by Dani Irons
I ran to my car so no one else could see me and judge, but as soon as I clicked my seatbelt into place, I let loose another fit. My phone sat in my console and I grabbed it, but I didn’t know who to call. James and I weren’t together. Chloe and I still weren’t on speaking terms. Mia and Ava were the closest friends I had and they weren’t that kind of friends. They were drinking buddies, co-shoppers, and personal shoe consultants. They were definitely not oh-my-God-I-just-had-an-abortion-help-me-feel-okay-about-this kind of friends.
I’d called Planned Parenthood when I was only like ten weeks along—I’m assuming, anyway, according to when I had sex with James—to see how many weeks was too far along to have an abortion. (I figured that I was already past the limit, or close to it, anyway. But apparently, depending on the provider, a legal abortion can happen at up to twenty-three weeks in the state of California. It took me weeks to decide that’s what I really wanted, even though part of me thought I should keep the baby to help get James back.
My fingers flew to my stomach. I’d developed a baby bump over the months, had it only an hour or so ago. Now it was gone.
I could use someone to talk to, even though I didn’t feel like I deserved to feel better about what I did in there. No way was I going to call my parents. They would freak.
I had no one but I desperately needed someone.
I wound up at James’s house, not sure if he also came home for Spring Break or if he was doing something fun, possibly with Megan. My original plan of sleeping with him until he dumped his girlfriend for me hadn’t worked because he was still with her, still not having sex. She got all his attention and I just got his dick.
There weren’t any cars in the driveway and no one answered the door, so I slunk my way back home, took some Advil and stared at James’s name on my phone while I curled into a ball on my bed. I couldn’t text him because Megan might see it, but I did have an old drunken message from him and I replayed it repeatedly.
Come see me.
Come see me.
Come see me.
It wasn’t much and I knew he just wanted sex at the time, but his voice was some comfort. At the same time, it made me cry.
Natalie bounded into the room then—dancing and twisting—without a care in the world, and I yelled, “Get out!”
She didn’t listen. Instead she skipped around and sang some horrible Top 40 song that was only popular with tweens and elementary school girls.
She stopped skipping and singing when she caught sight of my face. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously. I don’t think she’d ever seen me cry before.
“Fine. I just don’t feel very good.” I slipped under the covers to punctuate the point and stared at the wall.
“I’ll get you some milk and cookies!”
I was just about to yell at her again, something like you know I don’t eat that crap! But instead I said, “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
That afternoon Natalie and I stuffed our faces with Oreos and sang stupid songs and laughed and I felt better about myself again. Felt okay with my decision.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Now
In the morning, I make everyone pancakes to show how not upset I am—I don’t want them suspecting I know anything yet. The more I think about it, the more I truly believe they’re all lying about my relationship with James. I mean, there were pictures of us together. He had my phone. And my parents’ reactions to him—the way Dion knew he shouldn’t have let me see him and how angry Cora was when she saw him—they obviously know more than they are saying. But I don’t know why. I’m itching to confront them, but I want concrete evidence of their lie. I want to put the pieces together for myself so I know exactly what I’m confronting them about.
Dion and Cora don’t seem to be enjoying the breakfast much, but Natalie is eating up the pancakes like they’re a new concept I’ve invented. I smile at her before I remember that she lied to me about Wyatt and prom, and she gives me a maple syrupy smile back.
Cora and Dion talk about business while I pick at my own breakfast. I’m too nervous to eat. I need to find out what’s on that phone, but I need money. Not much, just enough to get some gas and a car phone charger. Asking for the money won’t make me feel good, but a girl needs some spending money sometimes, doesn’t she? Until I get a job and/or my life back?
Cora and Dion push their plates away after only a few bites. “Not hungry?” I ask, interrupting their conversation. It was getting heated anyway, something about a Mr. Colts and whether to charge him per word or according to font size. They stare at me with the argument still fresh in their eyes.
“Oh,” Dion says. “No, it’s great. Sometimes sugary stuff in the morning doesn’t settle with me very well.” He takes a sip of his black coffee.
“Me too,” Cora says, not as politely, standing. “Well, we should be off. Natalie, would you do the dishes?”
Natalie glares at her.
“There’s a dollar in it for you.” She finishes off the dregs of her coffee and leaves the mug next to her plate.
“How ’bout two?” Natalie says with a mouthful.
Dion laughs. “Sounds like we have barterer in the family. Two dollars is a pretty steep price for a chore you should just do anyway...” he pretends to think on it, but I know he’s going to say yes. But will he say yes to me? When I ask for fifty and do nothing to earn it?
“Okay,” he complies, “but you check them to make sure they’re clean. Last time, you put away a glass that still had a milk ring in it and I didn’t know until I swallowed the last sip of my water.” He shivers dramatically. “Disgusting.”
I follow them out to the garage. “D-Dad,” I say, nearly saying Dion. That would have messed things up.
He glances at his watch, like, this better only take a second of my time. “Yeah, sweetie?”
“I was wondering...” I glance over my shoulder, making sure Cora or Natalie isn’t watching. Cora is deep into the garage and Natalie is licking syrup off her plate. I’m far enough away, I think, that they won’t hear me. “Could I borrow some money?” A few days ago, I’d asked if I had my own money and Cora told me no, that I wasn’t very good with money. She looked tense and angry when she explained that I’ve never had a job, much less a checking account. Didn’t exactly make me like Old Liv any more.
“I’ll totally pay it back. I’d like to take my car out again and I don’t have gas and—”
“It’s fine,” he says, sounding decidedly not fine. “How much do you want?”
I bite my lip. I should ask for twenty; he seems like a twenty kind of man, but I doubt that would even get me my charger. “Fifty?”
His eyebrows spring up like two spry caterpillars. “That’s a nice chunk of money. You say you just need gas?”
I shrug, trying to look casual. “I don’t know. I kind of just want some money. I’m twenty years old. It’s weird being an adult with no money. I’ll try to save some of it, but I don’t know. Maybe a burger here, a movie there...” my voice sounds so casual, I almost don’t believe that I’m the one talking. “I can get a job soon. Maybe when school starts? Or I could get a summer job for a couple of weeks. I just don’t know what I would put on my resume. I don’t remember what I did or what I’m good at. But I’ll figure it out.”
He nods then reaches to his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. “You’re right,” he says, flipping it open. He hands me three twenties. “I don’t have exactly fifty, but here.”
“Are you sure?” I say, taking the bills from his callused hands.
He nods.
“Thanks, Dad.” I give him a half hug, half shoulder pat, but it’s more than awkward.
He turns his back, but changes his mind. “Oh. I don’t know if Wyatt told you or not, but the Cub Scouts have decided to help Christakos Creatives. No do
ubt because of Wyatt himself. No doubt because of you, actually.”
My heart flops around in my chest, like it’s lost at sea in a bad storm. “What? Wyatt?”
I haven’t spoken to him since I found out I had an abortion and it feels like a lifetime has passed since then. He’s a liar and I don’t even know if I want to see him again. He didn’t go to prom with me, but allowed my little sister to say we did. That’s creepy. “Yeah, isn’t that something?” Dion continues. “The Cub Scouts have hired us to be their advertising company, exclusively. Well, this local chapter, anyway. This will be a lot of extra work, meaning a lot more money. The business just might make it. And this way, we’re still honoring Papa Joe’s wishes by staying in the community.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “We have to thank you again. I don’t know what we would do without you.”
I have so many conflicting thoughts about Wyatt right now, about my parents, I can’t feel proud or happy. Confusion and anger are battling it out. “We’re going to have a meeting about it next week and we want you to be there.”
I nod absentmindedly and stare at his eyes, which are the exact mirror image of my own. How can someone this nice be in on such a big lie?
Dion turns and goes back to work. Cora squints at me over his shoulder, but I turn quickly enough that I don’t think she sees the money. Not that Dion won’t tell her, but she’s been moody lately and I don’t feel like dealing with it right now.
* * *
My heart races the entire time I pump gas and drive over to the cell phone place. I walk in on legs made of Jell-O. This phone could tell me so much; it could be the window through which I can see Old Liv more clearly. And that makes me nervous.
I walk over and pick out the right charger, pay and walk back out in a mind blur.
I start my car. Plug in both the charger and phone and wait. It doesn’t boot right away. Must need a few minutes of juice first.
Gas was $20. The charger $35 and change because it was a good brand, and the only one they had in stock. I have an entire five dollars to myself. Maybe I should have put in less gas so I’d have more money, but what else am I going to spend it on? It’s not like I’m going to go have a burger with anyone. Now that I know this lie is bigger than I thought, I wonder how much Chloe has had her hand in it, too. As of now, no one has my trust.
I watch as a battery finally pops up, my heart fluttering. It’s red, of course, but it might be enough to get it to the home screen. I tap the little home button once. Nothing happens. I force myself to stare at the dashboard clock for two entire minutes. I try the phone again. This time the home screen appears.
Little number icons at the top of the screen show that I have six voicemails and one text. Cora hadn’t been able to delete anything because the phone was dead, so I’m both excited and scared shitless.
My palms sweat as I tap on the pictures. Sure enough, there’s a selfie of me and James. There’s some others too, of some girls and Chloe—probably that Mia and Ava she’d talked about. I check the contacts for James. He’s there. My finger hovers over his number. Over the call button. I’m not sure what I should say to him. Like, are you my boyfriend, or a booty call? Did I cheat on my boyfriend with you?
What if the baby was James’s? I feel sick.
No. I can’t call him until I know more. I browse through my contacts. I read many names that don’t sound familiar, and notice someone’s missing. Wyatt.
Why wouldn’t Wyatt be in my phone?
I tap the icon for text messages. Most of them are from me to James, like a ratio of ten to one. The last one I wrote to him is, you coming out tonight?
His reply: Maybe.
I have no texts from any number that could be Wyatt’s.
I listen to the voicemails. One’s from Ava, wondering where Chloe and I disappeared to. The next one’s from Ava as well, but her voice is higher. Sorry to hear you got hit by a car...hope you’re feeling okay...call me? She sounds too airy to be truly concerned. There’s an identical one from Mia. Her voice is husky and rough and she cusses a lot. One message is a hang up from James and another, older one, is him saying, “Come see me.” Something deep inside me tightens at his voice.
The last one is Cora asking whoever has the phone to call her, to do the right thing and return it.
* * *
My body, my spirit, feel broken by the time I pull into my driveway. I have no more energy to think about what everything means or what everyone’s motives are for lying to me. It’s not even noon yet and already I want to go to bed. Maybe things will make more sense in the morning. Maybe my brain will figure out everything while I sleep.
As I push myself through the front door with the tiny amount of energy I have left, faint arguing causes me to pause. It’s definitely Cora and Dion, but I don’t know if Natalie is in on it. The only word I can make out is she and Cora repeats it over and over like it’s a demon she’s trying to excise from her body.
I hope it’s not me...I hope it’s not me...I hope it’s not me... I push myself through the front door. The arguing stops. Their heads swing over to me comically—Cora, looking like I told her I was out hooking, Dion, looking like Cora was about to take away my birthday.
I stand there, readying myself for punishment.
Cora takes a few steps toward me. “When did you take the phone, Olivia?” she asks, and I’m not entirely surprised she figured it out, but I don’t care. I don’t have energy to care.
“Does it matter?” I ask, pushing off the door that I was leaning against for support and heading toward my room.
She grabs my upper arm, squeezing it. It hurts, but I don’t let on. “You don’t steal from your parents.”
My lip curls involuntarily. “I didn’t steal. I took back what is rightfully mine. Technically, you stole it from me by not giving it back.”
She pulls air up her nose, sounding like a bull about to snort. Usually I would be afraid; she has that effect on me. But I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care. The only reason she would want to keep something like that away from me would be to hide something. I open my mouth to yell at her, to ask her why everyone is lying, but Cora talks right over me. “You’ve always been a burden to us. You suck the life out of your father and me.”
And then I close my mouth, wanting to hear what else she has to say next. “We give you money, we support you with what you choose to do at school, and still you want more. You want us to bleed for you? You want us to rip out our hearts and put them on platters for you? That’s already happened. We have nothing more to give you. I’m not going to say you’re worthless,” she continues after a breath, “but it’s been a long time—longer than I can remember—since you contributed to this family.”
“Cora—” Dion chastises, but she puts up a hand, stopping him.
I’m speechless. I mean, I knew she was close to her breaking point but no way did I think this was how it would escalate.
“You think you helped by doing the website, but it was just more of a burden. I haven’t slept. I’ve barely eaten. There is too much for me to do by myself. I thought things with you would change after the accident, that you could have a fresh start. But you’re just the same.”
I pull away from her grasp, but it doesn’t stop her rant. Her face turns red with her words. “Don’t you see? This family has been trying to go down one road for a long time, but you keep putting up roadblocks. Your schooling, roadblock. Your accident, roadblock.”
This is the first time I have any reaction to what she’s saying, and all I can muster is another curl of my lip. She doesn’t know the real reason I was in the street. My mother thinks I was just some drunk idiot wandering into traffic.
She starts to shake and I’m too hurt, too surprised, to say anything in return. “Everything we’ve done, we’ve done for you.” Her head falls into her hands and I fee
l nothing. Was she talking about her lies? That everything they’ve lied about was for me?
Dion comes over and pulls her into his arms. He peers at me over the top of her head. “She doesn’t mean that stuff,” he says, and I’m surprised Cora doesn’t object. “She’s just stressed and when she found out you’d been in our room, it threw her over a cliff of sorts.”
I begin to walk down the hall. “The phone is dead anyway,” I lie, a dullness in my voice. “And I don’t have a charger. So no big deal.”
Cora explodes, pushing away from Dion. “Not everything is about you!” she throws up her hands. “Typical Olivia. Everything’s always about her.”
“Honey...” Dion tries, grabbing for her again. But she pulls away.
“We should bury our head in the sand and call it quits.” She sits on the edge of the couch and buries her face in her hands. I guess sand isn’t a viable option. I feel no empathy for her.
Dion gives me a sympathetic grin like, he’s so sorry, Cora is going through stuff, please understand, blah blah blah, but I don’t want to understand. I want her to quit yelling at me. I should be the one yelling. Why the fuck did you lie to me? Can’t you stay out of my business? Do you understand how much I can’t trust you right now? How much I can’t stand to look at you? But the last little bit of rationality I have is telling me now is not the time. She’s too mad, she’ll only keep yelling.
Maybe in the morning.
“Call Wyatt,” Cora demands through her fingers. “Tell him I’ll hire him to run the website since we can’t do it ourselves. See if he could do some scheduling for us. We need help.”
It’s funny and sad that she doesn’t ask for my help.
Even if I wanted to talk to Wyatt, no way would I do it for Cora right now. I won’t do anything for her and I’m not speaking to Wyatt until I figure out what’s going on and how I feel about it. “I can’t,” I say. “We had a...disagreement. And we’re not talking. I can’t call him. Sorry.” My gaze flits over to Dion when I say this last word. I do feel sorry for him, for my “typical Olivia” behavior as Cora called it, but I can’t bring myself to talk to Wyatt. The fact that he, of all the people I trusted, lied to me about what we were to each other hurts deep. Like a disease.
