Just Like Other Daughters

by Colleen Faulkner

  My turn to groan. “Thomas thinks it’s his puppy.”

  Mark looks at me questioningly.

  “I’m not having a dog.” I raise both hands. “I just can’t do it. And if I was, it wouldn’t be a pit bull. Chloe’s cat is ten years old. The dog would eat her.”

  “I hear pit bulls have gotten a bad rap. They can be very sweet dogs, apparently.”

  I look at him. “You want a pit bull?”

  He laughs. “No thanks. Got one. Her name is Jennifer.”

  His ex-wife. I’ve met her. She’s every bit as pleasant as he suggests. I sigh, hands on my hips. We both just stand there, watching Thomas run with the puppy. Now Chloe has joined in.

  “This is the happiest I’ve seen him in weeks,” I say.

  “And now you’re going to take his puppy away.”

  “Now I’m going to take his puppy away.” I head back toward the lot. “Thanks.”

  “You bet,” Mark calls after me. “If you need me to take the dog to the SPCA, just let me know.”

  I go back and stand next to Margaret and watch the kids play with the dog. “I can’t have a pit bull in the house,” I say quietly. “I don’t want a dog. I . . . I really can’t deal with a dog right now. A puppy is a lot of responsibility. House-training it, walking it.”

  “You don’t think Tommy could take care of it?”

  I can tell by Margaret’s tone that she knows the answer, she just wishes she didn’t.

  I want to say, “Margaret, your son is wetting his pants, still, so I don’t think he can handle the care of a puppy right now.” But I feel like such an ogre already. “I just can’t do it, Margaret,” I say, instead. I look over at her. “You and Danny?”

  She shakes her head. “Danny’s allergic. We had Fritz back in Ohio and Danny was constantly sneezing. We’re really not in a position.”

  I nod. “Mark says his neighbor called animal control. Someone who didn’t want it must have dropped it off. The kids probably shouldn’t be handling it.”

  “Fleas.”

  Or worse, I think. “Mark offered to take it to the SPCA. It’s a no-kill.” I look at her. “Someone will adopt it, I’m sure. He’ll go to a good home.”

  Margaret just stands there, watching her son.

  “You want me to talk to him?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’ll do it.”

  “How about if Chloe and I go into the house and give you and Thomas a minute?”

  She nods.

  “Chloe!” I call. I wave to her. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  “I want to play with Thomas’s puppy!”

  I grab her hand and lead her back toward our house. “Thomas can’t keep the puppy, Chloe. We’ve talked about this. No dog.”

  She keeps looking over her shoulder. “But Thomas wants a dog.”

  “I understand. But he can’t take care of a dog.”

  “I can take care of a dog.” She hurries to keep up with me. “I’m smart. I take care of Kitty. I feed her and brush her.”

  “You do take care of your cat. But a dog is a lot of work and that’s going to be a very big dog, Chloe.” We go in the back door.

  “Thomas wants a puppy dog,” Chloe repeats. “He’s gonna be mad and be a crybaby.” She gets milk and the chocolate syrup out of the refrigerator. “He’s a big crybaby. He cries because he wants his mom. I don’t cry because I want my mom.”

  I turn to her, watching her get a glass. “Go easy on the chocolate. What if you didn’t live here, Chloe? Would you miss me? Would you cry then?”

  “Thomas says I can go live with him and his mom and his dad when they go to Hi-O.” She pours milk.

  “When they go to Ohio? Are the Eldens going to Ohio for a visit?”

  She shrugs and squirts a long stream of chocolate into her milk with one hand and stirs with a spoon with the other. “I told Thomas no. He’s my honey. I’m his baby, but I don’t like Hi-O.” She continues to add chocolate to her milk. “I’m staying here with my mom. That’s what I said.” She takes a big slurp. “I told him he could go to Hi-O.”

  22

  Thomas is inconsolable after I send the puppy off to the SPCA. I know Margaret understands, but I still feel guilty whenever we talk about it. I’m the one who suggests, after two days of constant tears, that Thomas might like to spend the night at home. Chloe agrees to go, then changes her mind at the last minute and refuses to. Thomas goes alone.

  I don’t ask Margaret or Thomas about Chloe’s comment about Ohio. I can’t imagine Margaret would think she could take my Chloe with her back to Ohio to live. Chloe obviously had the story wrong. What I suspect is that Danny is searching for a job closer and closer to their old hometown and if he finds one, decisions will have to be made. Someone was probably just feeling Thomas out and he and Chloe got the story wrong. I can’t imagine how hard it will be for Thomas to have his parents living a day’s drive away, if his father gets a job in Ohio, but I tell myself we can deal.

  The thought that I have to just “deal” is going through my head two weeks later while I walk down the aisle at the grocery store. It’s late April. April showers have hit hard. We’re all in rain slickers: Thomas in yellow, me in green, Chloe in light blue. We’re trudging down the aisles, going over what we might need at home. I know a list would be easier. Sometimes I make a list. But today, we don’t need all that much. We’re just killing time until we can go home and start dinner.

  “Do we need coffee?”

  “Nope,” Chloe says.

  “Tea?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hot chocolate?”

  “Yes!” Chloe cheers as if she’s just hit bingo. “For my red cup.”

  “For your yellow cup?” We don’t have any red cups. “Sure.” I look at Thomas. “What do you think, Thomas?” I say, trying to draw him in. I feel so bad for him. I wish I knew how to help him. Margaret keeps talking about time to adjust. What if this is the adjustment? “Are we out of hot chocolate?”

  He’s pushing the cart, but without much enthusiasm.

  “And marshmallows! Marshmallows!” Chloe cheers.

  I glance at my already chubby daughter, who is still putting on weight. “Let’s skip the marshmallows,” I suggest. Sadly, Thomas looks like he could use a bag of marshmallows. His weight has been dropping since January. Last week, we had to buy him three new pairs of sweatpants. He’s gone from XXL tall to just an XL tall. Margaret keeps patting his stomach and saying that married life agrees with him. I’m beginning to fear he’s suffering from depression.

  We make the turn into the next aisle. “Shaving cream, Thomas is still good. Toothpaste good. Mouthwash good,” I say, thinking out loud.

  Chloe drops back and is trying to help Thomas push the cart. He apparently doesn’t want help.

  “No pushing, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, not paying much attention to them. The grocery store isn’t busy; they’re not bothering anyone.

  “No pushing, ladies and gentlemen,” Chloe repeats.

  I stop in front of the feminine hygiene products. I think for a second. We haven’t been here in months. I don’t need the stuff anymore, and Chloe’s on a three-month cycle. Two weeks ago, she took light blue pills for a week. Then she went back on the pink pills.

  I look at Chloe. “You need tampons, hon? For next time?”

  She’s taken over the cart-pushing. Thomas is trailing behind. He looks scruffy. He needs a haircut. His mom cuts it for him. I make a mental note to remember to say something to her tomorrow.

  “Chloe?”

  “Nope. Marshmallows. I need marshmallows.”

  “No one needs marshmallows.” I lower my voice, waiting for her to catch up. “You didn’t use the whole box under your sink?”

  “Nope.” She pushes past me.

  “But you had your period?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “And Cheerios. Thomas wants Cheerios. And Cap’n Crunch.” She reaches the end of the aisle and starts to make the turn. It’s going to be
wide. Thomas follows her.

  I stare at the pink boxes and bags for a minute. I feel a flutter in my chest. A slight buzzing in my head. Then I realize I’m being paranoid. Chloe’s never been good at remembering details. She couldn’t always answer the question when her periods were monthly. I try to remember what’s gone out in the trash, but Chloe and Thomas empty their own trash cans. It’s one of the chores on a chart on the refrigerator. They always get stars in that category. And I never look into Chloe’s drawers or under the sink. That’s her personal territory. I just check the pillbox.

  I make myself think about other things as we finish our shopping. Randall asked me this morning at a staff meeting, in front of everyone, if I was interested in taking a group of students to London for five weeks for a playwrights’ seminar this summer. I wondered where he thought Chloe and Thomas were going to go. He knows Chloe won’t spend even the night at the Eldens’. Maybe he was going to offer to stay with Chloe and Thomas at my house for five weeks? Take them to his town house? Not likely, since he can’t seem to fit a trip to Chick-fil-A into his schedule. Or maybe he just thought I could tuck the two of them into my pockets and carry them to London with me? He took me completely off guard in the meeting. I said something to the effect that I didn’t anticipate having that kind of time in my summer, but what I wanted to ask, in front of my colleagues, was if he had lost his effing mind.

  Once we’re home, I take my time overseeing the unloading of the groceries before I slip upstairs. I can hear Chloe’s voice as I go into her bedroom, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Thomas isn’t talking; most of the time, she talks enough for both of them.

  I check the pillbox first. Today’s chewable vitamin and little pink pill are gone. I take a breath and open the door under the sink. I spot the big pink box. I feel a flood of relief as I see that the top has been ripped open. I specifically remember buying the box at Target in December; there was wrapping paper in the cart. Cars and trucks for Thomas, princesses for Chloe.

  I grab the box and my heart sinks. It’s open, but looks full. I count, then count again. Thirty-three little pink packages. The box holds thirty-five.

  My hand is shaking when I quietly close the cabinet under Chloe’s sink. I know this doesn’t mean she’s pregnant. There are several explanations. The doctor at the clinic made it clear that Chloe’s cycle could change. Or . . . she probably had an open box already. Or maybe I bought two boxes that day. Maybe I overestimated how many she’d need in January and then again in April.

  Besides, the doctor said there was little chance she could conceive. It said the same thing on the Internet.

  So what do I do now? I think as I go down the hall.

  I do what any rational woman would do. I call my best friend. Jin is in class. I have to call twice to get her to pick up. I give her a brief description of my terror and she promises to come right over, as soon as she dismisses her class.

  I act like nothing is wrong. I help Chloe cut up chicken breasts for stir-fry for dinner. I cajole Thomas into washing broccoli and carrots and fresh snap peas. The stir-fry is on the table, Chloe is putting rice on our plates when I hear the front door open. I rush out into the living room.

  “You’re okay,” Jin says calmly. She’s wearing a bright patent-red raincoat and crazy red and yellow rubber boots.

  “I’m not okay.”

  “You ask her any more questions?”

  I shake my head. “She doesn’t know. She wouldn’t know. I won’t trust her no matter what she says. You know how she is. She’ll say what she thinks I want to hear.”

  Jin smiles at me and presses her palm to my cheek. “We’re going to be okay. No matter what.”

  “You think she’s pregnant,” I groan. I feel weak-kneed.

  “I do not.”

  “But you brought them?”

  “I brought them.” She clutches her shoulder bag to her chest. “A three-pack. Drugstore, not the dollar store, as requested.”

  “Dinner!” Chloe shouts from the kitchen.

  I look over my shoulder, then back at Jin. “Think I can ask her to pee now?”

  She exhales. “Sure. Otherwise, you won’t be able to eat, will you?”

  I shake my head.

  Turns out, I don’t eat anyway. I can’t.

  The plus sign comes up on the pink stick. Then a second time. I couldn’t get Chloe to pee a third time. She said she was all out of pee. What was the point? I can read a pregnancy test. This one and the one in the trash can are both positive.

  I sit on Chloe’s bed, looking at the stick in my hand and thinking I’m going to throw up. Jin sits beside me, her arm brushing mine.

  Chloe is standing in the middle of her bedroom. “Can I go eat? Thomas is going to eat all the chicken.”

  Thomas has been downstairs through all this.

  I look up at her, my eyes brimming with tears. She doesn’t understand the significance of peeing on a stick. She doesn’t understand what the plus sign means. She won’t understand when I tell her she’s going to have a baby. Not really.

  “Mom?”

  Jin looks at her. “Go on downstairs, Chlo-Bo. Have your dinner. We’ll be down in a minute.”

  Tears slip down my cheeks as my precious daughter waddles out of the room. She was gaining weight because she was eating too much. She was definitely eating too much. But she was also, apparently, gaining weight because she was pregnant.

  “So, how pregnant do you think she is?” Jin asks me gently.

  “She had her period in mid-January. I’m positive of that.”

  “So somewhere between a few weeks and three months?”

  I shake my head. “How is this possible? How is this even possible? Chloe took the pills. I made sure she took the pills. I checked. Every day. Almost every day.” Then I think, What if I missed a day? What if this is my fault? What if I didn’t do enough to protect my daughter?

  “Maybe the pregnancy isn’t viable,” Jin suggests quietly. “You said before, from what you read, that Down syndrome women can’t always carry a pregnancy to full term.”

  I close my eyes. “How am I going to tell her? How am I going to make her understand?”

  Jin takes my hand in hers. “First things first, she needs to go see an OB.”

  “I’m not taking her back to Dr. Ellington. He was a jerk. And I don’t think she should go to the clinic. Not for this.”

  “So I’ll call my GYN. She’s a sweetheart. She’ll run a blood test. Do an exam. We’ll know more then.”

  I feel like my head is going to explode. “What am I going to do, Jin? What if she carries the baby to term?”

  Jin squeezes my hand. “Then we’re going to have a baby. And we’re going to love him or her, no matter what the disabilities are.”

  I so appreciate the fact that she doesn’t bring up the possibility of termination. She knows how I feel, and whether she agrees with me or not, she doesn’t bring it up. I open my eyes and meet Jin’s dark-eyed gaze. “We’re going to have a baby,” I whisper.

  Me and Thomas sit on my bed. We lean on the pillows and put our feet on my quilt. No shoes. I tell him all the time, no shoes on my bed.

  He’s being sulking. That’s what Mom says when I’m mad because I don’t get what I want. He bees sulking all the time.

  Mom and Dad and Mom Margaret and Mr. Danny are downstairs in the living room. They’re talking. For a long time. Mom keeps having wet eyes. I think she’s sad about me. About that I peed on the stick. But she told me to.

  I look at Thomas. “You wanna color?”

  He shakes his head.

  I look around in my room. It’s pretty. Not as pretty like before because there’s dummy head boy stuff, but the blue walls are pretty. I like blue walls. “We could watch a movie. On my DVD thing. We could watch Hercules if you want. You like Hercules.”

  He doesn’t say anything, and that makes me mad. He used to say things to me. He doesn’t like me anymore. I don’t know why. I still like him. But not a
s much, maybe. “Wanna tell me a knock-knock joke? I’ll laugh at you even if I don’t understand.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Are you mad?” I ask him. I take one of the pillows and hold it on my lap.

  He just sits there on my bed and looks at the air.

  “Are you mad because I got a baby in my belly?” I went to the doctor today. A lady doctor. A different lady doctor. She said there’s a little baby in my belly.

  “Y . . . you s . . . said when . . . when I m . . . moved here, w . . . we would get a p . . . puppy.”

  “I didn’t say that! You said that!” He’s making me madder. But I don’t want him to look sad. “Babies are better,” I tell him. “You can change the diaper.”

  “I . . . I don’t . . . don’t w . . . want a b . . . baby. I w . . . want a p . . . puppy.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I wasn’t supposed to get a baby. Them pills are no baby pills. Boys put babies in girls.”

  “I . . . I ate the pills,” he says.

  I flop back on the bed and put the pillow on my face. “And we still got a baby.”

  “I think we take this for what it is, one of God’s blessings,” Margaret says.

  I meet Randall’s gaze across the coffee table. “What’s done is done.”

  Danny says nothing. He looks thinner than when I first met him. Grayer. He says he has a couple of leads on jobs. I haven’t asked where. It’s been a week since Chloe took the first pregnancy test. She saw the OB/GYN this morning. Because of the special circumstances, meaning her handicap, they fit her in.

  “Okay,” I say, clasping my hands. “So . . . we’ve seen the doctor. She’s just four weeks along.” I assumed, from the weight gain, that she was further along, but that’s neither here nor there.

  Dr. Alvarez agrees that it was very unusual for a couple like Chloe and Thomas to conceive, but obviously possible. I tried to get her to explain how Chloe could have gotten pregnant taking the pill. She was very kind about it. Patient with me. She said I should try not to worry about it, at this point. A single pill dropped on the floor instead of taken, though rare, could result in a pregnancy. And the truth is, she explained gently, that the pill is still only 98 percent effective, when taken as prescribed. She did agree that we needed to talk about a safer form of birth control for Chloe, after the birth, but said there was plenty of time for that.