Pregnant at 17

by Christine Conradt

  “His wife?” Liz responded, stunned. Chelsea quickly covered.

  “Ex-wife. I meant ex-wife.”

  “Chelsea, be honest. Is this guy married?” Liz asked quietly. There was compassion in her voice, but anger, too. Chelsea hesitated. Saying yes made her look like a home-wrecker, the dirty little secret she never wanted to be. And it made Jeff look bad, too, like a cheater who can’t be trusted. How could she explain their complicated dynamic in a way Liz would understand? Liz was honest and smart and had her life together in every way. What could she possibly say to keep Liz from judging her as the messed-up teenager stupid enough to get knocked up by an older married man? Oh god. Can you say “daddy issues”?

  “It’s just a matter of paperwork,” Chelsea assured her. “They both want a divorce.” Liz leaned back and Chelsea could tell she was skeptical.

  “How old is he?” Another bear trap of a question. Chelsea wasn’t sure how old Jeff was, but he was probably in his thirties. Liz would definitely hate him if she revealed that.

  “I love him. That’s all that matters,” Chelsea explained defensively. “Everyone always gets so hung up on age and money, and none of that matters. Love is the most important thing. When you fill your heart with love, everything else falls into place.” She lifted up her pant leg and showed Liz the tattoo on her ankle.

  “What does that mean?” Liz asked.

  “Liebe überwindet alles,” Chelsea said with near-perfect pronunciation. “It’s German. My mother’s favorite saying. Love conquers all.”

  “Oh, Chelsea, honey . . .” Liz’s voice trailed off. Chelsea could see the disappointment in Liz’s face and knew Liz found her naive.

  The jingle of the front door opening ended the heavy moment. Liz stood.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Liz blinked back a tear and walked out. She wants to cry for me, Chelsea thought, embarrassed. But Chelsea didn’t feel like crying. As she sat there alone, staring at the corkboard above Liz’s desk peppered with gelato orders and sales reports and phone messages, she started to feel happier, excited, even. She was going to have a baby. A tiny little baby. Maybe getting pregnant was exactly what she needed. No more not knowing what to do at night except hang out at the Lucky Lady. No more watching TV alone on weekends when her father was away. Having a baby meant having it with her all the time, and that changed everything. But it wasn’t just about not being alone. She was going to be someone’s mother. She was going to have a child who needed her in a way no one else had ever needed her before. What could be more important than being a mother? she wondered. The void she’d felt since her own mother passed proved it. And that will be me. To that baby, I’ll be more important than anyone else in the world. And once Jeff finalized his divorce, they’d be a family. A sense of purpose came over Chelsea that she’d never had before.

  Chelsea could understand Liz’s concern. To Liz, she was too young to have a baby, too young to give up her life to be a mother. But what Liz didn’t understand was that having a baby is what gave Chelsea’s life purpose. What was she losing, really? She’d known ever since she dropped out of high school that she’d never have a career where she made a lot of money. She’d probably end up doing exactly what she was doing now—scooping gelato for minimum wage until Liz decided to teach her to be a manager. But it didn’t matter. Jeff made more than enough to support her and their child.

  Chelsea pictured herself standing in the living room, ironing Jeff’s clothes as she watched her child roll himself up in a rug on the floor. She’d kneel down and pick him up and take him for a walk in his stroller. They’d go around the neighborhood and she’d point out things to him like flowers and birds. Other mothers would stop and tell her how cute her baby is and they’d chat about which diapers work best and how many hours of sleep they get. It would be perfect. But that was too much to explain to Liz, or to anyone, really, except Jeff. Jeff would get it. He loved her and he would understand why this baby, however unexpected it was, would be a good thing for both of them.

  This will all be okay, she told herself. Jeff’s gonna be happy when I tell him tonight. He really will.

  Four

  Daddy Issues

  Chelsea stepped into the Randall Garden Inn. She looked around, letting her eyes adjust from the bright afternoon sun to the softly lit lobby. There was an elderly couple standing at the registration desk, checking in, and a woman with a ball cap and yoga pants sitting in one of the oversize chairs, reading a magazine. Other than that, the place was pretty much empty. It wasn’t overly shi-shi, but nice enough with marble floors and stylish furniture that Chelsea suddenly felt a little out of place in her gelato-stained Stella Luna T-shirt. She adjusted the strap of the overnight bag to cover the logo and made her way to the reception desk.

  “May I help you?” the stout man behind the desk said with a smile.

  “Hi. Yes. My boyfriend made a reservation for tonight.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Jeff Clefton. It might also be under mine. Chelsea Sheridans?” The clerk pulled down the cuffs on his blue blazer and clicked away on his keyboard.

  “Sheridans? With an ‘s’ at the end?”

  “That’s right. An ‘s’ at both ends.” She was used to people misspelling her surname. At least Chelsea was pretty simple. After a few more keystrokes, he smiled.

  “Yes, miss. I have your reservation right here. King-size bed, nonsmoking, room two fourteen. Second floor, turn right as you exit the elevator.” Chelsea nodded as he slid a key across the counter to her. She liked staying at hotels. Everything about them felt luxurious. And she liked the way the front desk people treated her. Something about the way they talked to her made her feel special.

  “Thank you,” Chelsea said, and walked to the elevator, excited to start her evening and share her news with Jeff.

  With a click, the door opened and Chelsea stepped into her new home for the next twelve hours. She was impressed. Against the wall was a king-size bed, a cloud of white pillows with scalloped edges perfectly arranged at the head. Chelsea dropped her bag onto the puffy white duvet that covered the bed and flopped down. It was as comfortable as it looked. Rolling over, she spotted the remote on the little bedside table next to the leather-bound room service menu and turned on the TV, hoping to calm her nerves. How will I tell him? she wondered. Chelsea wasn’t sure if she should come right out and say it or wait until he ordered her a glass of wine and then explain why she wasn’t drinking. She pictured Jeff’s face when she told him that the thing he had wanted for so long was about to come true; he would be a father. He would smile and his eyes would light up and maybe he’d even get a tear in his eye.

  “Are you serious?” he’d ask with the broadest smile she’d ever seen. And when she nodded, he’d place a hand on her stomach and they’d try to feel the baby together.

  Chelsea adjusted the pillows behind her head and sank back. Would they have a boy or a girl? She’d been picturing the baby as a boy, but wasn’t sure why. Was that mother’s intuition? Did she inherently know she was having a son? What did Jeff want? What if it was twins? A boy and a girl? Two for the price of one! She smiled at the thought of balancing a chubby-faced little toddler on each hip.

  Checking the time, Chelsea saw that she had another hour until Jeff arrived and decided she might as well take a bath. She ran her fingers over the terry-cloth bathrobe that hung behind the door in the bathroom before turning on the water in the Jacuzzi tub. As steam began to rise and fill the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Was she showing yet? Turning to the side, she studied herself. Her belly was as flat as a board. Peeling off her pink shirt, she looked again. Flat, flat, flat. And pale white. Chelsea pushed her belly out, wanting to see what she’d look like in a few months. But she didn’t look pregnant. She looked like a skinny girl uncomfortably overarching her back.

  Even as a child, she’d always been a skinny kid. She remembered when she was seven she had perused through some old photos with her moth
er right before she got sick.

  “Look at me here,” Chelsea had said, pointing to a photo of herself, holding a giant ice-cream cone and grinning at the camera. Her legs looked like two round hamburger buns glued to sticks.

  “That was two years ago on the first day of school. My word. Look at those knobby knees. You were always falling down and scraping them up.” Her mother had grinned. “For three years I carried Band-Aids in my purse.” Chelsea’d laughed.

  “I still have knobby knees.”

  “You weren’t the most graceful or coordinated child on the playground,” her mother had said, and winked. “But you were definitely the cutest and smartest. Mein perfektes kind.”

  Chelsea smiled at the memory. Her mother always told her she was perfect. More than once she had told Chelsea, “Your flaws are as much a part of you as your attributes. There’s no good or bad in any of it. It just is what it is.”

  Chelsea felt a familiar pang of longing for her mother. I wish I could tell her about the baby. I wish she could be there with me at the hospital. She’d walk around with the baby in her arms bragging about her grandchild. Life with a kid would be easier if her mother were still alive. A lot of things would be easier. Chelsea felt the hot sting of tears fill her eyes and she pushed the thought of her mom out of her mind.

  Chelsea slipped out of her clothes and settled into the soothing bathwater. She wanted to relax and think of nothing.

  Plucking the tiny plastic bottle of hotel-brand shampoo from the side of the tub, she twisted off the cap and inhaled its fresh, floral scent. It smelled so much better than the cheap shampoo she bought for her and her father.

  After washing her hair, she lay back in the tub and pushed the button to turn on the jets. The warm water swirled around her. Closing her eyes, she thought more about what motherhood would be like. She imagined being at the park on a sunny day throwing a party for her baby’s first birthday. There was a piñata and balloons and a cake in the shape of the number “1” and lots of people she didn’t know yet but soon would—other moms—were bringing her child gifts wrapped in colorful paper. Her fantasy was abruptly interrupted with a thought. If she’s pregnant now, what month will the baby be born? She counted eight months on her fingers and decided it would be May, maybe June. It would be a summer birthday, so a party in the park would probably be fine.

  The more images Chelsea conjured up of her and her child, the more she realized that everything was going to be okay. That was another thing her mother had taught her.

  “Things happen the way they are supposed to,” her mother would say when Chelsea showed any sign of impatience. “It’s up to the universe. And the universe will always provide the right thing at the right time. Das universum ist liebe, und liebe überwindet alles.” Chelsea felt more at ease with telling Jeff when she reminded herself that the universe had wanted this. As soon as Jeff arrived, she’d throw her arms around him and deliver the good news.

  With the bathrobe hanging off her thin shoulders, Chelsea slowly brushed out her long hair in the steamy mirror. That’s when she heard the door to the hotel room open. That familiar hot, nervous feeling rushed up inside her again and she suddenly felt anxious. When he peeked his head around the corner and smiled that perfect, sexy smile of his, she lost her nerve. Besides, she told herself, it doesn’t make sense to spring this on him the minute he walked through the door.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” he said and placed a long, passionate kiss on her lips. Trying to mask her anxiety, she squeezed his hand.

  “I’m happy to see you, too.” She felt his warm hands slip into her bathrobe and caress the sides of her waist. She kissed him again and let the robe fall to the floor. Picking her up, he carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed where she and Jeff proceeded to make love.

  When they were done, Jeff wrapped his arm around Chelsea and pulled her close. She snuggled even closer, pressing her cheek against his strong chest. She knew she had to tell him. He deserved to know, and every minute she went on acting like this was just another clandestine weekend together made her feel more and more guilty.

  What should I say? she wondered. She was excited about the baby now but it had taken hours for her to peel away all the other cluttered-up thoughts and feelings to get there. She had to remember he was still married, and Jeff hadn’t been shy about telling her he needed to take his time and do this divorce thing right. It was a lot harder than she thought to find the right words.

  “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but how long will it take before your divorce is final?” She turned and looked up at him.

  “I know that’s what you want and like I keep saying, that time is coming. But I need time to work out the details.”

  “More than nine months?” she asked, forcing the words out. She waited for a reaction, hoping for the smile she’d fantasized about. But Jeff stared at her with a stunned look. He abruptly sat up, putting distance between them as he faced her.

  “What are you saying? Are you pregnant!?” Jeff’s eyes darted back and forth as he spoke, searching hers. All of Chelsea’s vibrant, blissful fantasies drained away. She nodded, scared to hear what he would say next. She hoped the words weren’t too mean. She’d never felt more vulnerable than she did now and knew his words, if he wanted them to, could crush her. But Jeff didn’t speak. Instead, Jeff bolted out of bed. He stood there, naked, rooted into the ground, unable to make eye contact with her.

  “I know we didn’t plan it but you said you always wanted a baby . . . that you were devastated when your wife had that miscarriage. . . .” Chelsea uttered the words slowly, hoping to convince him that the pregnancy could be the very thing he’d been waiting for.

  “You said you started taking birth control pills. Were you? What happened?” Jeff’s tone was accusatory.

  “Of course I took the pills—” she started to explain, shocked that Jeff was reacting like this.

  “Every day?” he interrupted, making her feel even more defensive. No. She hadn’t taken them every single day. There were a couple of days that she had hurried off to work and forgotten to bring them with her. After that, she decided to start taking them at night before she went to bed, but there was one night after getting back from the Lucky Lady that she fell asleep in front of the television and remembered to take it the next morning.

  “Usually. I may have forgotten a few times. I mean, I’m human. . . .” Chelsea uttered, unsure what else to say.

  “Chelsea! If I’d known that, I would’ve used protection myself! I trusted you.” His voice was getting louder. The words dug deep, hurting her.

  “Are you saying you can’t trust me?” Panic began to rise up inside her. How did this moment, which should have been such a joyous one, turn into something so ugly? She watched as Jeff raised his hands as if trying to remain calm.

  “I’m sorry. This is just really . . . unexpected.” As he spoke, he grabbed his pants off the chair and started to get dressed.

  “Why are you so upset? I thought you’d be happy! You keep saying you want to marry me someday and we can have a family.” The words were flowing now. She knew what she wanted to say. “I know it’s sooner than we expected but it’s still what we both want.” Chelsea pulled her robe tightly closed as she watched him reach for his shirt. He stopped.

  “This isn’t at all what I want. I’m still married, for crying out loud!” Chelsea could feel tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t wrap her head around what he was saying. After everything he had said before about wanting children, it didn’t seem possible that he would be so against the idea now. She scrambled to come up with an argument to convince him that he wanted their baby.

  “You’re divorcing your wife anyway. She has that boyfriend in New York. She won’t care!” Chelsea blinked back the tear that threatened to spill down her cheek. Jeff just stared at her and she could tell there was something he wasn’t saying.

  “She doesn’t have a . . .” His voice trailed off. “She wo
n’t understand.” He was calm now, steady. Chelsea sat down on the bed. This was so far from what she had hoped for. What would her baby think, knowing that his parents were arguing over whether they wanted him? I guess I deserve this, she thought. This is what happens when you get pregnant by a guy who is married to someone else. That tear she was trying to hold back broke loose. She quickly wiped it away with her thumb. “How far along are you?” he asked, his voice softer.

  “I don’t know. Liz said I need to go to a doctor.”

  “Liz, your boss?” he asked, the tension returning to his voice. Chelsea nodded, unsure why she felt all over again like she’d done something wrong. “Who else have you told?!” The question surprised her. Was she supposed to keep it a secret? Pretend she wasn’t pregnant?

  “No one. But I feel like I should tell my dad. . . .” Chelsea hadn’t really thought about what her father would say until this very moment. Would he be happy and angry? She’d been too consumed with sharing the news with Jeff to wonder.

  “Your dad?” Jeff asked, his tone switching. “Why even involve him? This is about us.” Good. Finally. He realizes that. It didn’t change the fact that at some point she would need to tell her father, and before that, she’d most likely need to see a doctor. Even if Jeff would pay for the doctor visit, she needed her guardian to sign the paperwork.

  “I’m pretty sure the doctor’s office won’t let me sign papers and stuff until I’m eighteen.” She wasn’t “pretty sure,” she knew they wouldn’t. She’d tried once while her dad was out of town working and she’d sprained her ankle. When she arrived at the office, they turned her away.

  “Did you just say you’re not eighteen?” Jeff asked. Again, she felt she’d done something wrong.

  “I’m seventeen,” Chelsea said.

  “No, no. That’s not possible. I met you in a bar! You were drinking!” Jeff took a few steps back, putting even more space between them.