Pregnant in Pennsylvania

by Jasinda Wilder

  I just can’t get away from him. Which makes my life feel impossible, like some karmic, cosmic joke. Like, hey—here’s this great guy, we had a great time, we’re attracted to each other, my son adores him, he’s everywhere all the time, but I just can’t get past my hang-up. I watch Aiden get closer and closer to Jamie, especially on the football field, and it only reinforces my resolution to not get involved with him: Aiden loves him enough as it is. If he got the slightest hint that Jamie and I were dating…well…I honestly don’t know how he’d react. Would he be upset? Confused? Excited? A little of everything, probably.

  And if/when Jamie and I broke up, I just know for certain that Aiden wouldn’t be okay.

  So the status quo remains: I try to keep my distance, try to remain neutral, and Jamie gives me looks and smiles that threaten my resolve, and he showers Aiden with attention and praise and it melts my heart, and Aiden talks about Jamie nonstop and my heart cracks and throbs…and I remember what would happen to Aiden if it were to be anything but what it is now, and—

  And the cycle starts all over again.

  Fifth week of school, a Thursday, two in the afternoon, near the end of the school day. Lots of students, today—lots of questions, lots of athletic eligibility issues, lots of seniors trying to decide on college…a busy day.

  There’s a timid knock on my doorframe. I look up.

  “Mrs. Thomas?” It’s Jen.

  “Hey, Jen, come on in.” I minimize the window I’m working in, put the screen to sleep, and turn to face Jen as she perches on the edge of the seat opposite my desk. “What’s up, honey? Is everything all right?”

  Jen shrugs, but her lower lip is quivering, and her eyes fill with tears. “I…”

  I hand her a Kleenex, and she dabs at her eyes. “Take your time.”

  She lets out a shaky breath, glances at the ceiling and blinks hard. “Okay, okay.” She shakes her hands, as if that will somehow stop her from crying. “Um. So…I kind of asked Rob if he would want to ever go somewhere with me.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Wow, Jen! That’s awesome!”

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s not, because he said—”

  I hold up my hands. “Let me stop you real quick, Jen. I’ll let you finish, but you need to listen to me first. I’m proud of you for taking a step for yourself. For having the courage and confidence to do that. I know how hard and scary that must have been, and I think it’s seriously inspiring that you did it at all. It doesn’t matter what he said, because the very fact that you had the courage to ask him out is the coolest thing I’ve heard all year. So be proud of yourself, regardless of the outcome.”

  She nods, trying to smile and not quite succeeding. “Thanks. I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “That’s my job—to give you a different perspective.”

  “It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Rob is, like, the king of Clayton High School.”

  I nod. “I know, believe me.”

  “And so does he,” Jen says.

  I offer her a sympathetic smile. “So. What did Rob say to you?”

  She sniffles, tilts her head backward again, and then takes a deep breath. “He told me he was flattered, but that he wouldn’t want to lead me on, because I’m just not his type.”

  “Oh gosh, the not-my-type excuse,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Yeah. Not his type.” She ducks her head.

  “And what did you say to that?”

  Jen sighs. “Um. I may have gotten a little…testy.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah. I was like, I’m not your type? Why? Is it because I’m fat, or because I’m smart?”

  I frown at her. “Jen—you are not—”

  She holds up her hands. “I know, I know—you don’t have to say it, Mrs. Thomas. I know I’m not fat. I’ve actually lost fifteen pounds since school started. I’ve been walking to and from school instead of driving and I stopped drinking soda.”

  “That’s awesome, Jen! I’m so proud of you I just can’t even!”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t try to sound cool, Mrs. T. It doesn’t work for you.”

  I chuckle. “No? Just accept that I’m lame?”

  “No! I just meant…you don’t need to try to talk like a teenager or whatever to sound cool. You’re cool enough without using outdated slang.”

  “Outdated?”

  “The whole ‘can’t even’ thing is pretty much over.”

  “Oh.” I sigh. “See? Lame.”

  “You’re not lame. You’re your own kind of cool.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “That sounds an awful lot like patronization.”

  “It’s not! I swear! You’re not just everyone’s favorite guidance counselor, you’re pretty much everyone’s favorite staff member in the whole school.” She shrugs. “It’s a toss-up between you and Ms. Pearson, and you guys are BFF’s.”

  “I didn’t think anyone still said BFF,” I say.

  Jen laughs. “Hey, I’m not much cooler than you are.”

  “So I’m not cool! You admit it!”

  “You’re cool precisely because you’re not and you don’t try to be…it’s hard to explain.”

  I nod. “I’ll accept that.” I roll my hand in a keep-going gesture. “So. What was Rob’s response to your outburst?”

  “He got mad. He was like, ‘it has nothing to do with your weight, Jen,’” She mimics Rob’s deep voice. “So I was like, why, and he was like—”

  I interrupt her. “Jen, you’re far too smart to be saying ‘like’ so much.”

  She groans. “I know, I know. But I’m upset, so…whatever.” She waves a hand. “He told me he just didn’t think of me like that. He said he likes me as a friend, but that’s it. Then he said I hope you understand, and we can totally be friends…it was a douchey cop-out. It was straight from a made-for-TV teenage romance movie where the popular jock lets the smart but awkward heroine down gently, leading her to go through a supposedly drastic makeover that usually just involves straightening her hair, putting in contacts, and not dressing like a dork.”

  I laugh. “That’s…surprisingly specific.”

  “That’s how it felt.”

  “I’m sorry, Jen. That had to have hurt.”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, but, I mean…I expected it. I just didn’t want to regret not saying anything to him, not even trying. You know? Like, I fully expected him to reject me, and he did, but at least now I have the satisfaction of knowing I tried.”

  Somehow, her words sting. I shove that away and focus on Jen.

  “I’m proud of you, Jen. It took guts to do that, especially if you anticipated rejection from the very start.” I smile at her. “I’m impressed…and inspired.”

  She smiles, a little tearfully. “I guess I just…I wanted to tell you.”

  “I’m glad you did.” I squeeze her hand. “Are you going to be okay?”

  She nods. “Oh yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m used to rejection. I’ll just keep walking everywhere, and maybe even try to stop eating so much junk food.” She grins. “Hey, maybe I’ll even have my own makeover montage. Lose a few more pounds, figure out how to dress better…”

  “You’re perfect and beautiful exactly as you are, Jen,” I tell her. “Change to make yourself better, to improve as a human, not because you don’t think you’re good enough.”

  “That sounds tricky.”

  I nod, sighing. “It sure is, and I’m speaking from experience.”

  Jen rises. “Okay, I have to go. I just needed to talk to someone about Rob.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Thank you for being awesome.” She grins at me. “Even if you are a little lame.”

  I toss a paperclip at her. “Now you’re just trolling me.”

  “Bye!” Jen calls, and is gone in a whirl of teenaged angst.

  I sigh. I really do like that girl—she’s smart, sweet, and beautiful, but I think sometimes she has trouble believing it about herself. The las
t one especially.

  I plow through another thirty minutes of paperwork, and I’m anticipating the end of the day—there are always a few last-minute stragglers, someone with a question, a crisis that needs to be handled.

  Sure enough, as I’m getting ready to lock up and leave, Tina enters the main office and heads toward my office door. So, I sit back down, toss my purse on the floor near my feet so I can feel it vibrate if my phone happens to go off while we’re talking.

  “Hi, Tina,” I say as she comes in and closes the door behind herself.

  “Hi, Mrs. Thomas,” Tina says, hesitantly taking a seat.

  “So, how did things work out for you?”

  She sighs. “I…um.” She blinks hard, tears in her eyes already. “Sorry. Um.”

  I pass her the Kleenex box. “It’s okay, honey. Take your time. Say what you need to say.”

  She nods, takes a moment to find some semblance of composure. “I took the test that Ms. Pearson helped me get, and I…it was positive. I was pregnant.” She sighs. “Um. I am pregnant.”

  I blink hard. “Wow, okay. So…your sister couldn’t or wouldn’t help you get to a clinic?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. She took me. I was in the clinic, and the nurse was telling me all the facts and stuff, and I just…I couldn’t.”

  I cover her hand with one of mine. “You couldn’t go through with it?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just…I couldn’t. I had this image of a little baby, and I…I couldn’t.”

  “So you’re keeping it?”

  She blinks hard again, but tears slide down anyway. “No, I’m going to carry the baby to term and place it for adoption.”

  “Oh my god, Tina…” I’m actually stunned speechless for a moment. “Why—how did you come to that decision?”

  She shrugs. “I just couldn’t go through with an abortion, but I also know there’s literally no possibility I’d be able to take care of a baby on my own. I…um. I told my parents, and I told Jake. I told them I’m pregnant.”

  “Wow, so…how did they take it?”

  “About as expected across the board. Jake offered money for an abortion, but said he’s leaving for college no matter what. So, I can put him on the birth certificate if I keep it, but he wants nothing to do with me or the baby. I told him I was having it adopted, and he was like, whatever.” She sniffled. “I guess I never realized what an asshole Jake is.”

  “A crisis will often show a person’s true colors.”

  “Well his colors are poop brown, because he’s an asshole.”

  I laugh. “Seems so. And I’m sorry he’s being like that.” I eye her. “And your parents?”

  She laughs bitterly. “How do you think they took it?”

  “Not well?”

  “I’m currently living with Ms. Pearson. You can’t tell anyone, though, because I guess she’d get in trouble or something.”

  I smile at her. “Ms. Pearson is my best friend, so I already knew.”

  “Oh, right,” she says. “Well, yeah, that’s where I am.”

  “They disowned you?”

  Tina nods. “Yep. Mom helped me pack a couple bags of clothes and stuff, and Dad gave me a check for five thousand dollars.”

  I shake my head. “My god. I don’t understand that reaction at all, Tina. I’m so sorry.” I breathe out slowly. “So…even after telling them you’re having the baby adopted, they still won’t help?”

  She shrugs. “They said I’m a disgrace to the family, and that I’m on my own.”

  “So…what are you going to do? Do you know? What kind of help do you need?”

  “Well, I called the admissions department at Brown—I had a partial academic scholarship, and I was planning on taking a bunch of loans—Mom and Dad were going to help a little, but it’s not like they were going to pay the whole thing. So, Brown said they could hold my scholarship for one year. I’ll have to take more student loans out because I won’t have Mom and Dad helping.” She sighs. “I mean, realistically, I should switch to a non-Ivy League school, because I’ll end up with a bajillion dollars of debt, but if I’m going to be going at this alone, I may as well swing big, right?”

  “And, with another year, we can even look into getting you some more grants or scholarships, try to defray the costs a little.”

  She nods. “Yeah, that’s true.”

  “Schedule an appointment with me during school hours, and we’ll spend some time working on that, okay?” I pat her hand. “So, adoption, huh?”

  She nods. “Yeah. It just…it seems like the best option. I don’t know if I’m going to do closed or open, because I’ve only done a little bit of research. I just…I have a feeling it’s going to be the hardest thing I’ll ever do. But there’s just no way I could manage here in Clayton alone as a single mother. There’s just no work, no way to support myself. And I’d…just selfishly, I know that would be the end of my dreams. It’d be a shitty life for me, and for the child. This way, the baby will go to a good, loving family who wants a baby and can take care of one, and I can still work for my own future.”

  “It will be hard, Tina.”

  She nods. “I know.”

  “Well, I think you’re incredibly brave, Tina. And please know that I will help you with whatever I’m able to help with, you have only to ask. I’m here for you, no matter what. You’re NOT doing this alone, okay?”

  She nods, sniffling. “I’m just trying to prep myself to be the talk of Clayton.”

  “Oh, you’re giving the Busybody Society fodder for gossip and speculation and rumor for years to come.”

  She rolls her eyes. “The last teen mom Clayton had was Emily Johnson—that was ten years ago and they’re still talking about her.”

  I lean forward. “Actually, Gina Rhodes was the last teen mom in Clayton.”

  Tina’s eyes go wide. “No way! I always wondered where she went.”

  “She and Cam Bowers eloped when they discovered she was pregnant. I helped them get their GEDs so they could drop out and elope to Philly. I think Cam is a diesel mechanic, and Gina is doing some sort of sales thing where she works from home. Nail stuff and lip stuff, maybe? I don’t know. Their son is three, now.”

  She smiles. “Good for them. I always liked Gina. She was nice.” Tina laughs. “She sort of took me under her wing during gym class my freshman year. I was terrified and had my period unexpectedly and didn’t have any pads or tampons, and nobody was my friend. She gave me a pad and took a zero for the day so she could sit on the bleachers and talk to me.”

  “Sounds like Gina.” My phone rings then—I can feel it buzzing. “I’m sorry, Tina, my phone’s ringing and I need to make sure it’s not Aiden.”

  “I have to go anyway,” Tina says. “Ms. Pearson is taking me into Hanover to pick up a few things.”

  “Bye, honey.”

  “Bye!” she calls, and she’s out the door.

  I snatch my phone out of my purse—it’s a number I don’t recognize, but some urge or instinct has me answering. “Hello?”

  “Elyse? This is Jamie.”

  “Jamie, hi.” I close my eyes and breathe.

  “Um, so…Aiden got hurt playing football today.”

  I bolt up out of my chair, immediately heading for the door. “What? Where is he? What happened?”

  “I’m on the way to the county hospital with him right now. He’s okay, he just…he twisted his ankle pretty badly.”

  “Is it broken?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Sprained, most likely.”

  “Can I talk to him?” I ask, jogging to my car.

  “Yeah, of course. Here he is.”

  “Mama?” His voice is strained, as if he’s trying desperately to be tough—but he’s still an eight-year-old boy who wants his mom.

  “Baby! Mr. Trent says you sprained your ankle?”

  “I was catching a ball like that time I did when you saw it, and I landed wrong. It’s all swoled up and bruised.”


  I’m already out of the parking lot—driving a little too fast, but my baby is hurt. “Does it hurt a lot?”

  He sniffles. “Yeah, it hurts pretty bad. I cried a little when it first happened, but I’m trying to keep it together.”

  I can’t help a laugh. “Oh, buddy. I’m gonna meet you at the hospital, okay?”

  “Okay.” He’s quiet a moment. “Mom? Will I ever be able to play football again?”

  I sniffle a laugh. “I’m sure you will, but probably not this season.” I sigh. “And, you know, there are safer sports you can play.”

  “But I love football. And I’m really, really good at it.”

  “Aiden, honey—we’ll see, okay? For right now, let’s just focus on getting your ankle all better.”

  “It hurts, Mom.”

  I make a sympathetic sound. “I know, honey. Mr. Trent will get you to the hospital and they’ll help make it better, okay?”

  “Okay.” He whimpers. “I’m gonna give the phone back to Coach Trent now.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  The line rustles and I hear Jamie’s voice. “We’re pulling into the hospital now. I’m not his parent or guardian, so…”

  “I’m almost there.”

  “Okay, see you in a minute.”

  I toss my phone into my purse, which is sitting on the passenger seat. The last couple miles to the hospital seem to stretch out into infinity, taking far longer to drive than I imagined. I’m so tempted to nail the pedal to the floor that I force myself to put the car on cruise control at just above the speed limit.

  When I finally get there, I find the emergency room nearly full—mostly kids dealing with sports injuries, a farmer with a bloody towel wrapped around a hand, and several pregnant women in labor. Aiden is sitting sideways in a chair, his foot propped up on Jamie’s knee, a Ziploc bag full of ice resting on a towel on his ankle; he has Jamie’s phone in both hands, turned to landscape, and I hear the telltale sounds of Ninjago. Jamie is half watching the show with Aiden, and half keeping an eye out for me.