If I Tell

by Janet Gurtler

  “What’s this?” Grandma asked, glancing at Simon and then back at my mom.

  Mom leaned back against the couch. “Open it.”

  I shoved more cinnamon bun in my mouth.

  Grandma squealed when she looked inside the box. “This isn’t jewelry.” She pulled out a pregnancy test with a bright blue positive sign in the square in the middle.

  I stuck my tongue out, disgusted. “Gross. She peed on that thing.”

  Grandma chuckled. “I’m going to be a grandma!” She squealed and wrapped her arms around Mom. For the first time in years I witnessed them hugging. Grandma broke away and turned to me, her eyes moist with tears. “Did you know about this? I can’t believe you kept a secret! You’re terrible at secrets.”

  “I am not.” I glared at Simon, but he was grinning so I looked back at Grandma.

  Grandma put the pregnancy test back in the box and brought it to her chest. “You’ll be a big sister.” She was cuddling the pee stick.

  “Lucky me.” I looked down and noticed a tiny hole in the big toe of my sock.

  “Jaz.” I glanced up. Grandma’s eyebrows were knit together tight. “That was rude.” She turned to Simon. “So when is the big day?”

  “Hello? We’re not getting married,” Mom said.

  “I meant the due date,” Grandma said and swatted at her knee. “When have you ever done things in the right order?”

  Mom laughed, and the three of them all started talking at the same time.

  “Hey Jaz, the baby’s due two days after my twenty-eighth birthday. How cool a present is that?” Simon called to me. “I phoned my dad with the news, and he’s flying across the pond a few months after the baby’s born.”

  As if I should still care. Simon’s dad moved to England years ago when he split with Simon’s mom. I knew Simon would be pumped about seeing him again, but I hardened my heart, trying not to think about our long talks about absent fathers. I didn’t want to care about Simon or his life anymore.

  I imagined myself standing up and pointing an accusing finger at Simon. Not cool at all, you two-timing freak. How far did you go after I saw you making out with Lacey? Did you get her pregnant too?

  I pictured Grandma smashing her good china on Simon’s head. I swallowed the permanent wedge in my throat and added an image of my mom collapsing on the floor in a ladylike faint to my fantasy. But then I imagined her grabbing her stomach. Losing the baby.

  “Jasmine?” Grandma said.

  I glanced up.

  “This is great news, isn’t it?” Grandma spoke in a soft voice that told me she suspected something.

  “Clearly much happier than it was seventeen years ago when she made the same announcement,” I said and stood, almost knocking the plate of cinnamon buns off the table with my knee. “I have to get going.” If I stayed another moment, I’d burst into tears. Or spill the secret. And I didn’t want to do either.

  “Jasmine,” Mom and Grandma said at the same time with equal unhappiness in their voices. I had the urge to yell, “Jinx. You owe me a beer,” at them.

  “Where do you have to go right now?” The wrinkles on Grandma’s face deepened as she stared up at me. “This is a celebration.”

  I started coughing and couldn’t stop.

  When I got myself under control, I saw a look pass between Simon and Mom as if they felt sorry for me. As if I was acting like a jerk because I was jealous of their baby or something. As if I was the one doing something wrong.

  “I have to work.” True. Even if it wasn’t for an hour.

  I ran from the living room and raced upstairs to change into my work stuff and grab my guitar. I hurried back down with my guitar case slung over my shoulder.

  “Can I use Grandpa’s car to go to work?” I called to Grandma in the living room. I didn’t drive it often because I was afraid of getting in an accident and ruining our only connection to him. Funny that Grandpa had been gone so long, but it was still his car. It always would be. It even had the faint smell of him lingering in the cloth seats.

  “Why’re you taking your guitar to work?” Grandma yelled.

  “I’ll be jamming after work. At Lacey’s,” I lied. That was the last place I’d go, but I’d find somewhere to play.

  “Fine. Drive carefully.”

  I went to the front door to grab the key off the hook where Grandma kept it.

  “She’s the one acting like a baby,” I heard Grandma say as the door banged behind me. “But she’ll get used to the idea. It’ll grow on her.”

  I had the urge to sit down on the front lawn and cry. Simon had gotten drunk and made out with my best friend while my pregnant mom waited at home.

  But I was the one who got to be the bad guy. And keep his secret.

  chapter three

  I rushed through the parking lot of Grinds, wiping my clammy hands on my pants. I only had two minutes to spare before my shift started. I’d gone for a long drive to try to clear my messed-up thoughts. Hurrying inside, I slipped through the employee entrance and clocked in.

  A long line of impatient customers swirled around the café. Lacey looked up from the cash register, her eyes staring right into mine, before turning back to a woman in line. I blew out a breath of relief that she was too busy to talk, pulled my blue apron off a hook, and joined Amber in the Pit. I didn’t deal with customers most shifts. Amber knew that wasn’t my forte.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. It’s crazy.” Amber squirted caramel in a decorative flower pattern on top of a mug of foam. “Some convention across the street. They all want their coffee yesterday.”

  Lacey called out coffee orders while Amber and I slipped into a busy but comfortable groove. The rush lasted for almost an hour. As soon as it ended, Amber said she was heading into the office to do paperwork.

  “How come you hired Jackson Morgan?” I asked as Amber pulled off her apron and smoothed out her whiskey-colored hair. I kind of hoped she’d tell me more about him. How he ended up working at Grinds. What his favorite color was. If he was into girls like me.

  “You have a problem with him?” She folded her apron into a square.

  My cheeks burned. “No, of course not. He just doesn’t seem, I don’t know, like the coffee-shop type.” I rubbed at my guitar charm and glanced out into the café.

  “There is no type, honey. Do you know how hard it is to get part-time workers these days? Unless he’s not doing his job or he’s stealing from me, he’s more than welcome to work here. He’s a good kid.”

  “That’s probably not what his parole officer says,” I mumbled, and my cheeks flamed again. By trying to hide my interest, I sounded like a jerk.

  “Hey.” Amber smacked my arm lightly. “You of all people don’t strike me as the judgmental type.” She gave me a dirty look before slipping out of the work area and heading for her office at the back of the shop.

  I made a face at her back but avoided looking toward the cash register, where I felt Lacey’s presence in the pit of my stomach. I kept busy fetching milk from the cooler, filling steel carafes, topping up mixes, and cleaning up spills.

  Inevitably Lacey sauntered over to the Pit and stood still, just staring at me. I ignored her.

  “So, how’s it going?” she finally asked.

  “Fine.” I wished there was a mute button I could press to keep her from saying more.

  “You going to stay mad at me forever?” she asked.

  I scrubbed the counter like I was sanding Grandma’s old furniture. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lacey jut her hip out. She blew a bubble with her gum and breathed out until it popped.

  “I’m sorry. I mean…about what happened,” she said. “We were both really drunk.”

  I scrubbed harder, concentrating on the counter and not making eye contact with her. “You weren’t too drunk to know it was Simon.”

  She shifted from one foot to another. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.”

  I willed her not to say anything more. The le
ss I knew, the better.

  “This is really awkward,” she said.

  “You could say that.” A surge of anger hit me, and I glanced straight at her. “How could you do that? Simon, Lacey. It was Simon.”

  “I was drunk, Jaz. It was stupid.”

  “Drunk is always your excuse.”

  Lacey didn’t speak for a moment. “Ouch,” she finally said and lifted a hand and studied her nails. “I didn’t mean to get that drunk. I feel terrible.”

  I sighed. Didn’t she get it? Simon was almost family. Last year when some kid at the mall called me an Oreo, it was Simon I went to. He was the only person I could talk to about things like that.

  “You’re a strong, beautiful girl with talent and smarts,” Simon had said when I told him. “Not a cookie.” He’d rubbed the top of my head. “No one can take away who you are inside or out. Don’t let other people make you feel bad about who you are.”

  I’d dropped my head. “I look black on the outside. But I’m not.”

  “You are black,” Simon said, standing straighter. “And that’s something to be proud of.”

  I couldn’t look at Simon. I didn’t feel like I shared or deserved that heritage. That pride in being black. I wasn’t the real thing, one way or the other.

  Simon had moved closer and put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Our people fought for equality and respect for hundreds of years. You’re up for this. You don’t have to earn it, Jaz.”

  But I wasn’t sure. Not then or now.

  “Jazzy?” Lacey said.

  I glared at her. After standing up for me, after being part of my family for so long, Simon had ruined it. Lacey had ruined it with him.

  Lacey must have read my expression because her eyes filled with tears. She rubbed them, smudging her black eyeliner.

  “You know how I get. It didn’t mean anything. You know that, right? Can you forgive me? Please?”

  I glanced away, not able to stand the sight of her. I did know how she got. How many times had I told her she shouldn’t get trashed and make out with random dudes? How often had I stood by her while she dealt with the morning-after remorse?

  “We’re talking about my mom’s boyfriend. It’s not like you got a stain on my favorite shirt or something. I can’t just make it go away.”

  “I know. I really hate myself, if that makes you feel better.” She chewed a fake fingernail and then wiped under her eyes, smearing her makeup even more. “How can I make you forgive me?”

  That was my cue to tell her that it was okay. That she shouldn’t drink so much. Give her a pep talk. “There’s not a lot you can do.”

  She sucked in a quick breath and sniffled. “I can’t lose you over this, Jaz. You’re the only person who accepts me for who I am.”

  I stood straighter; I wouldn’t let her talk her way out. Not from this.

  “Does Simon know I saw you?”

  Lacey’s hair flitted back and forth over her shoulder as she shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t say anything about it.”

  “And you swear there’s nothing going on between you two now?” I didn’t ask how far it had gone. I didn’t want to know. Even though I did.

  “Of course not. I swear. I promise. Nothing.”

  I turned from her and went back to scrubbing the counter.

  “Don’t hate me, okay?” she begged.

  But at that minute, I did. Hatred filled me. There was blackness in my heart for my messed-up best friend who, even with her crooked lipstick and smeared eyes, managed to look vulnerable and sad instead of cheap and slutty.

  Lacey grabbed my hand as I continued my psycho scrubbing. “You’re not going to tell your mom, are you? She’d totally hate me, and I really love your mom.”

  “You have a really messed-up way of showing people you love them.” I crossed my arms and glanced over to the cash register as two customers bustled up to the order area chatting about caffeine cravings.

  Lacey patted my arm. Her mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. “Don’t write a song about it either, okay?”

  I watched her walk away to take orders and wondered how she was going to react to the news that my mom was pregnant with Simon’s baby. I hoped it made her feel much, much worse about what she’d done. I wanted her to bleed a little inside.

  The customers ordered plain coffee, so Lacey strolled back to my work area. She leaned against the sink, watching me pour coffee into Grinds mugs.

  I put the drinks on the counter, and when I turned back, Lacey pirouetted for me. “Do you like my new work shirt?” The white shirt dipped so low that the lace of her frilly bra showed.

  Was she kidding? Her expression drooped when I didn’t give her a compliment. Did she think all was forgiven that easily?

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Look, my shift is over. I gotta go.” I turned.

  “Call me soon, okay?” she said.

  I didn’t answer her as I headed for the time clock. Lacey was my best friend, but my mom was my mom. Even if our relationship wasn’t exactly conventional.

  I had to make sure it never happened again.

  “Lacey?” I called as she made her way back to the cash area. She glanced back at me.

  “My mom’s pregnant,” I said in a flat voice. “Simon’s going to be a father.”

  We looked each other straight in the eyes. “Don’t ever tell anyone what happened, okay?”

  Lacey’s eyes opened wider, and her face seemed to get paler. “Oh. God. I’m so sorry.” Her hand went up to cover her mouth.

  I shook my head, not wanting to hear more. “Just don’t say anything, okay?”

  “Not a soul.” Lacey made an X across her chest and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She’ll never ever know.”

  ***

  My calloused left fingers pressed the spaces between the frets on my guitar, and I strummed the wire strings with the other hand. Strumming is the true act of playing guitar. The hardened tips of my fingers felt soothed. The itchy cravings I had when I wasn’t playing were gone. I softly sang the words to Neil Diamond’s “I Am…I Said.”

  In my mind, I remembered Grandpa accompanying me with his beautiful aching voice. He’d taught me the song as a duet to be ironic, he said. His sense of humor drove Grandma crazy. A tear formed in the corner of my eye, and I let it plop down my cheek without stopping to wipe it away.

  Someone cleared his throat.

  Embarrassed, I dropped my fingers from the strings and looked up. I’d almost forgotten I wasn’t alone in the privacy of my room. Not wanting to go home after my shift, I’d walked to the park behind Grinds and propped myself up on top of a picnic bench. This time of the year, the park was abandoned, so I’d laid my guitar case out beside me and gotten lost in my own music.

  Jackson took a step forward and, with a serious expression, reached into his back pocket and threw a bill inside my case. It was a twenty.

  A tiny smile replaced the ache in my heart. “I’m not busking,” I told him. “I don’t want money.”

  “I honestly felt like I should pay for that. You’re really good.”

  I was trying to think of a response when his cell started ringing from his jacket pocket. He lifted his finger to tell me to hang on and then started digging around. “Just a sec.”

  He pulled out his phone.

  “Hello?” he said. He paused and turned away from me. “Yeah. I already told you. I’ll get you your stuff.”

  I stared at his back, noticing the nice round shape of his butt in his jeans, but I shook my head. Was he doing a drug deal right in front of me? I didn’t know whether to laugh or get up and stomp away. I decided it wasn’t my business and tried not to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. A gust of wind had started to chill me, so I tucked my hands under my butt to warm my fingers.

  “Sorry,” he said after he’d hung up. “Unpleasant business.”

  I shrugged, trying to pretend I didn’t know what he was up to. I pulled my guita
r strap over my head and off my shoulder, then reached inside my guitar case and took out his twenty.

  “I wish I could sing like you,” he said.

  I held out the money to him. “I’m not that good.”

  He pulled his hands back to avoid the bill. “Uh. Yeah, you are.”

  “I’m not taking your money.” I frowned. “Seriously.”

  “I like to support the arts,” he said.

  I tried to shove the money at him, but he backed away, laughing.

  “I’m not the arts. I play for me. I don’t want money for my music.” I waved the money at him, wanting to get it out of my hand.

  “Everyone wants money. It’s called dough because we all ‘knead’ it.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

  I frowned at the cash in my fingers, holding it like it was tainting my fingers. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Whoa. Definitely not fun making. If it fouls your mood that much, give me the money back. I just wanted you to know I admired your skills.” He held out his hand.

  I thrust the twenty inside his hand. “I don’t want your money.”

  “All the better for me. I like free stuff,” he said cheerfully. He folded the twenty and tucked it in his back pocket.

  “Hey, what’s the difference between a guitar and a fish?” he asked.

  My eyebrows pressed together with my frown.

  “You can tune a guitar but you can’t tuna fish.” He grinned, and his smile was so ridiculous but infectious that the tight ball inside me relaxed a little. “Come on, Jaz. Don’t tell me I can’t even make you smile at a joke that bad. ”

  I shook my head and stared at him for a minute, trying to figure him out. He stared back. “You’re not like other boys in Tadita,” I told him. The wind gusted again and whipped his hair around. I zipped my jacket all the way up under my chin, wishing I’d brought a scarf.

  “And for that observation, I’m sure they would thank you,” he said.

  I smiled, and he pointed at my mouth and grinned. “Look! You smiled.”