. Right behind my car.

  “I can’t leave it. It’ll block everyone in.” I sound belligerent. Mostly because I’m trying not to cry.

  She keeps walking.

  “Mom,” I call after her, opening my arms wide like to say, “What the hell?” “I can’t leave my car here.” I’m so mad, so mortified she would come here.

  “Follow me home,” she barks.

  As I walk between my car and the truck to get into the driver’s seat, I look through Mom’s windshield into her backseat. I see Charlie in her car seat. Sound asleep, her little lips sucking like she doesn’t know she lost her Binky. I keep going. I get into my car and slam the door. While I wait for Mom to back out, I put my shoes on.

  Jack walks out of the house and stands on the front porch. I don’t make eye contact with him.

  When Mom pulls onto the street, I back out and put the car into drive. But I hold my foot on the brake.

  At the end of the street, I could turn left when Mom goes right, headed for home. I could get on the interstate and just go. I don’t know where. Somewhere I could start a new life. I’d miss Charlie, but she’s better off with Mom and Dad. If I abandon her, I think they can sue for custodial rights. Then adopt her when they never hear from me again.


  I think about going to Alaska. Jobs pay well there. Or maybe I could work on an oil rig somewhere. I read an article about how more women are doing that.

  Of course, that’s all just a fantasy because when Mom pulls out, I roll to the stop sign, put on my signal, wait the appropriate amount of time to let her get far enough ahead of me, and then I turn right, too. I go home.

  40

  Hazel

  When I get home, I walk straight into the house, past Mom, who’s getting Charlie out of her car seat. Mom calls after me, but I don’t answer her.

  I think about telling her to give me Charlie. That she’s my daughter and I want her. But I’m tired, and I just want to go to sleep. I just want to hide from everyone. From Mom and Gran and Dad and Charlie. I want to hide from myself and all the things going through my head because I don’t like them. I don’t want them there, and I don’t know how to stop them.

  About Charlie. About what a terrible mistake I made last summer when I decided to keep her. I still don’t think I could have had an abortion, but Mom’s argument for adoption keeps coming back to me. Proof I’m a terrible mother. And I feel so guilty even thinking about what it would be like if I didn’t have Charlie anymore.

  I go to my room, lock the door, and lie down on my bed. Eventually Mom comes upstairs and knocks, calls my name, but I don’t answer. She has Charlie with her because I hear her talking in a quiet voice, saying things like, “You can’t have Gigi’s earring,” and “Give me that nose.”

  I hear Charlie making cute baby sounds.

  I roll over and close my eyes and pretend I don’t hear either of them. Pretend I’m asleep. When Mom goes back downstairs and then texts me, I turn off my phone. I don’t even text Jack back after he texts, you k? call me.

  The sound of someone knocking on my door, much later in the day, wakes me up.

  “Hazel?” It’s my dad. He’s home from work. He knocks again.

  I sit up, leaning against the headboard, and draw my knees up. I stare at the door. I have to pee, but there’s no way I’m leaving this room. At least not with him standing in the hall.

  “Daisy . . . honey, we need to talk.”

  I stay quiet.

  Enough time passes in silence that I think maybe he left, he was just quiet about it, but then I hear his voice again. “You have to come down for dinner. Nonnegotiable. We need to talk about Charlie.”

  He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds really sad, which makes me start to cry, but softly so he can’t hear me.

  “Dinner is at six thirty,” he tells me from the other side of the door. “And a family meeting. You owe it to Charlie to come down and be a part of this.”

  I hear him walk down the hall to his room. About twenty minutes later, I hear his footsteps again and he goes downstairs. I sneak out of the room, go to the bathroom, and run back in my room and lock the door before anyone catches me. When I’m in the hall, I hear Charlie’s swing. It’s playing Chopin. Not because it will make her smarter. Gran said that playing classical music to her would make her smarter, but I researched what’s called the Mozart Effect. It’s bullshit. There’s no scientific evidence classical music will make Charlie smarter. We play it because it soothes her.

  I have no intention of going downstairs at six thirty to talk about Charlie. There’s nothing to talk about. She’s mine. Nobody can make any decisions about her except me. Nobody has that right but me. Well, I guess, legally, Tyler has a right, but he’s a nonissue. He couldn’t care less about Charlie.

  I turn my phone back on and check the time. It’s six twenty. I really don’t want to go downstairs.

  But I feel like I should.

  Because I love Charlie.

  And I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since the Doritos last night.

  I wait until six thirty-five. No one comes upstairs and bangs on my door. I wonder if, because I’m still a minor, Mom and Dad can just take Charlie from me. I don’t think they can, but I don’t know.

  When I smell food, I creep downstairs.

  Mom, Dad, Gran, Aunt Beth, and Sean are all at the dinner table passing around containers of Korean takeout. It’s from a new place in town; Mom and Dad always like to support local businesses.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask Sean, taking my chair. Someone’s put a plate and silverware and a glass of water at my place.

  The swing is set up between the kitchen and the living room. Charlie’s asleep. The swing is playing something classical I don’t recognize. The swing plays, like, twenty songs. And it’s one of the safest swings on the market; I did the research before I let Mom buy it.

  “Mom asked me if I could come.” Sean shrugs and uses a chopstick to push bulgogi, a beef dish, onto his plate. “Not leaving for California until Wednesday. Thought about coming home anyway.”

  “My sister said I had to come,” Aunt Beth puts in. She’s ladling the spicy tofu stew, soondubu, into a bowl.

  Everything looks so delicious. It smells so good. I put some rice on the corner of my plate and wait for Dad to hand me the kimchi. “You get bibimbap?”

  “Without egg,” he tells me. He smiles at me, but his smile seems tight. “Just for you.”

  “Here it is.” Mom hands me a plastic container.

  Everyone puts what they want on their plates. Aunt Beth is the first one to speak up after we’ve been eating for several minutes in silence. “This is going to be awkward, so let’s move it along for the sake of everyone.” She sets down her chopsticks and picks up a full-to-the-rim glass of wine. “And I’ve got somewhere to be tonight.”

  “Beth,” Gran says, folding her cloth napkin just so. “I think we should let Liv handle this.”

  “Nah, I’m going to do my big sister a favor.” Aunt Bethie swings around in her chair to face me, ignoring Gran. “Instead of beating around the bush for half an hour before anyone actually says what they think, I’m going to say it.” She takes a big swig of red wine. “Hazel, you can’t take care of that baby.” She shrugs; she’s wearing a black cold-shoulder T-shirt that’s a size too small. “You can’t take care of her and you don’t even want to all that much.”

  “I do wanna take care of her,” I argue. “I didn’t mean to stay out all night. I fell asleep. I’m sorry.” I open my arms to her. Then I look at Gran, because she’s the one I owe an apology to. She was the one who took care of Charlie all night. I guess until Mom came and got her in the morning. “I’m sorry, Gran. It won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t, because I’m not watching her anymore,” she answers stiffly. “You took advantage of me, Hazel. You’ve been taking advantage of me. Of your father and your mother, too”—she points at me—“when you can get away with it. Although I know Liv won’t admit it because she’s been playing the bad cop in this soap opera.”

  I look down at my plate, then back up at Gran. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of anyone.”

  She surprises me by smiling at me. A sad smile. “I know you didn’t. Apology accepted.” She takes a bite of rice. She’s the only one at the table not using chopsticks. “I love Charlie to death, but I’m not babysitting again. I’m too old and too cranky.”

  I drop some cucumber kimchi onto my plate, not as hungry as I was when I came down. I knew this is what we were going to talk about, but I didn’t think we’d start right in on it. I was thinking maybe we would eat and talk about stuff that doesn’t matter first.

  “You have to let Charlie go, Hazel,” Mom says, looking at me. “You’re not ready to be a mother.”

  A tear somehow makes its way to my nose and drips off the end onto my plate and into my rice.

  “Oh, Hazel.” Mom, who is sitting beside me, takes my hand and squeezes it in hers. “You have so much to look forward to in life. But you need time on your own. You need to finish high school, and go to college, and then do whatever you want to do after that. Someday you can have more children.”

  I stare at my plate, tears running down my face. Because Mom’s right. I know she�
��s right. I just hate so much that she is right. That’s she’s always right. I hate that her predictions were entirely accurate. Tyler didn’t stay with me and I’m too young to be anyone’s mother.

  I feel like my heart is breaking. I’ve heard that phrase a million times, but I never really understood it. I understand now. “What? You think I can just have another Charlie someday?” I demand, trying hard not to cry. Not succeeding.

  My dad clears his throat. When he speaks, I can tell he’s trying not to cry, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad cry. “Daisy, no one is saying you can ever replace Charlie. What your mom is saying is that you can have more children when you’re older, when you’re settled and have lived some. When . . . when you’re able to care for and financially support not just yourself but someone else. When you have a husband or . . . whatever.”

  Aunt Beth chuckles. “She’s not gay, Oscar.”

  “You know what I mean,” he says to me, ignoring Aunt Beth. “When you have a committed partner. Someone to share parenting with.”

  Everyone is quiet for a minute. No one is really eating anymore.

  “You tried,” Sean says clumsily. His eyes look wet, too. “Don’t keep her just to be stubborn. Because you don’t want to do what Mom wants you to do. You gotta do what’s best for Charlie. She’s a baby. She can’t decide what’s best for her, but you can.”

  “Hazel, please don’t think this is easy for any of us,” Mom says. She’s crying, but she’s keeping it together. “I think we all need to put our own feelings aside and do what’s best for Charlie.” She looks around the table. “We need to help Hazel do what’s best for Charlie. Because . . .”—her voice cracks—“. . . because she’s her mother.”

  Dad puts his arm around Mom’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear.