by Joanna Bell
I sent her another message when I got back to my trailer:
"Msg me. Worried for real now."
And then, before I could do anything else, Cillian showed up with a bottle of Irish whiskey in one hand and a strange look on his face.
"What's up?" I asked, eying him suspiciously. What the hell was my least favorite brother doing showing up at my trailer before noon with a bottle of whiskey? We weren't exactly on the best of terms back then.
"Nothing," he replied, barging inside before he was invited and setting the bottle of whiskey down on the table. "Can't a man visit his brother?"
"Uh..."
"Why don't you sit down, Jackson? Take a load off."
"I don't know, man. What is this about? I've got work to do. And I've been trying to reach –"
"It won't take long. Come on, don't be a dick. I'm trying to bury the hatchet here."
Cillian and I looked so similar people used to mistake us for twins all the time. His hair was different, longer and curlier than mine, but we were the same height and the same build. Sometimes when I was in town one of his friends would mistake me for him and give me a punch on the arm before realizing their mistake.
So we looked the same, but that's where it ended. Our personalities could not have been more different. Cillian would tell you that's because I was spoiled and he wasn't, but I reckoned it was all a little more inborn than that. My brothers and I were all young men, and it's a rare young man who can truly be said to be 'responsible' – but if any one of the Devlin brothers fit that bill it was me. I was the one who ticked off all the boxes of successful American youth – popular, captain of the high school football team, immediately going to work in the family business after graduation etc. Cillian didn't play football, even though he could have. He didn't even go to his prom. He was too busy being the rebel, hanging out with people he knew our dad would disapprove of, growing his hair long and acting like he didn't give a shit what his last name was.
And even as I was starting to seriously doubt my father's thoughts on what constituted a 'good' life, I still found all of Cillian's rebel posturing pretty goddamn tiring. It definitely wasn't in character for him to show up like that out of the blue, wanting to work things out between us.
"Since when do you give a fuck about burying hatchets?" I asked as he jumped up and began opening cupboard doors and then slamming them again, one after the other, until he found a couple of mugs.
"Is this all you've got?" He asked. "Where are the glasses?"
"There aren't any," I shrugged. "You'd think Dad would have bought me a whole set of lead crystal champagne flutes by now, wouldn't you?"
"Fuck you, Jackson."
"Fuck you too," I shot back. "Why are you here?"
"I told you why," he replied, sitting down so hard on one of my kitchen chairs that it made an ominous splintering sound but didn't actually break. "Came to bury the hatchet."
I watched, intrigued and pissed off in equal measure, as he poured a couple of shots worth of whiskey into each mug and passed one to me.
"Look, Jackson. I know things have been tense between us. And I just think – I think it's time we both stopped acting like little kids. Dad isn't getting any younger, you know."
"That's a reach. Dad is in his forties."
"Still."
Cillian grabbed his mug and held it up. I couldn't shake the thought that he was up to something, but I was damned if I knew what it was. So I picked up my mug too, and clinked it against his. And then, when he downed his whiskey in one gulp, I had to do the same because that's just how things were between the Devlin brothers. You could have lined us all up, forced one of us to gulp whiskey until we choked, and then watched as the rest of us all gulped whiskey until we choked, too. And whoever choked the worst would come out the winner.
We were fucking idiots, is what I'm saying. Young men with too much testosterone and too little sense.
As soon as our mugs were empty, Cillian poured again.
"I've got work to do," I repeated. "One of the steers looks like it might have an infected hoof and –"
Without saying a word, my brother down his whiskey. So I did the same.
Within minutes the alcohol was warming my belly and my limbs were starting to take on that distinctly relaxed feeling that always comes with the very early stages of drunkenness. By the fifth time I watched a shot being poured into my mug, I had to do something. I stood up.
"Look," I said. "I appreciate you coming to talk to me. But you're not actually saying anything and I have to get back to work, OK? I –"
"Dad'll do it," he replied. "What is it? One of the steers? Have you called the vet yet?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm still not sure if it's infected or just tender. I need to check it again before 5 so I can still call the vet if I need to – and no, Dad definitely won't do it."
The bottle was lifted again, the mugs filled with another shot each. But before drinking, my brother picked up his phone and called our dad. And to my utter shock, he agreed to ride out and take a look at the steer's foot himself.
"See?" Cillian said, shooting a pointed look my way. "He's not the devil."
Maybe he wasn't. Or maybe something was up – both my brother and my father were acting way out of character. But I was 5 – or was it 6? or more? – shots deep at the time, and just sober enough to tell myself I was being paranoid.
And my brother, who never did get around to burying any hatchets that afternoon, just kept pouring the drinks, matching me shot for shot until we were both pretty wasted. I only managed to send one more text to Hailey before passing out on the sofa at just past noon, dead to the world.
Chapter 18: Hailey
We drove through the night, up into the mountains and then down again into the lush green forests of Washington State. I don't know how I managed it. Isn't that always the way with awful things? You don't know how you'll get through them, but you've got no choice and so you do.
It was raining in Seattle, the streets busy with cars and traffic and people. It reminded me of the trip to New York with Jackson.
Jackson. A message from him popped up on my phone at just past noon, wondering where I was and asking me to call him. But I still wasn't ready to talk, I was still in shock, so I just messaged him back:
"Can't talk now. I'm OK, don't worry."
It was brief. Too brief. It was also a lie, in spite of its brevity. I wasn't OK. And the more minutes ticked past as we got closer and closer to the clinic, the less OK I felt.
Finally, when we found the right place and my mom parked the car, I didn't have any more choice but to speak up then or possibly regret it forever.
"Mom?" I said, as she reached into the backseat for her purse, her mouth tight and her skin almost grey with stress.
"Yeah, what is it?"
"I don't know if I want to do this."
She froze where she was, her hand on the door handle. She didn't look at me. She didn't say anything.
"Did you hear me?" I asked quietly, my heart pounding with fear. Fear of disappointing her, yes. But also fear of doing something momentous without properly thinking about it first. Fear of doing something I wouldn't be able to take back.
"I heard you."
Still, she didn't move. Neither did I. Silence hung over the two of us in that car like a smothering blanket.
"I don't know if I want to do this," I repeated, wiping tears off my cheeks. "Mom, I didn't even have any time to think about this. I don't – I don't know what to do."
She finally turned to me and I could tell she was about to say something. Something she never actually said. Instead, she just looked at me with whole lifetimes – lived and unlived – in her eyes. And then she began to cry, too.
"Goddamnit, Hailey."
"I'm sorry," I wept, aching for the innocent child I would never again be in her eyes. "Mom, I'm so sorry."
"Do you mean it?" She asked. "You don't want to do this?"
"I – I don't know
," I stammered. "I don't know what I want to do yet. But I don't want to go in there. Not right now."
Looking back, it's easy to see that the very first response I had – the sudden certainty while sitting on my aunt Sandra's bathroom floor, the visceral instinct to protect my baby no matter what – was the only one I ever truly felt.
For more than 5 minutes my mom sat beside me in the car, staring straight ahead and wiping tears off her cheeks. Then she put the key back in the ignition and turned to look at me.
"Do you want to go to the beach? I think we're pretty close."
***
So we went to the beach. I'd only ever been to Seattle once before, as a kid – and we hadn't made it to the beach. It was pouring rain when we got there but we got out anyway and walked down to the water's edge to dip our toes into the Pacific.
"Wait," my mom said when I turned to run back to the car before I got soaked. "Let me take a picture."
I stood on the sand with the ocean breaking over my feet and tried not to look miserable when my mom took the photo. And then again when she insisted on taking a selfie of the two of us.
When the phone was safely back in her pocket she suddenly turned to me, the momentary forgetting of our troubles over, and took my hand in her own.
"I never regretted having you," she said as the rain began to fall harder. "I want you to know that, Hailey. Not for a second. Never. It's important to me that you know that."
"I do," I nodded, covering my mouth with one hand but not managing to stifle a sob. "I do, Mom."
"And I also," she continued before pausing to take a deep, shaky breath. "I also want you to know that this is your decision. It's not mine, it's yours. And whatever you decide, my beautiful girl, I will support you."
That was it, the moment that broke us both. I let her pull me into her arms and hold me the way only a mother can hold you and then we both cried until we couldn't cry anymore.
***
We were too exhausted to make the drive back to Sweetgrass Ridge that same day, so we pooled our cash and rented a room in a cheap motel. There was a brief feeling of intense relief at the beach, when my mom acknowledged that whatever was going to happen would be my decision. It was gone within hours, as the truth of the situation impressed itself upon me once again. I was pregnant. That hadn't changed. And moving to New York City with no support system and a newborn due sometime in my first semester would still be insanity. That truth had also failed to transform into something less brutal.
Jackson didn't message me back. Not that afternoon or night, and not the next morning when I woke up at the crack of dawn to my mom making watery instant oatmeal with hot tap water.
"There's a gas station next door," she said apologetically, handing me a mug of lukewarm goop. "It's all they had, and there's no way to boil water."
"It's OK."
"Did you sleep well?"
I laughed grimly. "No."
"How do you feel?"
"Like hammered shit, Mom."
It was my mom's turn to laugh, although nothing about her expression was mirthful.
Surprisingly, I managed to get the oatmeal down. When I was finished, my mom took my mug and spoon and washed them in the bathroom sink, commenting that it wasn't fair to leave dried-on oatmeal for the maids.
"I talked to Sandra last night after you were asleep," she said as we lay on the creaky bed watching the weather forecast on an ancient TV.
"Why did you –" I started, but she held a hand up before I could finish.
"Slow down. There's things we need to talk about, and I'm afraid you no longer have the luxury of reacting like a teenager – even though you are one. First of all, you need to understand that if you decide to have this baby, there won't be any keeping it a secret in a couple of months. So if you're feeling ashamed, or like you don't want anyone to know, I suggest you give that some thought."
I almost replied that I wasn't ashamed before realizing that, actually, that's exactly what I was. Ashamed of living down to everyone's expectations. Hailey Nickerson, daughter of a unmarried teenage mother and about to become one herself. What a shock.
Except I had a choice. I still had a choice. I didn't have to be a teen mom. We could go back to the clinic and make an appointment.
But I couldn't do that. It was the one thing I knew. I knew it the way I imagined a mother or a father might know that walking out onto thin ice to save a child who has fallen through was almost certain to result in both of them drowning, but does it anyway. It was technically a choice, but it never felt like one. Not to me.
"You're going to go through with it, aren't you?" My mom continued a few minutes later. "You're going to have this baby."
Once again, my immediate instinct was to argue, to tell her no, no, I haven't decided yet. But she must have seen the truth in my eyes.
"Do you know how I know?"
"How?" I replied.
"Because you're just like me, Hailey. And I couldn't do it either. I've been exactly where you are right now – and you know what? I never even considered it. I thought I did. I told your grandma I did – and she put a hell of a lot more pressure on me than I'm putting on you. But honestly? I never did."
I smiled wanly. "Yeah, me neither."
"So me and Sandra were thinking there might be a way you can still go to New York."
My heart leapt even as I feared allowing myself any reason to hope. "What? How can I –"
"I'll go with you. I'll move with you and take care of the baby. She's going to help me with the money for the plane tickets."
I sat up on the bed. "You'll move with me? To New York? But – I got a scholarship for the dorms. We don't have enough money to rent in the city and you can't live in the dorms with me. Can you?"
"No, I can't live in the dorms. But I can live outside the city. I can get a job like the one I have in Sweetgrass Ridge – they need nurse's aides everywhere. Sandra says she'll come with us for at least the first year – Lili and Tiago are both old enough that they don't need their mother around all the time. And I think Lili might be thinking of coming along, actually."
"Wait," I said. "Mom, hold up. You're going to move across the country to look after my baby for me? Aunt Sandra is going to move across the country? And – Lili? How – how can any of you do that? What if you can't get a job? What if –"
"Hailey!" My mom grabbed my hand and stopped me before I could spiral further into all the reasons her plan was impossible.
"What?"
"What did I tell you all the time?"
"Not to get pregnant before I was ready."
She smiled. "Not that. What else did I tell you? What did I always tell you is the most important thing in life? The only thing that matters?"
"Family." I replied.
"That's right. Family. And who is my family?"
I blinked uselessly as my eyes once again swam with tears. "Me."
"Yes. You. And your aunt, and your cousins. And if you have this baby he – or she – will be our family too. You know I would do anything for my family."
My mother was right. I did know she would do anything for her family. I knew my aunt and my cousins would do the same. I still didn't understand how we were going to make any of it happen, but I could see that my mom was serious.
Her phone buzzed before I could question her further and she told me she had to take it outside. I lay on the bed staring at the cigarette-smoke stained ceiling, my stomach rumbling with anxiety and my mind busy with all the many ways in which everything could go very wrong.
And then my mother came back into the room, sat down beside me and asked if I was serious about going to the Fischer Institute. Even if I had a baby.
I told her I was.
"That was them on the phone. I called them earlier this morning, before you were awake – to explain everything to them. They're willing to pay for our tickets and give you a hardship bursary if you do the summer semester. They really want you, Hailey."
"They
– what?" I asked, breaking into a tearful grin. "They pay for our tickets? And I have to start when? This summer?"
"Yes. The summer semester. The woman I spoke to just seemed to want to get you out there as soon as possible, and frankly I don't disagree."
Wait. The summer semester? I thought back to what I'd read on the Fischer website about start dates and deadlines and schedules and all of that. The summer semester started in June – and it was going to be June in a few days.
My mom knew exactly where my head was going. She maintained and tightened her grip on my hand. "He'll wait, Hailey. Or he'll come out with us. If he loves you, he'll do right by you. But right now, I need to call Fischer back. They need an answer."
"Right now?" I asked, bewildered. "Like right now right now?"
"That's what the woman said. And she reminded me that there were thousands of young people who would be happy to take your spot if you decided against it."
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. There was no response from Jackson to my earlier message. Where was he? He was almost never late replying to messages.
"I need to talk to Jackson," I said, calling him directly instead of sending another message. "Just – Mom, just give me a minute."
The call went straight to voicemail. He must have run out of battery while doing chores. Damnit.
"Jackson Devlin is rich," my mother said when I put my phone away. "He can fly to New York anytime he wants. He can go anywhere, he can do anything he wants with his life. But you don't have that luxury. Right now you're being offered an opportunity to have it both ways, and life doesn't throw too many of those up for people like us."
But Jackson wasn't rich. His dad was, and I was one of the few people who knew how he actually lived. Still, he'd managed that birthday trip to New York, hadn't he? He could get money if he really needed to – couldn't he?
"If they want me to go for the summer semester, that starts really soon. A week, I think."
My mother said nothing, just looked at me.
Jackson loved me. I knew that. He would understand. He would understand when I explained the situation. We would figure something out. Maybe he could move to New York, too? He'd brought it before, although I was never sure how serious he was.
