Good

by S. Walden

  “Um . . .”

  “Don’t be shy. It’s okay to want one over the other. It doesn’t mean that if you get the other you aren’t still gonna love that sweet little thing as much as if it were the gender you really wanted.”

  “Um . . .”

  “Momma’s at a loss for words,” the girl said, looking at Mark. “Okay, Papa. What do you want?”

  Mark was never tongue-tied, and he was never at a loss for words. And he thought on his feet. And he was kind and considerate. So he said, “These are actually not for us. We’re picking them up for her sister.”

  “Oh.” The girl sounded disappointed. “Well, you two would make a beautiful baby together.”

  “Thank you,” Mark replied, and swiped his credit card. He picked up our bag, grabbed my hand, and escorted me out.

  “Wait! Your receipt!” the checkout girl called.

  “Keep it!” he called back.

  I prayed while I peed on a stick. It felt wrong and disrespectful to speak to the creator of the universe while I was emptying my bladder, but I had no choice. I had to pee on the stick to find out if I was pregnant, and I had to pray to God to ask him not to make me. There was nothing graceful about those few seconds on the toilet. I shook so badly that I actually peed on my hand at one point. I clutched the vanity for control, but it was useless. I was a mess.

  “Dear God, please don’t let me be pregnant,” I whispered over and over while I capped the end of the stick.

  Mark was waiting in his bedroom when I entered. I automatically handed over the test and crawled into bed. I curled into a fetal position and immediately started crying.

  Two minutes.

  My entire world might change in two minutes. What could I get done in two minutes? Nothing, I realized. I never finished reading all of Jane Austen’s books. I hadn’t written my own. I wasn’t a high school graduate. Maybe never if I didn’t pass calculus. I looked at Mark who sat staring at the windows on the stick, waiting. Waiting for the lines.

  I continued sobbing into the pillow. How on earth could I see all of Europe in two minutes? How long does it take to tour the Sistine Chapel? Could I see Dublin in two minutes? Maybe sprint down O’Connell Street? The London Eye! Fuck! How would I be able to see that if I’m sprinting down O’Connell Street?

  “I wanna see the world!” I wailed, the pillow doing a good job stifling my words and desperation.

  “I know, Cadence,” Mark replied.

  “I don’t wanna be a teen mom!”

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  The sobbing escalated until I couldn’t breathe. I shot up and grabbed Mark, clutching him like a lunatic, and he pulled me onto his lap and held me tightly, rocking me side to side while the seconds ticked.

  “Almost there,” he whispered in my ear. “We’ll be okay.”

  I shook my head violently. No, we wouldn’t! I screamed inside. I was going to have a baby, and my life was over. The adrenaline turned to anger.

  “I don’t want a fucking baby!” I screamed into his shoulder.

  “Me neither,” he replied.

  “I hate babies! I fucking hate them!”

  “Me too.”

  “I never want a fucking baby!”

  I thought if I kept screaming it, using the worst word I could think of to describe a baby, then there wouldn’t be one. I would be safe.

  “Shhh, Cadence,” Mark said. “It’s okay.”

  I felt all the tension go out of his body at those words.

  It’s okay.

  It.

  Is.

  Okay.

  I looked at him through a film of tears, furrowing my brows. I don’t think I fully comprehended. Snot oozed from my nose, but I didn’t wipe it. I imagined I looked a wreck. My vanity told me to hide my face—of all times to be vain!—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop looking at his. My brain worked sluggishly, but I finally recognized it.

  Relief.

  “I’m not . . . ?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you double check?”

  “Triple checked.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I love you!!”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing hard until he grunted.

  “I love you, too, Cadence,” he said wearily, rubbing my back. Smoothing my hair.

  I jumped from his lap and ran to the kitchen. I poured myself water and drank down the glass. I believed him, I did, but he bought another test, and I wanted to take it. There was no harm in seeing the negative lines twice. If anything, they would bring me greater comfort.

  I waited a few minutes to give the water time to work its way through my system, lingering in the kitchen and poking about the pantry for a snack. Mark stayed in the bedroom. I imagined he was still looking at the test, the flat line telling him, “Relax. She’s not pregnant.”

  After I finished off a near-empty bag of pretzels, I went to the bathroom and repeated the whole process. This time, though, I wasn’t as scared, and I didn’t pee on my hand. I capped the test and walked into Mark’s bedroom. I didn’t toss him the stick, though. I sat beside him and held it myself.

  Two minutes to wait, and I didn’t give one thought to Europe. I was thinking, instead, about how ravenous I was. Just like the first time I visited Mark’s house. I wanted to eat everything in his apartment.

  Negative. Again. Another wave of relief. Life kept getting better and better.

  Mark squeezed my hand, smiling kindly at me before taking me into his arms once more and pulling me onto his lap.

  “I’ll never make you scared like that again,” he said. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

  I nuzzled his neck and slumped against his chest.

  “I’m tired and hungry,” I murmured, feeling the instant heaviness of my eyelids. They drooped, and I forced them open. Droop. Open. Droop . . .

  I fell asleep in a languid kind of ecstasy, unaware of the subtle shift. I wasn’t pregnant. Two tests confirmed that. But my world had changed anyway. I just didn’t know it yet.

  I looked up from my test and smiled at Mr. Connelly, but he didn’t see. No, that’s not right. He saw me. He looked straight at me. But he didn’t smile back. It felt strange and set off a warning signal in my heart. Something was wrong, and I wanted to ask him instantly, but we were in the middle of class. I tried to focus on my work. I couldn’t afford to get a bad grade. Maybe he was looking at me but focused on something else, and it didn’t register in his brain that I was smiling at him.

  Yeah, that sounds right.

  I went to visit him during lunch, but he wasn’t in his room. I wandered down the hallway, peeking through the window into the teachers’ lounge. I saw him sitting at a table reading and eating. I almost pushed through the door before realizing he wasn’t alone. Several teachers sat with him, and I wasn’t allowed in the teachers’ lounge anyway. I thought it was weird. Mr. Connelly never ate in the teachers’ lounge. He preferred his room where he could listen to his hip hop while he ate and graded.

  I tried one last time to visit him after school, but his door was already locked when I got to his room. The lights were out. He was gone. What was going on? Slight confusion poked at my heart in the beginning of the day. That confusion grew steadily throughout each hour until I finally succumbed to full-on panic.

  I drove to his apartment and banged on the door. He was slow to answer, and for a second, I thought he wasn’t home. When he opened the door for me, he hesitated, like he really didn’t want me coming inside.

  “Why are you being weird?” I asked, pushing past him into his living room. “You’ve been distant all day.”

  Mark scratched the back of his head.

  “I’ve been busy,” he replied.

  “Really? I saw you in the teachers’ lounge at lunch. You don’t ever eat in there,” I said.

  “I needed a place to work without interruptions,” he said.

&n
bsp; “Meaning interruptions from me,” I snapped, offended.

  “From any of my students, Cadence,” Mark said patiently. “I’m behind with grading.”

  I shook my head. “Behind with grading?”

  “Yes.”

  We stood in an uncomfortable silence until I spoke up.

  “What’s really going on here?” I asked.

  He paused for a brief second before answering.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, not looking at me. It was cowardly, and he knew it immediately because he looked me directly in the face and repeated the words. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” My heart fluttered, bouncing about my chest without any rhythm.

  “Cadence, we can’t do this anymore,” Mark said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This,” he said, pointing back and forth between the two of us. “This thing we’re doing. It’s got to stop. I could lose my job. You’re my student. It has to stop.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought everything was okay. I’m not pregnant. It’s okay.” My heart pounded.

  “It doesn’t really have to do with the pregnancy scare,” Mark said. “Though that’s a part of it.”

  “But you said it was fine—”

  “It’s not fine, Cadence! You’re eighteen! You’re too young for me, and we’re in different places in our lives. Do you understand that?”

  I flinched.

  “Now, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I don’t want children. Ever. You probably do at some point. We have different goals and dreams. We have different values. You said that. Remember?”

  I did? When?

  “I’m sorry, but we just can’t make it work.”

  “What do you mean? We’ve been making it work.”

  “Cadence, this is too dangerous, what we’re doing. It’s unhealthy.”

  “How is love unhealthy?” I asked.

  “I . . . I don’t like losing control,” Mark said. “I feel like I’m always out of control with you. That’s unhealthy. And that pregnancy scare was what finally made me see it. I don’t like this person I’ve become. Impulsive. Emotional.”

  “You mean human?” I snapped.

  “No, Cadence. I don’t mean human,” Mark replied. “I don’t act this way. It’s not me. And it’s taking a toll. We’ve got to stop.”

  “I want to be with you,” I whispered. The first tear fell.

  “It’s impossible, Cadence. You’re eighteen. I’m twenty-eight.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “I care! It’s wrong. It’s wrong on so many levels.”

  “You said you loved me,” I cried, sniffing and wiping my nose.

  Mark sighed. “Cadence, please don’t make this harder.”

  “You pursued me!” I screamed.

  “I know.”

  “You made me believe you loved me!”

  “I do love you.”

  “Then why are you doing this?” I sobbed. “Why are you breaking up with me?”

  “Because it’s too hard, Cadence. It’s just too hard. And I think we’re hurting each other.”

  “No we aren’t,” I argued.

  “The fighting. The difficulties we face all the time just trying to see each other. The sneaking around. It’s too hard. I want a normal relationship. This isn’t it. It’s not the type of relationship I want.”

  “Have the guts to say it!” I screamed. “You don’t want me! That’s what this is all about!”

  “Stop it!” Mark shouted. “I’m not arguing with you! I’m tired of doing that! I love you very much, and I want you very much. And that’s why I’m ending this before something disastrous happens.”

  What was he talking about “disastrous”? It was happening right now.

  The throbbing in my chest moved to my hands. I reached out for him.

  “Please don’t do this!” I cried.

  “Cadence, don’t.”

  I ran to him and flung my arms around his neck. “You love me! I know you love me!”

  Mark hesitated before wrapping me in his arms. He squeezed me hard, knocking the wind out of me.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “So much. It hurts, Cadence. It hurts me.”

  I gripped him harder. I thought if I showed him how desperate I was, he’d change his mind. It would seep from my limbs to his, and then he couldn’t break up with me because he’d be just as desperate for me.

  Mark pulled back. I clung to him.

  “Cadence, please let go.”

  “I won’t!”

  “Cadence . . .” Mark peeled my arms from his neck.

  “Don’t leave me alone,” I choked.

  “I’m sorry. But I can’t do this.”

  I couldn’t hear any more. It was too painful. But I couldn’t leave either. I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive. I was crying uncontrollably, and my only thought was to hide myself away from him, so I ran to the bathroom and slammed the door.

  I sat on the floor and cried away my pain and fear. I was afraid. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of seeing him the following day. Afraid because I had lost my only real friend. It was August all over again, and I was starting school with no one in sight. No one to share anything with. No one who cared to listen to me. No one to spend time with. Just alone and frightened.

  I focused on Avery. Maybe she was a friend. Maybe I wasn’t completely alone. Maybe all the time we spent together had actually grown a real friendship—not the fake one we played at earlier in the year. Maybe I could call her.

  Maybe.

  I looked at the time. I’d been in the bathroom for a half hour. I was tired and wanted to go home.

  Mark was sitting on the bed when I opened the bathroom door. “Are you okay to drive home?”

  I nodded.

  “I . . . I realize you could ruin me,” Mark said.

  I was shocked. “What?”

  He averted his eyes. “I’m not asking you to keep quiet about this. You have to do what you feel is right.”

  “You think I’d tell people about us as revenge? You think I’m that immature and spiteful?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  We stared at each other.

  “Do you understand that I’m doing what I think is best?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m so sorry, Cadence,” Mark said softly.

  I nodded. And then I turned to leave. It was automatic, my limbs moving, urging me towards the door, opening it, closing it, heading for my car. Turning the ignition. Putting the car in reverse. Backing out. Backing away. It was all automatic because the feelings were gone. I left them on the bathroom floor.

  ***

  “Cadence?” Mom asked during dinner.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She glanced at Dad and passed the unspoken message. She was worried, but I didn’t know what to say.

  “Cadence?” Dad asked.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Are you spending the night with Avery this Friday?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded. “What will you girls do?”

  “Go to the mall.”

  Dad chuckled. “I know you girls love the mall.”

  I nodded.

  “What else?” Mom asked encouragingly.

  “Go to a movie.” I didn’t even know what I was saying. I just said stuff.

  “Do you need some money?” Dad asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you feel like passing out programs this Sunday?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silence for a few seconds.

  “May I be excused?” I asked. I was positive my parents would say no. They always said no whenever I asked for anything unless it had to do with Avery. I realized I should have said, “May I be excused so that I can go to Avery’s house?” I jerked my head up at Mom’s response.

  “Sure.”

  I thought if I stayed a second longer, M
om would change her mind. I bolted from the table for my bedroom. I crawled into bed and burrowed under the covers. I wanted to call him. I wanted to see him. I knew it was because I was eighteen. If I were thirty, I’d probably have more self-respect, or at the least, perspective. He kicked me out of his life, after all, and I didn’t want to react out of desperation. But it was torture not being able to talk to him. And for tonight, I wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t.

  ***

  The following day at school was the hardest of my life. Much worse than the first day. Even worse than my first day in juvie. I wandered the halls searching for Avery. I couldn’t find her anywhere and panicked. I learned later that she had the flu, and I was on my own.

  Calculus was excruciating. I tried to focus. I really did. It’s not that I cared one bit about the material. But I needed to focus on it to distract myself, keep myself from crying hysterically. I glanced at Mr. Connelly just a few times, long enough to see that he had bags under his eyes. His hair was a mess. He sported a crooked tie and wrinkled shirt. He was a disaster, and I hoped his heart mirrored his appearance.

  “Mr. Connelly? Are you hung over?” someone asked.

  “What?”

  “You’re all discombobulated.”

  Good word.

  “I’m fine. Now back to the problem,” Mr. Connelly snapped, and no one mentioned his appearance again.

  I usually ate lunch with Avery, so when she didn’t show up to school, I found myself back at the reject table. It was fitting. I was a reject. I had been rejected. Nicole and Riley knew something was up because they were nice to me. It was pathetic and sweet.

  “Wanna split my sub?” Nicole asked as I stared at my lunch tray.

  “Hmm?” I replied, looking up. My eyes swam with tears.

  “My sub? Mom brought it for me,” she said.

  It was a sub from Subway, and if I hadn’t lost my appetite all over again, I might have taken her up on her offer. It smelled divine.

  I shook my head.

  “Are you sure?” she asked softly.

  I nodded and felt the first tear fall.

  “Want my cookies?” Riley asked.

  “No.”

  They were acting like sweet little grandmothers, trying to soothe my hurt with the comfort of food.