“A counselor? The Teen Clinic?” She crossed her arms on top of the purse like it was Sign Language for “over my dead body.”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m seeing someone who knows about stuff like this, you know, about being pregnant and being a teenager and all,” I tried to say very casually. “It’s just, um, it’s just...” I stopped and looked down at my feet.
I had been so nervous all morning, thinking about the very moment I would step into the clinic. Who would be there? What would they say to me? What did they expect me to say? But it had never crossed my mind that I would feel even more nervous because of Miss T. I leaned back in my seat and looked at her. I had never seen her remotely angry before. Why hadn’t I just told her instead of just dragging her along? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid me.
“It’s just a little meeting and I—”
“—No, it’s not just a little meeting,” she said, cutting me off. “Don’t you think Abby, your mother, would liked to have come along?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I feel like I’m going behind her back here.” She looked out the front window and took a deep breath. I did the same. The mail guy had parked right in front of the teen center. He got out and headed for the entrance, carrying a heavy bag of letters—probably a stack of sad, teenage mom letters.
“I need to do this without her.” I looked at Miss T. “Remember what I said yesterday? I need some time? I need to know my options here before I talk with Mom and Dad. And I need you, Miss T. I really need you right now,” I said, feeling the tears in the back of my throat. I took a deep breath. I had promised myself I wasn’t going to cry.
“Options?” She leaned over, finally letting go of the strong wrestling position.
“Yes. Please, Miss T, can we just go? It’s tough enough to come here as it is. I don’t need you to... I promise I will tell them. I just need to do this first. And I would really like you to come with me, okay?”
She grabbed something from her purse and looked at me and smiled. “You’re right. We already talked about this. I’ll be right out. Just give me a minute, dear.”
I leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “Thanks, Miss T. You don’t know how much that means to me,” I said as I stepped out of the car. I looked at my phone. Almost two. “Are you coming, Miss T?” I knocked on the hood.
“Coming, coming,” she said as she leaned over and put on a fresh coat of lipstick.
THE FIRST THING I NOTICED when I stepped into the building was that peculiar-yet-familiar odor of public buildings, of old moldy paper. I guess being pregnant didn’t help.
“Oh, do you smell it?” Miss T pinched me in my arm. “The public air,” she said and took in a deep breath. I nodded. “It sure reminds me of my father. He worked as an accountant for over forty years, and he always came home smelling like that. It kind of feels like home.” She took in another deep breath and smiled.
“It kinda feels like puking,” I said, but not out loud.
We checked in with the nice-looking woman by the front desk and were told to go to waiting room—a huge orange room with small round blue tables and miniature yellow chairs.
“Delightful,” Miss T announced and clapped her hands together. She pulled out one of the miniature chairs and sat down, tapping her fingers on the bright blue table. Of course, it almost looked like a normal-sized chair with her sitting on it. She looked up and smiled. It was like it was made for her, the tiny furniture in happy colors. “Ah, look!” She pointed at something behind my back, “Kids’ art,” she said.
I turned around. An entire wall had been dedicated to tiny colorful paintings. “Miss Alicia’s kindergarten class,” I read out loud. “How old are you in kindergarten, Miss T?”
“Between five and six.”
“Whoa. These are very good. Watercolors?” I turned around, facing her.
“I would think. Kids that age love to paint.” She looked up at the paintings again and smiled with a distant look in her eyes. Maybe she was remembering how, year after year, she would help all the kids staple their art to the classroom walls, or maybe she was remembering the mess they would make, painting their art in the first place, or maybe she was remembering the looks on their faces as they saw their paintings exposed all over the wall.
“I had no idea kids could actually paint anything besides doodles in this age group.” I looked at a painting by “Dylan K.” He had created what appeared to be a train attached to a big dragon. The whole canvas was orange, almost disappearing into the orange wall.
Miss T nodded. “Well, you know Mozart.” She smiled.
“Mozart? Did he paint too?”
“No, I mean think of Mozart. He composed at the age of five.”
“Yeah, and then he died at the age of what? Thirty?”
“Thirty-five. Poor thing.”
Someone called out my name—instantly making me forget all about Mozart, instantly making me remember why we were here. “That’s us,” I said, my nerves resurfacing.
“Us?” Miss T looked at me and raised her painted eyebrows.
“Yes, Eleanor Jensen. Me. Us.”
“Oh,” she said with a giggle. “I almost forgot your real name. Eleanor,” she said spelling it out loud. “It’s such a sophisticated name.”
An extremely tall woman with big strong arms and an overwhelming frizzy hairdo gestured for us to proceed down the hallway to the left. Halfway there, she stopped us and pointed at Miss T as if to say, “Who’s the midget?”
I grabbed the midget’s hand and looked up. “It’s okay. She’s with me,” I said and almost added, “Hulk,” but I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled.
“I’m her grandmother,” Miss T said, lying perfectly.
“Yes, she’s my grandmother,” I agreed.
The super tall woman nodded toward the hallway and held up four fingers and pointed to the floor, still not saying a word. Miss T and I both looked down. A long line of yellow tape divided the hallway floor.
“Um, just follow the yellow brick road to door number four?” I said, trying hard not to laugh. Why was I laughing at a time like this?
Miss T squeezed my hand and started giggling behind my back. The tall one didn’t say a word. She just nodded and left.
So, hand in hand, we followed the yellow brick road and knocked on door number four. After a second knock, we heard someone say the magic words, and I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.
THE WOMAN BEHIND THE desk was outstandingly beautiful. She looked like one of those flawless pageant queens, without half a pound of makeup, without the glitter and gold, without the tiara. I just couldn’t help staring at her.
“Welcome,” she said with a friendly face and a smile. She was beautiful and nice. Huh! “You must be Eleanor, and you are?” She offered her hand to Miss T.
“Grandmother,” we both said a little too fast.
“Well, sit down both of you, Eleanor and Grandma?”
“Granny T,” I added, enjoying the lie a bit too much.
“Grandma Charlotte,” Miss T said, almost at the same time.
“Well, Ella and Granny Grandma Charlotte T,” she said, looking at Miss T like she knew. “Welcome to the clinic.”
She introduced herself and gave us a brief introduction to how the Teen Center worked and how they helped teenagers with all kinds of problems—pregnancies in particular. When she was done with all the formalities, she leaned back in her chair and looked at me. “So, Eleanor, have you already thought about how you want to proceed with this pregnancy?”
I looked at Miss T for help, but obviously she wasn’t paying any attention to what had been said; she just sat there, staring into her lap, looking all pale and uncomfortable, and that’s when I realized what I had done to her. Not only had she spent the entire day before with me on Mount Rainer and in some smelly public restroom, me panicking and out of air, and on top of that a six-hour drive. Now, I had dragged her along because I needed a friend, not thinking for one second about how she felt about all of this. S
he wasn’t exactly seventeen anymore and given her own history of struggling with infertility pretty much half her life, maybe this was more than she could take?
“You okay?” I whispered. I moved closer and grabbed her tiny hand. It was dead cold.
She looked up and forced a smile. Her face was so pale and fragile in the late afternoon light.
Suddenly Miss Universe got up from her chair and cleared her throat. “Oh, how rude of me. I totally forgot to offer you something to drink. Would you care for some water, coffee, tea?” She looked at me and nodded toward Miss T. “Grandma Charlotte T?” she asked with a soft voice.
“Water, please,” Miss T said with a raspy voice.
“Me too.” I nodded.
As soon as Miss Universe closed the door behind her, I started to explain myself to poor Miss T who looked like she was about to faint. “I’m so sorry I never told you where we were going. It was so rude of me. I guess I was just so nervous coming here. You know, sometimes when you say things out loud, they become real, right? I guess I was just trying to make it, like, not real. Like make it go away. Can you ever forgive me? Forgive me for just dragging you along?”
Miss T placed her cold little hand on top of mine and smiled. “It’s all good, dear. I’m just a little dehydrated is all. With all the commotion going on, I must have forgotten to drink my usual big glass of water this morning. It always makes me a little dizzy. Water is what keeps the clock ticking, you know.” She made a tiny fist and banged it lightly against her heart.
I nodded. “I know. And for the record, it’s not what you think, Miss T. I mean I haven’t decided anything yet. I, um, don’t... I... I just wanted to know some more before I—”
“—You don’t have to explain anything to me, dear. I know. I know.” She waved her right hand back and forth like she was erasing the words between us—like she was erasing words on the chalkboard, and I couldn’t help smiling, imagining her standing by the chalkboard looking down at all the kids with her friendly eyes. “I’m just very old and very thirsty,” she assured me just as the beauty queen came back, juggling two bottles of water in one hand and a big Alvin and the Chipmunks mug in the other.
“I just love The Chipmunks.” She set down the bottles and mug on the desk. “I’m a Theodore fan.” She sat down and offered a perfect smile.
I grabbed one of the bottles, opened it, and handed it to Miss T. “Me too,” I said and grabbed the other bottle. It was only half the truth. I did like the little chubby Theodore the best, but the real reason I had watched the movie about a thousand times was because of Dave, a.k.a. Jason Lee, who I had had a secret crush on ever since I had watched the first episode of My Name is Earl. Just thinking about him could make me blush (even more).
“Theodore, huh?” Miss T wiped her mouth and looked at me, frowning. I guess Miss T hadn’t watched the movie.
“It’s a chipmunk.” I looked at Miss Universe and smiled. “It’s a movie, Granny T.”
“I know that. I know that,” she sneered, “I just don’t agree. Alvin rocks. Literally.” She leaned back in her chair and looked at the both of us and smiled.
“Well...” Miss Universe cleared her throat and leaned forward in her chair with Theodore in her hand. “Now, let’s talk about you.” She placed her perfectly manicured hand on top of mine and smiled. “How are you feeling today? Have you thought more about what you talked with, um, was it Mona, this morning?”
I nodded. It was Mona. I had called five times and hung up four times. When I had finally found the courage to speak, nothing but big clumsy incoherent one-syllable words had come out of my mouth. I was amazed she had been able to decipher my name, let alone the reason why I had called. “It, um, it was. Mona. Call. Phone. Morning. Pregnant. Yes.” Apparently, I was back in single-word lingo. I took a deep breath and looked at Theodore and thought about Jason Lee and his deep and sexy voice. I had much rather talked about what makes Jason Lee such a hunk, which probably wouldn’t have been such a great idea considering the reason I was there. I looked down at my own little freckled and moist hand underneath her beautiful hand. I had bit off my nails sitting up half the night before, watching The Real Housewives of Orange County. Mom was right: The show was beyond stupid, but it was somehow comforting to indulge in someone else’s problems besides my own. At least I hadn’t become pregnant on national TV—drunk and naked, flashing a set of tight silicone boobs.
“You know, things could be worse,” Miss Supermodel said, like she was reading my mind. “For starters: you’re here, and we’re here to help you. You can ask or say anything you feel. We don’t believe in right and wrong here.” She let go of my hand and smiled.
I nodded and opened my mouth speak, but once again I was overwhelmed by too many syllables and words forming a line in the back of my throat. I turned to Miss T for help, as if looking at her would give me back the ability to speak, or even better, that she would speak for me. She looked at me like she was waiting for me. I was on my own. I looked down at my nails again, suddenly remembering how one of the face-lifted housewives had turned to her friend for help, not knowing, quite ironically, how to pronounce the word “superficial.”
“You know,” Miss Supermodel said, pulling me back into the world of real people with real problems, “we’re here to guide you and support whatever choice you make.” She set the Theodore cup down and leaned back in her chair. “So, I guess you haven’t told your mom and dad yet?”
I nodded.
“You, um, don’t feel that you can confide in them or—”
“—No no no, it’s not like that at all,” I cut her short. “Mom and Dad are not like that at all. It’s just...” I stopped and looked at Miss T. She was nodding, smiling—telling me to go on. “I have the best Mom and Dad in the world,” I explained to her with a wobbly voice. “The reason I... I... I haven’t told them, told her, has absolutely nothing to do with, um, not trusting them.” I looked out the window and swallowed hard. “See, I really do trust them, and I can pretty much tell them anything and I do, I mean, I’ve always done just that. In some ways, my mom and dad are my best friends. It’s just... I haven’t told them because of... her.” I looked down at the table and took a deep breath. I could feel the tears coming.
“Her?” Miss Universe cocked her head to one side and smiled with her eyes.
“Yes, her,” I finally said and looked at Miss T. Again, she nodded her head for me to go on. And so, I told them about Mom and the endless years of trying and disappointment of not getting pregnant.
“You see now?” I said, looking at Miss Universe, “it really couldn’t be more, um, absurd. I mean, how can I do this to Mom of all people?”
Miss T looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Oh dear, I feel so sorry for Abby, but look at me, Eleanor.” She moved her chair a little closer, dropping her purse on the floor. “This is not about Abby. This is about you. I know you don’t want to hurt your mom, and I love this about you, and this is so like your mother.” She stopped and dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “But I think you need her, and I know she would like to know.”
I looked at Miss Universe. She was nodding her head with approval. “She’s right, you know. Your grandmother or Granny Charlotte T is right. This is about you, Eleanor.” She pointed a finger at me as she leaned up against the wall. And right at that moment—with her back up against the sun outside—she looked like a descending angel.
The message couldn’t have been clearer: I had to tell Mom. She had to know.
Ella and Stella
When we finally left the center and Miss Angel Face behind—with a handful of pamphlets, a lot of kind and encouraging words, and even more butterflies in my stomach—Miss T decided it was time for a cup of tea before heading back.
“It’s almost supper time,” she reminded me again as we crossed the street, heading for Starbucks. “Tea time,” she announced as I held the door for her, “but first, I really need to go,” she said with her short legs crossed. “You?”<
br />
“No, not really,” I said, searching for a table.
“I simply don’t get it. I thought pregnant women had to go all the time,” she said, a little too loudly. And there it was again—that little word, powerful enough to knock me out every single time. I took a deep breath and turned around and gave her the look.
“Sorry,” she whispered when she saw the look on my face. “Ah, restrooms,” she said and pointed toward the end of the room. “You sure you’ll be okay?” She leaned forward a little and made a weird face.
“Just go already,” I demanded and sat down at a table by the window. As I watched her heading for the restrooms, I couldn’t help smiling. By the odd way she was circling toward the restrooms, it was quite obvious that she really had to go.
“IS THIS SEAT TAKEN?”
I looked up. A girl, maybe a few years younger than me, stood by the table with a big pink backpack on. She pointed at the chair opposite me and smiled.
I nodded and made a gesture toward the restroom. “She’s in the restroom,” I said.
“Oh. Cool,” she said and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She turned around and headed for an empty chair two tables down. As she sat down, she turned and looked straight at me. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying.
Brilliant! I had turned away a crying girl. Mom and her instant Starbuck friends would have been so proud of me. I waved at her and pointed at the empty chair. “You know,” I yelled across the room, “she’s powdering her nose and that always takes a while. You can sit here. It’s cool.”
She got up from the chair, and as she turned around, she almost knocked over some poor guy with long dreadlocks with her heavy pink backpack, which had an image of Taylor Swift on it. “Sorry,” she said—her pink lip gloss perfectly matching the bag.
“Whatever,” the Bob Marley-look-alike replied without looking up.
Lost in Seattle (The Miss Apple Pants series, #2) Page 25
