by Portia Moore
I pee on the stick and set it on the sink. I’m not worried at all. I know for sure there’s no possibility I could be pregnant, so it’s almost a waste of time and eight bucks. Will and I always used condoms—he made sure of that—so there’s no possibility . . . Well, except that one time. I stare at the test. Things become blurry after I see those two pink lines.
I DIDN’T GET any sleep all night. I didn’t even really get a chance to process the test. I stuffed it in my pajamas. When I opened the door and saw Amanda, I couldn’t tell her. I lied—for the first time convincingly—and told her it was negative, that she was overreacting. She hugged me, saying she was so relieved and how messed up it would be if I was pregnant by Brett. God, at this moment, I’d kill for it to be Brett’s. That would be a thousand times less complicated than whose baby it really is.
I’m having a baby. I’m pregnant with Will’s baby. For the slightest moment, a tiny part of me was happy. I thought it could be a sign from the Fates giving us permission to be together. I thought that because if I had his baby, there’s no way I could never see him again. It’s the one thing that would require us to try to make things work.
I was delusional thinking about the fantasy of being a parent—Will and me living together. I’d get an apartment and go to school, and he’d come and sit on the couch and play with our cute little boy or girl, and after a little while, Will would realize he loved me and he’d be with me. In that fantasy, I didn’t think of Chris or Gwen or any part of reality. Maybe it was Amanda’s beautiful house with beautiful things and my stomach being empty and queasy that made me so delusional and stupid.
Because now, sitting on my bed and hearing Evie scream her head off at Jack while our roof leaks and my head hurts and I feel like I have to throw up, reality knocks the ever-living shit out of me.
I’m pregnant.
I’m a pregnant teenage girl who’s still in high school.
No, it’s worse. I’m a pregnant teenage girl who’s still in high school with a crazy mom who’s just barely taking care of me, and I’m pregnant by my best friend’s married dad. I’m going to hyperventilate.
AS I SIT in front of their house, I realize I have no way to get in touch with Will. I’m afraid of calling and Chris answering. Will’s cell phone is off. I have no other choice. I’m going crazy. I feel overwhelmed, and to be completely honest, I’m terrified. I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell and close my eyes. I hear footsteps approach.
“Please be Will. Please be Will,” I say to myself. When the door opens, my stomach drops.
“Hi, Lisa,” Mrs. Scott says in a cheerful tone.
“Hi, Mrs. Scott.” I hold my breath to try to calm my nerves.
“It’s so good to see you. It’s been awhile,” she says, opening the door for me to come in. “Is everything okay?” She looks concerned when I don’t move.
“I-is Chris here?” I ask, and her smile softens a bit.
“No. No, he isn’t.” She sighs. “Come in, Lisa.”
I nervously step inside. “It’s just you?” I realize what an odd question that must be coming from me.
“Yes, well, technically,” she says with a bright, wide smile.
I notice how pretty she looks. I’ve never really looked as Mrs. Scott, but she’s beautiful, with long red hair, beautiful green eyes that smile at you, and she’s glowing. I’m nervous just being around her. So much has changed since I was last around her, and I feel sick.
“I-I haven’t told anyone.”
I look at her curiously, then I realize she said technically she’s the only one home.
“Is W—Mr. Scott here?” I hurry to correct myself.
She shakes her head, her hand covers her stomach, she rubs it and she practically beams at me. My stomach falls through the floor.
“You’re—you’re pregnant?” I’m afraid to hear her answer.
She nods enthusiastically. “Yes!” She’s obviously ecstatic. “It’s early, and the doctor said I should wait before telling everyone, so I’m keeping it to myself. Trying to anyway—it’s really hard. But I haven’t told any of my friends or family except for Will. He’s so excited. We needed this.” Her wide smile softens.
I feel dizzy. She’s pregnant too. Oh my God. I’m going to pass out.
“A-are you okay?” she asks, and I nod.
“I-I’ve got to go, Mrs. Scott,” I say, making my way to the door.
“Are you sure? You look a little peaked,” she says.
At that second, Will walks in. I’m sure all the color has drained from my face, and he joins the club of looking as though he’s just seen a ghost. The ghost of all his transgressions standing right in front of him. I feel anger and sadness, hurt and betrayal, coursing through me. How could he? He was sleeping with both of us. I thought he didn’t sleep with her. God, I knew she had his heart, but I’d convinced myself I had his body. I suck in a deep breath.
“Hi, Lisa. How are you?” he asks, recovering quickly.
It takes everything in me to not yell at him or start crying. I want to blurt, “I’m pregnant with your baby, asshole,” but I don’t. Instead I swallow my tears.
“Congratulations, Mr. Scott. I heard the good news,” I say with fake enthusiasm.
He looks at Gwen, who looks a little embarrassed but still ecstatic.
“I had to tell someone, honey,” she says, staring at him with so much stupid love in her eyes.
“Since Chris isn’t here, I’m going to get going. Don’t tell him I stopped by. Please!” I say before leaving.
When I’m out of the house, I practically run to my car and throw up outside of it. I wait a few minutes to see if he’s going to come out and talk to me, to explain what I just learned, to apologize for not calling me, for abandoning me with this secret, to tell me that he only slept with her once. But he doesn’t, and that hurts more than anything. Will has his child, the one he’s been waiting for, who will give him what he needs to be fulfilled, and he doesn’t need me anymore. I drive down the road to park and sit in my car and cry harder than I’ve ever cried before.
My phone vibrates, and I know it’s him. I look at his text.
I’m sorry for everything, Lisa. I never meant to hurt you. I hope you find the happiness you’re looking for. I wish I could say this to you in person, but I think this way is best.
I squeeze the phone and scream. I roll down the window and throw it on the ground. At this moment, I hate him. I hate myself. I hate this thing growing inside me who will never live up to their perfect child. I cry, resting my head on the steering wheel, then I drive home. I run up the stairs and swing open the door.
Evie’s on the couch, smoking a cigarette. “What’s your problem?”
I thought she would be passed out. She worked a double today, and I saw her on her second beer before I left. I roll my eyes and storm past her into my room. I slam the door before throwing myself on the bed. Moments later, the door swings open.
“What the hell is your problem?” she shrieks.
I look at her, anger swirling around me. I want to make sure someone feels like I do. “You don’t care what’s wrong with me. You don’t care about anyone but yourself and your stupid fucking husband!”
She looks caught off guard, then her face hardens. “You don’t talk to me about what I care about. You’re in my house, under my roof, and you will respect me!” She sounds like a parent who deserves respect—she must have picked that up from the TV she listens to when she’s screwing or is passed out.
“I don’t have to respect you. You’re a terrible mother. I want to rip this parasite out of my stomach, and it would probably be for the best because I’ll probably be a screwed up parent just like you and dad.”
She slaps me so hard I fall onto the bed. I look at her, and the look in her eye makes me suppress the urge to slap her back. She’s furious, and I edge away from her.
“How fucking stupid are you!” she yells.
I move farther away from her.
My eyes widen. How the hell does she know?
She cackles. “You think you’re so smart and I’m so stupid. You’re not, and Will is just as stupid as you. I’ve seen his car parked down the street, and Jack’s noticed him sneaking out.”
I feel as if I’m going to throw up.
“A married man, Lisa? And Will Scott of all people? He’s never going to leave his wife. He loves her. You were just a hot piece of young ass. That man’s going through a midlife crisis, sweetie. You don’t mean anything to him, and that kid most likely won’t either. Do you even know whose kid it is?”
I want to shout at her that she doesn’t know anything, but instead I feel like a silly little girl. I nod. She doesn’t question which man is the father. She most likely doesn’t care.
“Have you told him?” she asks, and it sounds as though her anger is subsiding.
I shake my head.
She nods and lets out a long sigh. “Well, what do you want to do?”
“You mean I have a choice?” I ask with a small amount of sarcasm.
She nods. “Yeah, honey, you do. I won’t have you putting a death on my hands, using me as a scapegoat.”
I cringe.
“You’ve really screwed up though. Just like I did.” She chews her lip and sits next to me on the bed. “You have a chance to go to school, make something of yourself.” She shakes her head.
“It’s not like I have the money to go anyway,” I mutter.
“I don’t have money, but your grandparents do. They’ve had your college fund set up since you were born,” she says.
I frown at her. “What? Why didn’t you ever say anything? I’ve been working my ass off at the stupid coffee shop to save money.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little hard work,” she counters. “They’re not going to pay if you’re knocked up though.” She looks at my stomach as if it’s an alien.
“So, so . . . you think I should get rid of it?” I ask.
“If you want to, that’s up to you, or you could take a trip to your aunt Dani’s,” she says and stands.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She looks back at me and shrugs. “It may be a win-win situation if that’s something you’d want. Dani’s been dying for a kid. She’d take anybody’s.” She laughs before leaving the room.
I lie back on my bed and rub my stomach while looking at the ceiling, and I think and think. Then let out a deep breath. I pick up the phone in my room. “Hey, Aunt Dani, I have something to tell you.”
THE VERY NEXT day, my aunt Dani is back in Madison. We’re transferring my school records. I say good-bye to Amanda, who thinks Evie and I got into a huge fight and she kicked me out. We cry, we laugh, and I promise to visit her in the summer before she leaves for school. As I walk to my aunt Dani’s car, I see Chris in the distance, leaning against the school wall. I wave at him, and surprisingly, he waves back.
IN NINE MONTHS, no one knows that I had a baby. The secret of a fall that never should have happened.
And when I return to visit—with no baby—I’m surprised to find out that Gwen also has none.
TIME HAS A way of making you see things differently. After so long, you convince yourself of your own truth even if things didn’t happen exactly that way. Maybe it’s the mind’s way of helping you cope after you know you’ve really screwed up, when you’ve done so much wrong. I wonder if that’s what Will’s doing. If he’s looking back on what happened and his mind is convincing him that what he did wasn’t that bad, that he only acted out of goodness and love . . . or whatever he feels for her.
It’s hard for me to even look at Gia after telling her everything and even harder to stomach after remembering everything Will and I did to her. I expect her to look happy or smug, to say I told you so or how could you think he’d be faithful and loyal to you when he wasn’t to me. I expect to hear her say all those things, but it only comes from the voices in my head scolding myself.
She’s the opposite—she cries with me. After everything, my sister cries with me.
“You didn’t deserve what happened, Gwen. No one deserves to be hurt, to be betrayed,” she says, holding my hands as tears trickle down my cheeks.
“I did it to you! We betrayed you and hurt you, and this is life’s payback, my karma come round!” I cry into her shoulder and feel terrible for it. After everything I did, she forgave me. It took years, but she forgave us both, fully and completely and never ever threw it back in my face.
“Look at me,” she says, holding my chin up so that I face her. “Love can make good people do bad things.”
My heart hurts, falling into a thousand pieces, and I feel as if it’s never ever going to be fixed. “How long—how long before the pain goes away? When will I wake up and not feel like I want to die?”
She looks away. “It will take as long as you make it. If you hold on to the hate and the anger, if you guard it, cherish it, and feed it, it will stay with you forever.” She takes my hands. “Trust me, it isn’t easy to forgive, and you never forget, but you have to try to let it go, or you’ll be miserable for a very, very long time.”
I hug her, but I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of my pain. I need to hold on to it a little bit longer.
I STAY IN Illinois with Gia for three days to clear my mind, to think and think and cry and cry and try to understand. I try to understand what he was thinking, how it could have happened. After what happened with us, after Gia told me she hated me, I wished she could just understand, that she could know that deep down, I never meant to hurt her. I know now that it doesn’t matter if the person meant to hurt you or not—what matters is the fact that they did.
But Gia forgave me. I’d never forget the day she showed up at our little farm, which was still half empty, in the process of coming together. I was reupholstering a chair while sitting on the porch, and I looked up at her getting out of her car with a beautifully wrapped silver box. My heart stopped as joy and fear coursed through me. Her hello was simple.
“I missed you so much, little sis, and I don’t want to hate you anymore,” she said.
She gave me back the necklace she had taken back from me that day she found out. Then I was ecstatic that she understood. She got it, and she forgave—me at least. She didn’t stay long. Will was still on her shit list, but it was a start.
Today though, as I walk back into my own house where the betrayal took place, I wonder how she could do that. How could she put her hate aside and just welcome me back into her life with open arms? I realize for me, it starts with learning the truth. I know from experience that sometimes you imagine the monster under your bed to be a lot scarier than it actually is. The house is quiet. Chris and his family are back in Chicago.
I walk through the house and search for him. I notice the house is clean, immaculate. Not only cleaned but sanitized, the smell of lemon still in the air. I walk up the stairs and see him. My heart jumps when I see him scrubbing the walls. He stops and turns to look at me, his arms covered in soap. His eyes are tired and red, but when he sees me, they widen, and he smiles. He’s called me a thousand times, and that was before I turned off my phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He sets the soapy sponge into the big white bucket beside him. “I wanted the house to be clean when you came back . . . if you came back.”
I can tell he’s nervous from the way he’s fidgeting with his overalls, his eyes shifting. He’s quiet, obviously watching his words, afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“I’d like to talk. I’ll meet you at the dining room table when you’re ready,” I say quickly, turning away and heading down the steps.
I don’t give him time to react, to say anything. I can’t. I need to hear the things I have to know. Because along with this hatred I have, as tangible as it is, I still feel love, and that hurts more than anything.
I SIT AT the d
ining room table, trying to mask my emotions. I want to appear hard and indifferent, but I know the moment he walks in, he’ll see it’s a façade. So I decide to let him see me without the mask and see all my anger, pain, and even love. I hear him hesitate in the doorway, then he walks in and quickly sits across from me. He’s cleaned himself up, though his eyes are still a shade of red, and bags are still under his eyes. He smiles at me, and I close my eyes and sigh. His smile is still the same, and it calls me to smile back. Then I wonder if he gave her that same smile, and I frown at him until his smile disappears.
“I’ve missed you so—”
I put up a finger to stop him. “There are some things I need to know.”
He nods as if to let me know he’s ready to tell me anything. If only I was ready to hear it.
“When did it start?” I ask.
He sighs and glues his gaze to the table. “A couple of months after I started tutoring her.” His voice is pained and full of guilt, and I cringe.
I shake my head, remembering it was my bright idea to have him tutor her. She needed the help, and Will was a shell of himself going through a midlife crisis. I chuckle angrily. Pairing a hormonal, impressionable, beautiful teenage girl with a handsome older man who felt lost, old, and for some reason unwanted had to have been possibly the worst idea in the world. He looks at me, trying to gauge my reaction, and I let out a small breath.
“How long did it go on for?” I will my tone not to break.
“Only a few months,” he says.
My eyes lock on his. “How long is a few months? How many?”
He shakes his head as if recalling it is difficult, as if he can’t pinpoint it, and my fists clench underneath the table.
“Maybe six, seven at the most. It was so long ago,” he says reluctantly.
