by Elle Casey
I rub my belly absently. “Oh, yes I do. Believe me.”
She grins. “Oh. I guess you do. That’s cool.”
I glance at her ring finger. It’s empty like mine.
Catching me staring, she holds up her left hand. “Nope, not married, in case you were wondering.”
My face flames red. “Sorry.”
She waves off my embarrassment. “Don’t apologize. I’m an open book. My name is Charity, I’m sixteen, I’m not married and I do not want to be. What’s your deal?” She dives into her french fries with gusto, holding up the greasy packet towards me.
I shake my head at her offer, but surprise myself as I answer. “My name is Alissa, I’m twenty-one, I’m definitely not married nor do I want to be.” I smile a little, moving past my embarrassment. “And I’m almost eight months pregnant and cannot wait to be not pregnant.”
“Boy or girl?” she asks.
“Girl.”
“I’m having a boy.”
My next question flies out of my mouth. “What are you going to do? After he’s born, I mean?” I can’t believe I’ve asked such a personal question, but I’m dying to know the answer. Maybe she’ll have ideas about what I should do once my baby is born, because so far I’ve come up with nothing.
“Go back to high school. I’m putting him up for adoption.”
My jaw drops open.
She looks at me and stops eating. “What? You against that kind of thing?”
I shake my head briskly. “No, no, of course not. I mean, I don’t know if I could do it personally, but I’m definitely not against it. There are tons of people out there looking for babies to adopt and love.” The lady from the grocery store comes to mind. I can still see her standing there with tears on her cheeks as her hands rest on my belly. I imagine that I can almost feel the warm spots she left still there, handprints of desperate love.
Charity shrugs. “I’m too young and poor as dirt. I need to finish high school and then go to college before I can do a good job as a mom. I live with my grandpa and we don’t have the money to raise a baby right.” She sighs as she throws the rest of her fries in the box that her meal came in. “Sucks to learn lessons the hard way.”
I nod. Sucks doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m jealous that she at least knows what she’s going to do.
“Have you picked out a family yet?” I ask.
“Nope. I haven’t even started. Isn’t that crazy?” She smiles at me, but it’s not a very happy expression this time. “I know this is what I want to do, but every time I think about it, I see a report on the news about some couple abusing a kid and I worry that will happen with my baby, you know? I mean, how do you know they’re good people? ‘Cause you can’t take the baby back. Once it’s done, it’s done.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess you get to know them a little first.” I watch her bag up her garbage, wanting to help her solve her problem. I can’t solve my own but maybe I can do something worthwhile for someone else. “They have agencies and stuff, right? People who want to adopt are checked out and fingerprinted and stuff.”
“Yeah, probably. And I see ads online and on billboards and stuff from people who want a baby really bad. I don’t know. I feel like …” She stops and looks down at the table. She seems embarrassed.
“Like what?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It’s silly.”
“Tell me.” I smile to encourage her. I really want to know what she’s thinking, which is rare these days. Usually I want people to stop sharing with me and just leave me alone.
“I feel like I’m going to meet the right person and have a feeling, you know? Like God will lead me to her or him and then I’ll just know.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.” I used to know what she means, actually, but I’m not going to burst her bubble and say that out loud. I used to believe in magic and true love and everything working out for people who try hard and trust in the process. Now I know better. But she’s young and she seems smart, so maybe things can work out differently for her. Just because my life dreams turned into nightmares, it doesn’t mean everyone’s have to.
“I met a really nice lady today who wants to adopt,” I say, trying to drag my brain out of the unhappy place it’s straying into.
“Really? But I thought you said you weren’t going to do that?”
“Oh, it wasn’t because I was looking for that. I was just at the grocery store.”
“They have adoption meetings there?” She folds her straw wrapper into tiny squares as she waits for my explanation.
I laugh. “No, no, nothing like that. I was just in the tampon aisle and she commented how I shouldn’t need those in my condition and we started talking. She felt the baby move and nearly had an emotional breakdown.”
“Oh, that’s rough.”
“Yeah. It was really sad. She said that she and her husband have been trying for years to have a baby but it just wasn’t going to happen.” I shrug as my mind travels down memory lane, seeing her face again and her perfect hairband. I don’t know why, but that really spoke to me, the way she wore her hair like mothers did fifty years ago. She was so conservative but so open at the same time. “She really, really wanted to be a mom. And I got the idea that she’d make a good one, you know?”
“Yeah. Sometimes ladies just give off a vibe,” Charity says. “Like soccer mom stuff going on with a mini-van and stuff.”
I point at her in my excitement. “She totally had a mini-van!”
“Seriously?” Charity laughs with me. “That’s funny. You should have gotten her number. I could call her up.”
An idea begins to form in my mind. “I didn’t get her number or even her name. But I do know where she shops.” I shrug again, suddenly shy and feeling silly. “I mean, if you’re serious about maybe meeting someone to adopt your baby.”
Charity picks up a french fry that fell out of its bag and takes a small bite, slowly chewing on it as she thinks. “Well … I am almost ready to pop. I should probably find someone before the baby is born.”
“I think that’s probably best,” I say.
“And I did say to myself that I would trust God to put the right person in my path. And here you are having a hamburger when I’m having a hamburger.”
I smile weakly. “Actually I’m just having an ice water, but I’m here, right?”
“Exactly. You didn’t even want to eat anything, and yet here you are.” She smiles. “I’m kind of excited about this.”
“I am too.” A spark inside me flames up a little. I feel energized, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t want to go take a two-month nap after taking a walk.
“You need to give me your number.” She pulls out her cell phone and stops, her thumb poised over the keys.
“I don’t have one. I had to give it up when I ran out of money.” I want to shrivel up at that admission. I’ve told everyone else I don’t have one because the radiation isn’t good for the baby.
“You have a friend with a phone though, right?”
Movement outside the window catches my attention. Colin is walking up the sidewalk, staring at me through the glass.
“Yes. I have a friend with a phone.” I pray Colin won’t mind being an adoption hotline for a few weeks. “He’s right there.”
Charity looks to where I’m pointing. Her voice goes all soft. “Well, no wonder you aren’t giving your baby up.” She looks at me. “Girl, are you brain damaged or something?”
“What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Marry that man. Marry him today.” She looks back at him. “Mmm-mmm-mmm, I don’t even like white guys in general, but he is too fine.”
I laugh. “And he’s deathly afraid of pregnant girls, so don’t look him in the eye when he comes in or he’s likely to run the other direction. And he’s not the father of my child either, so … yeah…”
He opens the door and comes right for us.
“Lordy, lordy. You need t
o put some make-up on or something, catch you a husband.” Charity finishes giving me advice just as he walks up.
“You okay?” he asks me, barely sparing a glance for Charity.
“Yes.” I act like it’s no big deal that he tracked me down to check on me. I’m sure he thinks nothing of it. Who cares that my heart is racing a mile a minute? My heart is stupid and doesn’t know any better. “Can I use your phone for a minute?” I hold out my hand.
He pulls it out of his front pocket and hands it to me without a word.
“Here,” I say, giving it to Charity. “Call yourself and log in the numbers.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says, taking the phone from me and grinning.
“What’s up?” Colin asks as Charity does her thing. He’s looking at her now, watching as she works with his phone.
“This is Charity. She and I are going to stalk a grocery store together.”
Colin stares at me for a long time, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are dark, so I know he’s not happy. He’s really, really good-looking when he’s cranky. Now that I think about it … when is he ugly? That’s an easy question to answer: Never. Never ever.
Charity gives him his phone back. “There you go. You can find me under Charity.” She winks at him.
He gives her a small smile, which he knows very well is designed to melt hearts.
“Damn, boy. You’re good.” She grins at him and then at me. “Welp, I have to go to class. I’ll call you later.”
“Class? You’re still in school?” I ask. I check my watch; it’s after four o’clock.
“Yeah. I have night school. That’s where they hide all the pregnant girls.” She stands. “You know, because pregnancy is contagious.” She says the last word right by Colin’s ear as she’s leaving the table with her tray of garbage.
He moves to the side a little, almost as if he believes her.
I can’t help but laugh.
“What just happened in here?” he asks, looking warily at her back as she waddles off.
I stand up and brush invisible crumbs off my clothes. “I just made a friend and started an adoption agency.”
He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. It surprises me so much, I fall sideways. The only thing keeping me from hitting the ground is his solid chest.
“Hey!”
“You’re not giving your baby up for adoption!” he says loudly right at my face.
I get back solidly on my feet and jerk my arm from his grasp. “That’s none of your business, Colin!”
He glares at me and I glare right back, both of us oblivious to anyone who might be watching.
“I’m not kidding,” he says in a much quieter voice.
“Me neither. Now get out of my way.” I try to push him, but it’s about as effective as me trying to move one of the bolted-down tables.
“Did you eat?” he asks.
I’m taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. Anger is replaced by confusion. “What?”
“Did you eat?” His jaw is tense and his eyes full of fire. I’m melting under the heat.
I look down at my empty cup. “Kind of.”
He follows my gaze and then his expression softens just the smallest bit. “Ice water doesn’t count.”
“Fine.” I lift my chin. “I didn’t eat, then.”
“Stay here.” He leaves me at the table and walks over to the counter.
I’m tempted to abandon ship and walk back to Rebel Wheels. I’m measuring my odds of escape and success when Colin turns around and talks loudly so I’ll hear him across the restaurant.
“Just so you know, Teagan just made cranberry bran muffins.”
I sit down, knowing I’m defeated. The only way I’m going to get out of taste-testing one of those monstrosities is to be able to say I’m too full from the lunch Colin bought me.
Colin: 1
Me: 0
CHAPTER FIVE
THE BURGER AND FRIES COLIN delivers to me are surprisingly easy to eat. Normally I’d have to choke down any food from a place like this, but for some reason today my appetite is back. It’s been missing for several months.
“I’m going to have to take you here more often,” Colin says, taking a sip of his drink as he watches me over the lid.
“Ew, why? This place is horrible.” I eat three fries at a time. I can’t seem to keep from shoving them into my face. My manners have abandoned me, and I just don’t care enough right now to do anything about it.
“Because, it’s the only time I’ve actually seen you eat anything. Maybe you need sodium or something. I know you need some fat.” He looks down at my legs under the table.
I pull my feet in closer, sliding them as far under the seat as I can. “You must be joking. My legs are like sausages.”
“You’re too skinny,” he says.
My face heats up and I drop the fry I was about to inhale.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, putting his drink down.
“I don’t know if you’re mocking me or being serious.” His comment makes me want to cry. Either option is completely terrible.
“I’m dead serious. You hardly eat. You’re supposed to be eating for two or whatever.” He picks up one of my fries that fell out of the bag and throws it into his mouth.
“I eat plenty. And if I keep eating too much I’m going to weigh two hundred pounds after the baby’s born.”
“So? Curves are good.”
As a girl who’s been battling the booty bulge for most of her life, this does not compute. I roll my eyes. “Please. Spare me.” This is crap guys say to girls just to make them feel better about being fat. He’s not fooling me one bit.
“I’m serious. No guy wants to be with a stick figure.”
“Lie. All guys want to be with a stick figure. Just look at the magazines and movies and TV shows.” I throw the rest of the burger down onto my tray. Even the simple idea of my big old butt makes me lose my appetite. I stopped looking at it in the mirror months ago, but my memory of it is still very clear.
He shakes his head, like he pities me.
“What?” I say, annoyed.
“You girls … so clueless. TV shows and magazines put those chicks on there for you girls, not for us guys. Give me a girl with some meat on her bones any day of the week and I’ll be a happy camper.”
I huff out a breath of annoyance. “Colin, I have news for you. Just because you have that face of yours and all that, it doesn’t mean you can just say what you want, when you want, to whomever you want, okay? There’s such a thing in the world as manners. You should learn some and use them.” I start balling up my garbage, annoyed that he’s forced me to lecture him. I don’t even know that my lecture made sense. He gets me all messed up in the head when he starts looking at me like that.
“I have manners.”
It irks me that he’s not at all put off by my admonishments. He really is nervy the way he just sits there and smiles all sexy-time at me. He knows way too much about how to charm women; it’s downright annoying to be manipulated like that. Women with meat on their bones. As if.
I can’t let it go. “Really? You have manners? Because I haven’t seen any.” I work to get the bun out of my teeth without anyone noticing. My tongue is doing gymnastics inside my mouth, acting as a sorry excuse for a toothpick.
“I bought you lunch.”
“That’s not manners. That’s pity.”
“I open doors for you.”
“No, you don’t. Not all the time.”
“Anytime you don’t beat me to the punch.”
I have to stop and think about that. Does he open doors for me? I can’t recall if he does or not. Maybe a couple times he has. I’ll have to pay better attention.
I continue my laundry list of his faults. It’s making me feel better about chastising him when I might have been just a little wrong. “You swear. A lot. And you fight. That’s zero manners right there.”
He shrugs. “Lots of people swear. They’re just words.�
��
“Words designed to incite anger and reactions.” I nod in triumph.
“All words are designed to incite something. Emotions are good. Being dead inside isn’t.”
My nostrils flare as I glare at him. He should be just lying down and letting me win this argument. He knows I’m right. “Cuss words are there to add anger and filth to language. They are the ignoramus’s excuse for not being better-read.”
He laughs. He actually has the nerve to laugh at me.
“You’re insufferable,” I say, throwing down my paper napkin and standing.
“Where are you going?” he asks, still smiling his stupid face off.
“I’m leaving, you … you … turkey!”
He’s walking behind me. I can hear his footsteps. “You just cussed at me,” he says. “That’s not very good manners, you know. I have it on good authority. You’re inciting anger.”
I don’t even look back at him. He’s too ridiculous. “Turkey is not a cuss word.”
“When you use it as a derogatory term it becomes one. I don’t particularly like being compared to a flightless bird raised solely for the purpose of making your Thanksgiving table look more festive and delicious.”
I will not respond. Mostly because he’s too annoying and I don’t want to encourage him but also because I feel a little bad that I called him that name. Sure, it’s just a bird I eat at Thanksgiving, but I did kind of use it in a bad way. Grrr, I hate that he’s twisting everything around and making it seem wrong.
“So what’s this about adoption?” he asks, pulling even with me as I try to walk down the sidewalk. I hate that my belly is so big my legs won’t work right. I feel like a flightless bird waddling down the street the way I lurch from side to side and have to point my toes out. My hips just do not want to function like they used to.
“None of your beeswax.” I try to say it without the breathlessness that’s arising out of my fast pace and the heat of the day.
“Maybe not, but I’d still like to know.”
“Too bad.”
He puts his hand on my arm, making me stop. I turn to face him, ready to blast him for manhandling me, but the expression on his face makes it impossible.
