Out with the In Crowd

by Stephanie Morrill

  “You can do it, Abbie,” I said.

  Her face turned so red, I forgot to cheer her on until Dr. Ridgway cried, “The head’s out!”

  Abbie went limp on the bed. “All that work for just the head?”

  “You’re doing great. The head’s the worst part of it,” Mom said.

  “That’s right,” Dr. Ridgway said. “Just one more set of pushes, Abbie, and you’ll have this baby. And here comes the next contraction. Deep breath, and up. Push, push, push!”

  “Push, push, push!” we yelled.

  And barely a minute later, a new sound entered the delivery room—a loud, squawky cry. Out the baby came, all red and mucusy and perfect. My breath caught, and we all stopped and stared.

  “Congratulations.” Dr. Ridgway beamed at Abbie and turned the newborn where she could see. “You have a beautiful baby boy.”

  26

  As dawn broke on Monday, March 2, Connor and I sat side by side in Abbie’s recovery room.

  “A boy,” Connor whispered, his voice full of awe.

  We all kept saying it, marveling. How strange to expect one thing with such certainty but then get the opposite.

  I smiled as I watched Abbie snuggle Owen Joshua Hoyt. Chris perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Owen’s head of soft, dark hair. Mom and Dad had left not long before to shower and pick up breakfast. And, I assumed, to start redoing that pink nursery.

  “Did she seem disappointed at all?” Connor asked.

  I shook my head. “She had about a dozen girl names she couldn’t pick from, but she always had a perfect boy name in mind. I think she was relieved.”

  “Funny how sometimes God prepares us for things without us even realizing it,” Connor said.

  For the first time in over a week, I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together. “I’m glad you’re here.” I smiled, oddly bashful.

  Connor smiled as well, but it looked like a struggle. As if he’d commanded the corners of his mouth upward.

  And when he pried his fingers out of mine, I knew. It really was over.

  “I have to confess something.” He glanced at Chris and Abbie, who were absorbed in their own soft conversation. “This probably isn’t the best time.”

  I sighed, my breath wobbling as I held in tears. “It rarely is.”

  “You were right.” Connor’s fingers danced about his lap. “I do have feelings for Jodi.”

  This victory came with no joy. I stared at my still hands.

  “But at the same time, I really believe I’m in love with you, that you’re the girl I want to be with.” He tugged at his collar and shifted in his seat. “Yet I am attracted to the idea of helping Jodi, of fixing her. Just like you said.” He leaned into his hands, covering his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  I sat there stiff and achy. What did he expect me to do now?

  “What do you expect me to do now?” I asked. Hey, that had been pretty easy—articulating what I meant. Maybe there was hope for me after all.

  Connor shook his head, which was still buried in his hands. “I don’t know.” He leaned back and looked at me, eyes big and sincere. He had beautiful eyes. I’d always thought so. “I think you were right to suggest time apart. I need to work out this . . .” He waved his hand, unable to come up with the word. “This thing I have. This disorder.”

  My voice barely registered above a whisper. “How long do you think that’ll take?”

  He shook his head, apparently unable to answer me.

  We watched Owen fuss as Abbie passed him to Chris, then he settled back to sleep.

  “Jodi committed her life to Christ this weekend,” Connor said. “We were sitting out on the volleyball courts. She told me about how she originally started coming to church and flirting with me just to get a rise out of you, but now that we’d broken up, she felt guilty.”

  “She said something similar to me as I left,” I said, voice tight. “You believe her?”

  He nodded. “I think God’s really gotten ahold of her.”

  “Time will tell.”

  “You doubt she’s for real?”

  “I really don’t know anymore.”

  “I wish you could’ve been there,” Connor said, sounding wistful. “Leading her in that prayer . . . It was awesome. I’ve never been a part of anything like that.”

  I swung my legs a little, watching the pendulum of my feet. I didn’t know if I wanted an answer to my next question. “So are you, like, gonna date her or something?”

  Connor frowned. “I don’t think so. I mean, if nothing else, she’s leaving for Tennessee in the fall.”

  That’s not what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to say of course he wouldn’t, that he loved me and couldn’t imagine life apart. That he knew these feelings for Jodi would go away.

  “You’re obviously free to date whomever you want,” Connor said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. All I meant is, I don’t expect you to sit around and wait for me to be ready. Who knows how long it could be. Months, or years, or—”

  “Why don’t we stop talking?” I interrupted, watching my nephew. “It’s ruining the moment.”

  The only other thing Connor said to me was “bye,” nearly an hour later when he and Chris left.

  I pulled my chair alongside Abbie’s bed as she fed Owen.

  She smiled at me, glowing yet drowsy. “Crazy, huh? I have a kid.”

  I relaxed as best as I could in my hard seat, feeling exhaustion settle in. I hadn’t even birthed anyone. “You’re doing great.”

  She glanced at my bruised forehead. “How you feeling?”

  “I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

  “I didn’t collapse on the floor.” Abbie giggled, then grimaced. “Didn’t know I used that muscle when I laughed.” “Serves you right.” I propped my feet on the edge of her bed. “I was just trying to help you.”

  “Guess that’s the end of your nursing career, huh?”

  I considered this. “I probably wouldn’t make a very good one. Back to square one.”

  Abbie gave me a look. “C’mon, Skylar. We all know what you’re going to be.”

  “Let’s talk about that later,” I said.

  She propped Owen up to burp, his wobbly head cupped in her hand. Though only seven pounds and eleven ounces, his burp filled the room. We both giggled. Immature, maybe, but of course we were fifteen and eighteen.

  “Wanna hold him?” Abbie asked.

  I grinned and reached for him. He peered up at me, then his eyes closed as he nestled against me to sleep.

  “Who do you think he looks like?” Abbie asked as she tidied her ponytail. “Chris thinks he looks like me.”

  I ran my finger along Owen’s sheer cheek. “I don’t know.” His face was splotchy and his eyes a strange, colorless gray that the pediatrician promised would change. “Maybe if we had baby pictures of you and Lance, we could tell.”

  Her expression changed, and I regretted mentioning Lance. “How could he not want Owen?” Abbie reached for her son, stroking his mass of hair. “I mean, I’m terrified, but I couldn’t give up knowing him.”

  “Maybe Lance will change his mind.”

  Owen mewed and stretched but didn’t open his eyes.

  “Should he be allowed?” Abbie asked. “It’s not like I’ll be given breaks.”

  “I think the decision’s yours,” I said. “You felt God calling you to raise Owen. He didn’t bring you this far just to abandon you.”

  Abbie kissed Owen’s head before nestling into her pillow. “You’re right. He’ll watch out for us.” She smiled at me. “And for you.”

  As Abbie’s soft breathing turned to snoring, I thought about everything God had brought us through in the last nine months. No, he wouldn’t abandon us now.

  When Mom and Dad returned, they had bagels and juice for both of us.

  “How’s our little guy doing?” Mom asked, stealing Owen f
rom me. “I’m afraid I’ll be worthless to you, Abbie. I don’t know a thing about little boys.”

  Dad dropped a kiss on Abbie’s head. “Feeling okay?”

  She nodded. “They brought me some meds. Peeing is still kind of an adventure—”

  “Oh, Abigail, don’t talk like that.” Mom’s face puckered. “I don’t like that word.”

  Dad smiled. “Peeing?”

  Mom attempted a cross look but couldn’t seem to erase her smile. “Don’t you start too.” Her voice lilted playfully. Abbie and I glanced at each other. It was like spotting a deer in a field. It looked so beautiful, you wanted to call everyone’s attention to it, but of course that could startle it away.

  Abbie apparently decided to risk it. “You two are in a good mood,” she said innocently with a sip of her juice.

  Mom and Dad exchanged a look, as if deciding who should address this. Dad finally said, “We’ve decided to return to counseling.”

  I grinned, and Abbie, in her emotional state, burst into tears.

  Funny how even with everything I’d just lost, the restoration of my family still made it feel like the perfect day.

  27

  Jodi thought it would do us good to “have a little chat,” as she said on my voice mail.

  I disagreed, which is why I dodged her calls that first week of Owen’s life.

  When I returned to school the Monday after he’d been born, avoiding her became impossible, seeing as her locker was next to mine. I found all six of them standing there— Eli, John, Lisa, Alexis, Jodi, and Connor. No one seemed eager to speak.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, making my way to my locker.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, making my “Hey,” they chorused back.

  And that took care of everything I had to say to any of them.

  Jodi leaned against her locker as I spun in my combination. “How’s Owen?”

  “Good.”

  “I called you a couple times.”

  “I called you “I know.”

  “So, you don’t want to talk to me?”

  “So, you don’t want “Basically, no.”

  She sighed. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. For everything.” She glanced over her shoulder at our audience of five. “But I’m kinda glad you didn’t take my calls, because now I can apologize in front of all our friends. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

  “Fine.” I swapped out books as quick as I could. I didn’t need to have this conversation. Especially not with Connor watching. “See ya.”

  “Wait.” Jodi trotted after me, around the corner and away from everyone’s watchful eyes. “Skylar, we’re, like, sisters in Christ now. We should get along.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” I stopped and faced her. “I don’t know what they told you at the retreat, but it doesn’t fix everything overnight. Just like me. I thought accepting God’s plan for my life would make it easier. Most of the time, it’s only made it harder.”

  Jodi chewed on her lip, mussing her carefully applied lipstick. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t really accepted his plan.”

  I blinked at her. “What?”

  She gestured to my outfit—a white oxford shirt and dark rinse jeans. “I don’t know what this is that you’re going through—this weird, plain-clothes phase—but it isn’t you. It isn’t how God created you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the tip,” I said, then stormed away. Like I needed some girl who’d been a Christian for a week telling me how to live my life.

  “You can’t expect your life to change just because you sit through Sunday services,” Jodi called after me, despite the crowded hallway. “You’ve got to give it all to him.”

  “I can’t believe I missed so much while I was gone,” Heather said as she sorted through the clothing racks. “The baby, you and Connor, your parents.”

  “It was a wild couple of weeks.”

  “For you and me both.”

  Heather had spent the last hour of our shopping trip describing her time in Uganda. Many of the stories were about the patients, but most were about Brent.

  She held up several tiny outfits. “I can’t decide. I’m getting all of them.”

  “I know Abbie will appreciate it. Most of what we’d bought had ruffles and bows. Owen wouldn’t care now, but he might later.”

  Heather grinned and tucked the outfits into her basket. “How’s Abbie doing?”

  I hesitated, thinking of the nervous breakdown I’d witnessed that morning. Overnight, Owen had wanted to eat every ninety minutes. “She doesn’t regret keeping him, but . . .”

  “It’s harder than she anticipated?”

  “It’s harder “Yeah.”

  Heather sighed. “Poor Abbie.” She considered the various other baby aisles at Target. “You’re sure she doesn’t need anything but clothes?”

  “Mom and Dad have taken care of everything else. They’re so funny. They’re redoing the nursery and seem so . . . together.” I smiled. “It’d be nauseating if it wasn’t such a relief.”

  “My parents were always real flirtatious.” Heather giggled. “I remember once in high school I had friends over, and they saw Mom and Dad all over each other in the kitchen. I was so embarrassed. Of course now I know to appreciate that my parents like each other.” She glanced around the clothing racks, as if waiting for something else to catch her eye. “You ready to go?”

  “Almost. I need to grab an extra package of cloth diapers.”

  My voice must have broadcast my sadness. Heather cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, just Connor stuff.”

  She followed me through the racks of teeny-tiny clothes to the aisles of baby necessities. “So you guys aren’t talking at all?”

  I shook my head. “He called once, and I asked him not to anymore. He said it was painful not to talk to me, but really it’s painful either way.”

  “Well, it’s a breakup.” Heather studied me. “You seem like you’re doing really well.”

  Did I? I felt rotten. I shrugged. “I guess I’m okay. Until the first time I run into him out on a date with Jodi, that is.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “You’re around all summer?” “Looks like it.” I sighed. My summer in Hawaii was the one casualty of Mom and Dad’s reconciliation. I could probably ask to go stay with Grammy and Papa, but did I really want that? Not with Mom and Dad on the mend. Not with Owen.

  So not only would I be stuck at home in the fall while everyone scattered to their selected schools, I wasn’t even slated to enjoy my summer break.

  “So when do I get to meet Brent?” I asked as we made our way up to the front of the store.

  Heather grinned. “Soon. I wanted him to come to church on Sunday, but he’s working.” She sighed. “I think he might be the one, Skylar.”

  “You deserve it,” I said. That’s why I could handle all her smiling and happiness in the wake of my failed relationship.

  “Ooh, look. Swimsuits are in.” Heather trotted off toward the colorful racks of bikinis. “Let’s go see.”

  I followed her with a sigh. I didn’t need a swimsuit anytime soon. In years past, I’d anxiously awaited the day stores stocked the new suits because spring break always meant a cruise. This year, between Owen’s existence and Mom and Dad’s counseling bills, I assumed my spring break would be spent watching daytime television and changing diapers. Heather plunged into the swimsuit displays, full of comments like, “I like this, but not in a halter . . . Ooh, argyle . . . Do they have this in a color other than yellow?”

  I opened my mouth to point out the green version when my eye caught on something else. “Look,” I said, before realizing it made sense only to me.

  Heather looked. “Cute.”

  I reached to touch it. This wasn’t a dream, right? I was really awake? Because it looked exactly like I’d envisioned— black with large white polka dots, thick ties around the neck. And I thought of Connor’s words in the hospital: “Funny how sometimes G
od prepares us for things without us even realizing it.”

  When I entered my house, baby clothes and the black-and-white swimsuit in the bag dangling from my arm, a wave of concern hit me. I stood there in the doorway trying to put my finger on why. And then I realized.

  Someone was baking chocolate chip cookies.

  I flinched. “Mom?”

  “She’s upstairs, honey.”

  Dad’s voice had never sounded so good.

  In the kitchen, I found him scraping mismatched lumps of dough onto a cookie sheet. I knew next to nothing about baking, but I did know cookies should be the same size so they baked evenly.

  “What are the cookies for?” I asked.

  “They’re your mom’s favorite. I’ve never made them before.” Dad shrugged. “Thought I’d give it a try.”

  The timer sounded. He pulled out a batch and slid the next sheet in.

  I eyed the egg shells on the counter, the mess of measuring cups piled in the sink, the dirty bowl of the rarely used KitchenAid mixer. “You made them from scratch?”

  Dad reddened a bit. “Amy Ross gave me her recipe.” He placed the cookie sheet where I could see. Some were overdone, and some had hardly baked, but a few looked perfect—golden around the edges, still a little doughy in the middle. He beamed same as when he landed new clients. “Not bad for your old man, huh?”

  I forced a smile and took a seat at the bar. “They look great, Dad.”

  “So, what’s wrong?” He scooped one of the cookies off the sheet and dropped it on the counter in front of me.

  “Nothing, I’m just . . . tired. I guess Owen’s not wild about the crib I picked out.”

  Dad squinted at me. “I know you a little better than that, honey. You don’t look tired, you look depressed. Connor?”

  I sighed and broke the cookie in half. “I guess so. He says he just needs some time, but even if he’s interested in being my boyfriend again, I don’t know that I’m interested in taking him back.” I returned the cookie to the counter. I didn’t really feel like eating. Especially that rock. “It’s just so risky, trusting people. I mean, ultimately he’s just going to hurt me again, right?”

  Now Dad sighed. “I guess your mom and I are to blame for your cynical view of things.” He covered my little hands with his large ones. “There are few things I can guarantee you, Skylar. One is that this won’t be the last time someone hurts you. And it’s probably not the worst you’ll get hurt either.”