Pregnant at 17

by Christine Conradt

  Lauren turned toward him. Gripping her hips, he lifted her off the table and set her firmly on the floor. She teetered again and laughed.

  “Good behavior,” she slurred, raising her bottle again. Like her older brother, Greg, Lauren had brown eyes and a slightly turned-up nose. Unlike her brother, she had trouble holding her liquor.

  “Greg and good behavior? Now there’s two things you’ll never hear in the same sentence again,” Roy teased.

  “Whatever. You miss him as much as I do.” There was sincerity in her eyes, even though it was hard to tell under the layers of black makeup. She glanced around at the group of Greg’s friends scattered about, getting high. These are his supporters, she thought proudly. These are his true friends. The ones who stood by him when the going got tough.

  “You got that right,” Roy said, and pulled her down onto the sofa next to him. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the others party in Greg’s honor. “You know I still see that bitch sometimes. The one that turned him in. . . .”

  “Chelsea?” Lauren asked, her voice tinged with hatred. “Doing what?” The mere sound of her name caused a swell of anger to rise in Lauren. Chelsea lived only a few miles away, but she had successfully managed to avoid seeing her.

  “Usually walking or sitting at the bus stop. Doesn’t she go to school with you?” Lauren felt Roy rest his hand on her thigh. She didn’t mind. Far from a smooth move, but at least he was making his interest clear.

  “That ho-bag dropped out a few months after his sentencing. You can thank me for that. Did what I could to make her life hell.” Lauren’s lips turned up into a grin as she thought back to how she got a few other girls to harass Chelsea every chance they could. They’d leave disturbing drawings in her locker of a stick figure they’d named “Dead Girl” who had bright orange hair. Sometimes Dead Girl would be hanging by her neck from a tree, other times she was tied to a stake consumed by giant flames. The drawings weren’t the extent of it. They stole her purse once when she got up to get a book in the library and plastered her phone number all over the walls of the bus station bathroom until Chelsea was finally forced to change it.

  “What’d you do?” Roy asked, curiously raising an eyebrow. Lauren could tell he was impressed by her loyalty to Greg, but he didn’t need to know the specifics. Loose lips sink ships. She’d always abided by that rule and never revealed details. Letting others in on the details are what got people into trouble. It was no one else’s business, and she didn’t know why most people found it so difficult to keep the specifics to themselves.

  “Enough to make her drop out,” she responded, intentionally vague. “She deserved it. Screw her.” If there was one thing Lauren was one hundred percent sure of, it was that all of her family’s problems stemmed from Chelsea’s lie. If she hadn’t made up that story about Greg robbing the convenience store, Greg would still be around to help out their mother and raise his own daughter. Lilah, Greg’s baby girl, was only a year and a half old. She needed her father. The whole family needed him. His absence was felt by every single person, every day.

  “Don’t you be getting in trouble too,” Roy said flirtatiously as he pushed her hair back and delicately pinched the plug in her ear. “I don’t think you could handle prison.”

  “What? I don’t look tough to you?” she asked, not really caring about the answer, and downed another gulp of booze. Roy’s hand moved from her ear to her thigh, pressing his fingertips down hard. She could feel the warmth of his hand through her jeans.

  “I think you act a lot harder than you are,” he murmured, and kissed her neck. His breath was hot and wet on her throat and as he moved toward her ear, her spine tingled. Lauren wasn’t offended by his remark. She didn’t need to prove to anyone how tough she was. If they wanted to believe she was passive and delicate, it was to her own advantage.

  “Then I guess you don’t know me that well, Roy,” she whispered coyly, letting her gaze drift seductively to his lips. From the way his body opened up to her a little more, she could tell her look had turned him on.

  “That’s true, I don’t,” Roy whispered back, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. “You should give me a chance to get to know a lot more about you, tough girl.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She meant it, but it wouldn’t be tonight. Tonight, she was celebrating her brother’s freedom.

  Chelsea stared down into the toilet waiting for the next wave of nausea to hit her. It came a moment later. She gripped the side of the bowl and violently threw up. Again. This was the third time that morning that she’d had to sprint to the bathroom. Maybe eating day-old tuna melts was a bad idea. Chelsea sat back on her knees, waiting for round number four. When it didn’t come, she spun some toilet paper off the roll and wiped her mouth. Squirting double the amount of toothpaste she normally used onto her toothbrush, she vigorously brushed her teeth. Just as she spit the minty foam into the sink, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Twisting open the door with her free hand, she looked into the face of her concerned father. “Too much to drink last night?” he asked. Chelsea wiped her mouth with her towel.

  “I didn’t drink that much. Maybe the tequila was bad or something.”

  “Don’t let Rascal talk you into trying that stuff. It’ll rot your guts.” Her dad pointed a thick finger at her to punctuate his advice and moved off down the hall.

  By the time Chelsea finished ironing her pink shirt, getting dressed for work, and packing her overnight bag, the smell of frying bacon had permeated every corner of the trailer. She made her way into the small kitchen where her father was busy cooking.

  “Want some breakfast?” he asked as he expertly cracked an egg with one hand into the skillet.

  “I can make it,” Chelsea offered. She figured he was probably tired after getting home so late the night before.

  “I got it, sweetie. I may not be able to cook much, but eggs I can handle.” He threw a smile over his shoulder and turned back to the stove top. Chelsea grinned. Her father had spent three years as a line cook at a busy restaurant in downtown Philly. He could cook pretty much anything and it was always good. Chelsea lowered herself onto a chair. Her stomach still felt queasy. Her father poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of her.

  “Thanks.”

  “So I got some good news,” her father said, clapping his hands together the way he always did when he was excited about a new opportunity. “Joey came into the bar last night after you left, and he’s heading back up to Alaska. Said they’re not crewed up yet and I could go with him.” Any hope that her father’s news was actually good faded instantly.

  “On the crab boat?” she asked, trying to hide her worry.

  “It’s a lot of money,” her father said, and slid a fried egg onto a plate. He set it down in front of her.

  “How long?” Chelsea asked.

  “A few weeks. Just till the season ends. Leave in a couple of hours.” A couple of hours? Just like that? No discussion? That wasn’t nearly enough time to talk him out of going.

  “It’s so dangerous. Don’t you remember what Joey said? People die and stuff.”

  “Nah, not if you know what you’re doing.” He dismissed her concerns as he sat down across from her and sipped his coffee.

  “Do you?” she blurted out. Chelsea already knew the answer. He didn’t. He’d never been on a crab boat before, and while her dad was strong and physical, he was too old for this type of work. He could be too impulsive, too confident. He lived in the moment without ever really considering the consequences.

  “I’m gonna be fine,” her father said, and patted her hand affectionately. “What is it you always like to say? The universe brought it to my doorstep? If I wasn’t supposed to take it, Joey wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “I suppose. I didn’t expect you to take on my optimistic point of view.” She regretted telling him about the universe bringing opportunities if this was the way he interpreted her words.

  Her dad chuckled
and topped off his own mug with a little more coffee. Chelsea exhaled and took a bite of her bacon. Her father was right about one thing: they desperately needed the money. And once her father set his mind on something, it was almost impossible to make him change it. Since she wouldn’t see him for almost a month, she figured she better tell him what she learned from Mikey.

  “Greg Foster’s getting out of prison. Mikey told me last night. Two years. That’s all the time he’s going to serve.” Her father looked up. She expected him to be as stunned as she was but he appeared more resigned than anything.

  “How’s Mikey taking it?”

  “You know how he is.” Her father nodded. He’d been friends with Mikey since before Chelsea was born. He knew Mikey well.

  “Like I always said, justice system ain’t worth a damn. Rob a man, mess him up so bad he can hardly walk, and you get a slap on the wrist. I got friends who’ve been in there a helluva lot longer for doin’ what? Stickin’ needles in their own arms. Tell me which is worse.” He shook his head, disgusted. Chelsea saw his expression turn dark.

  “He’d be crazy to try anything with you. He’s gotta know you got a dad that would mess him up real bad.” He said it more to himself than her, and Chelsea knew he worried Greg might retaliate. It was certainly a possibility. “Bad enough he sicced that psychotic Lauren on you.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go,” Chelsea offered, hoping he’d change his mind about Alaska. “Just in case he does try something.”

  Her father said, “If I could make money some other way, I’d never leave ya. I’ll ask Rascal to keep an eye on things. And you, well, you know how to keep yourself safe. Always be paying attention. I doubt Foster would want to do anything that’d put him back in the pen. Break parole and he’s back for a lot longer than two years.”

  Chelsea hoped her dad was right. Greg was a criminal but he wasn’t crazy. It was in his best interest to leave her alone and move on with his new life as a father. Popping the remaining bite of bacon into her mouth, Chelsea stood.

  “I gotta go,” she said, and gave him a hug. “Be safe up there, okay? I’ve seen those shows where people get their hands caught in the fishing cables and stuff.” Her dad planted a kiss on her forehead.

  “I’ll keep my hands away from any such cables. Promise.” Chelsea grabbed her overnight bag and slung it over her shoulder. Most fathers would notice the bag and ask where she planned to spend the night, but not hers. Chelsea and her father had an unspoken agreement that she never asked him that question and he never asked her. Neither ever brought anyone home to sleep over at the house. The house, as small as it was, was a sanctuary of sorts. Just for them.

  Chelsea said a little prayer to the universe to bring her dad back safely. She opened the door and threw him one last look. He was sliding her uneaten egg onto his own plate. She hoped it wouldn’t be the last image she’d ever have of him.

  An hour later, Chelsea stepped off the city bus and darted through traffic as she crossed the street. Stella Luna was a small but popular gelato shop on a street known for boutiques and bakeries. When she arrived she saw through the window her boss, Liz, hurry over to unlock the door and let her in.

  “We’re out of raspberry sorbetto,” Liz said as she twisted the Closed sign to Open. “Won’t have any more until next Thursday.”

  “Good time for all those raspberry fans to try something new.” Chelsea grinned. Liz giggled. Chelsea liked Liz. She admired that Liz, after a messy divorce, had scraped together enough money to buy a franchise and become a business owner. Chelsea genuinely wanted to help her succeed.

  During a lull between customers, Chelsea decided to get advice from Liz. She told her boss that she’d fainted the night before, burned the floor with an iron, and then woke up sick as a dog. Liz, seated at her desk in the cramped back office, twisted around in her chair to face Chelsea.

  “Are you pregnant?” Liz asked gently. Pregnant? The thought hadn’t even crossed Chelsea’s mind. Sure, she and Jeff were intimate, but she was on birth control pills. Plus, she’d never heard of someone fainting because they were pregnant. Throwing up, yes, but there were a million reasons people throw up. “I think you should take a pregnancy test,” Liz continued before Chelsea could respond.

  “No. There’s no way I could be pregnant.” As soon as Chelsea said the words, she knew it was a lie. Of course there was a way. Chelsea didn’t like how Liz looked at her. She knew Liz could see through Chelsea’s bravado to the uncertainty that lurked underneath.

  “If I go buy you a pregnancy test, will you take it?”

  “I don’t want you to waste your money.” Pregnancy tests were expensive. She’d seen them in the store before and remembered being surprised at how much it costs for a plastic stick that you pee on.

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Liz said as she grabbed her purse and left.

  Chelsea walked back to the front to mind the shop. As she waited for a customer to walk in, she pondered what she would feel if she learned she was actually pregnant. Would she be excited? Scared? Confused? For some reason, at the moment all she felt was numb.

  Liz returned with a pregnancy test, concealed in a small brown paper bag, as Chelsea was scooping vanilla gelato into a cone for an elderly man and his grandson.

  “I’ll get this,” Liz whispered, and handed her the bag.

  “I can take it later,” Chelsea whispered back, and smiled at the little boy. “And what kind would you like, sweetie?” The little boy pointed at the bubblegum flavor, but before Chelsea could reach for another cone, Liz had snatched up the scoop and was taking over.

  “Go ahead,” Liz encouraged her, knowing she was stalling. With no other choice, Chelsea sighed and reluctantly took the paper bag into the bathroom.

  Tearing open the box, Chelsea pulled out the plastic wand and instructions. She discreetly tucked the box back into the paper bag, crumpled it up, and dropped it into the trash.

  So I just pull off the cap and pee on it. Easy enough. She reread the directions once more to make sure she hadn’t missed anything important and then set them on the edge of the porcelain sink.

  It was quiet except for the faint buzz of overhead lights as Chelsea waited for the results. Anxious, she stared down at the wand in her palm, hoping to hurry it up. Come on, come on. The directions said it could take up to five minutes, but this felt like ten or fifteen. Chelsea checked her phone. Three minutes. Ugh.

  Deciding she couldn’t stand the wait, she opened the door and walked out to the counter where Liz was restocking little pink plastic spoons.

  “Here,” Chelsea said, and handed her the wand. “You look at it.” Liz smiled nervously and, taking the wand in her hand, pushed her glasses up on her thin nose. Chelsea tried to read her reaction, but there wasn’t one. Liz looked up.

  “It’s positive.”

  For a brief moment, Chelsea felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. She didn’t know if she couldn’t breathe or just forgot to.

  “I’m pregnant?” she whispered. Liz nodded. Chelsea could tell Liz was waiting to see if she was going to explode into a smile or burst into tears. I’m a seventeen-year-old, pregnant with a married man’s baby. I should probably start bawling now. But the tears didn’t come. Chelsea wasn’t quite sure what she felt, but it certainly wasn’t sadness. Happiness? Maybe. Fear? Definitely. Uncertainty? For sure. Was any of this even happening? Was it even real? It felt more like a dream.

  “Are you okay?” Liz asked, and gently set the wand on the counter.

  “I think so,” Chelsea said, unsure if she even heard the question.

  “Let’s go back to my office.”

  In a daze Chelsea followed Liz to the back of the store and lowered herself into the metal folding chair Liz kept in her office.

  “I’m pregnant.” She didn’t realize she’d said it out loud until she heard the words escape. Different scenarios flitted in and out of her mind more quickly than she could hang on to them. There is a baby growing
inside me. Jeff’s baby, our baby! A real baby. Well, right now it’s just a clump of cells but in nine months or so, I’m going to be holding a baby in my arms and it’ll be mine. The amazement she felt was quickly replaced by a fear she’d never experienced before. Not the kind of fear she felt when the dog almost attacked her or when she thought Mikey might die, or even the kind she felt when she thought about her father being thrown over the side of a crab boat into the icy Bering Sea. It was the kind of fear that seemed to burrow deep down into the center of her gut, fear that she was not responsible enough to be a mother.

  “What are you thinking right now?” Liz asked.

  “That . . . I need to tell Jeff. I’m gonna see him tonight and I’ll, I’ll tell him.” How was she going to tell him?

  “Is this someone you’ve been seeing for a while?” There was concern in Liz’s voice.

  “Three and a half months,” Chelsea said, feeling confident. She hadn’t really thought about how long they’d been together until this moment. Three and a half months was a good amount of time, wasn’t it? It was the longest relationship she’d ever had. The only boy she’d gone out with before Jeff was a kid named Patrick at her high school, and that had only lasted two months before she caught him kissing some girl at a party he didn’t think she was going to attend. Besides, her father usually dated women for a couple of weeks. She felt good about her three and a half months until she saw Liz deflate a little and could tell Liz didn’t agree. Chelsea suddenly felt the need to persuade her that her relationship with Jeff was stronger than it sounded. “But he’s got a good job and he’s really solid. He wants kids, too. He and his wife tried to have one a while back he said, but she miscarried and he was super sad about it. This is going to be all right. He’ll be happy.”