Just Say The Word

by Tiffany Patterson

  JUST SAY THE WORD

  BY

  TIFFANY PATTERSON

  Prologue

  Sandra

  Ten years ago …

  I can’t have this baby. That was the mantra that’d been rolling through my mind all morning since my eyes first popped open. There was absolutely no way I could have the baby that had just been confirmed was growing in my womb. Not only was I unemployed, but I was just getting ready to enter my freshman year at Williamsport University on a full academic scholarship—a goal I’d worked long and hard for. Becoming valedictorian of my high school class hadn’t been an easy feat, but I’d made it and earned the opportunity to study at such an exclusive university as a result.

  There’s no way I can have this baby.

  Besides all of that, there was the matter of how this child was conceived. How could I look him or her in the eye? Surely, I couldn’t love it the way a mother is supposed to love their child.

  “Now that we have confirmed your pregnancy, let’s discuss your options …” the nurse practitioner at the local Planned Parenthood clinic I’d gone to began saying.

  “O-options?” I questioned, looking up through watery eyes. My mind was reeling, and processing simple words was just too difficult to manage.

  “Yes, Sandra.” The petite woman with greying roots nodded and sat down in the chair opposite from me, granting me a sympathetic look. “Of course, your first option is to keep your baby. We offer prenatal services here, and I can give you a list of low-cost OB-GYNs in the city. There is also the option of giving your child up for adoption. If you go this route, we could still take care of your prenatal needs while also referring you to a few different agencies who work with parents looking to adopt an infant. Lastly,” she paused, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, “there is the option of terminating your pregnancy. That is something we do here at this facility as well.” Her voice was soothing, calm—as if she’d given this speech many times before but hadn’t lost the empathy with which she gave it.

  Termination.

  She meant abortion. My hands instantly went to my still flat abdomen, clutching it. That had been my original intent in coming to this clinic. I’d had the pregnancy confirmed by the pregnancy test I’d purchased with the money I saved up from my grandmother. Each week she gave me an allowance to go out to eat or to the movies since she absolutely refused to let me get a job. Instead of food, for the past few days I’d skipped lunch and traveled on a bus across town to purchase the test where hopefully no one would know who I was. Two days prior I shed real tears when I found myself staring at two lines, confirming my greatest fear.

  The next day I made an appointment with the clinic, hoping beyond hope that somehow, I’d just gotten a false positive. But deep down I knew. Me, the girl who actually enjoyed studying into the wee hours of the morning over going out to party with friends. Not like I had very many friends anyway, but still. And me, the girl who vowed to herself that she’d remain a virgin until marriage was now sitting in a clinic listening to a health care practitioner deliver my options on how to handle an unexpected pregnancy.

  “H-how would it work?” I forced the questions from my lips.

  “Which option, Sandra?”

  “A-abortion.” My answer was barely audible even to my own ears.

  “Since it looks like you are very early in your first trimester, we can make your appointment for next week. By law, we are obligated to give you the details on your baby’s gestational growth.” Her voice seemed to carry a hint of annoyance on that last sentence.

  I understood. So many laws were being pushed through at the federal and state level to reduce access to abortions. It placed health care workers and vulnerable women in a precarious position. One I’d never thought I’d be in myself.

  I lowered my gaze to my hands that were placed in my lap. I thought about all of those conversations I’d heard my grandmother go on and on about how irresponsible women didn’t need access to places like the one I was currently sitting in. They just needed to close their legs and keep their heads in the books! She’d rail on and on about the importance of abstinence-only programs in high schools. And because my grandmother was one of the smartest people I knew and the woman who raised me, I’d gone along with everything she’d taught me.

  My hands went to my stomach again. A baby. Not a fetus, a baby. That was what I was carrying. That thought alone had me sitting up a little straighter. But could I love it? Like really love him or her? What if every time I looked into its eyes I only saw the way in which its presence came to be?

  My eyelids fluttered closed and a warm feeling moved through me. I couldn’t describe it aside from saying that it felt comforting. I let the feeling wash over me before re-opening my eyes.

  I shook my head. “I can’t abort this baby.” I was unsure but my voice was steady, as if the words were coming from a place much deeper than my conscious mind.

  “I understand if you don’t want to have to walk through those protestors again when you come back. We can arrange for someone to escort you—”

  I held up my hand, shaking my head again. “It’s not that.” The protestors holding up those horrific signs were extremely difficult to pass through the first time around, but I would’ve done it again if that's what I wanted. But it wasn’t. “I’m going to keep my baby,” I stated with an assurance that stunned even me. “And love her.”

  The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Her? Sandra, you’re very early on in your pregnancy. Gender hasn’t been determined—”

  “I’m aware. I just have a feeling.” Again, I had no idea where it came from, but just as sure I was of my next breath, I was sure that I was carrying a little girl.

  “In that case, I’d like to provide you with some information on prenatal care and recommend vitamins you should be taking.”

  Feeling overwhelmed, I pushed out a deep breath. “Okay.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I chose to go out the back door of the clinic, hoping to avoid the protestors. In my bag was a list of prenatal vitamins and supplements recommended for expectant mothers, as well as a list of foods to make sure I ate enough of and foods to avoid while pregnant. I also had a list of doctors around the city who took either insurance, Medicare, or sliding scale forms of payment.

  I sighed and hiked the backpack I’d stuffed all of the papers into on my back and raised the hood that was attached to my dark blue sweatshirt over my head. It was drizzling a bit, but the main reason I covered my head was to do my best to disguise myself from anyone who may notice me. The last thing I wanted was for the news getting back to my grandmother before I had a chance to tell her myself. I assured myself with the belief that though she’d be disappointed, she would eventually embrace me and this baby.

  ****

  “Grandma!” I called as soon as I shut the wooden framed door behind me. We lived in a three-level brownstone in one of Williamsport’s oldest neighborhoods.

  “Sandra! What have I told you about yelling through the house?” my grandmother scolded as she rounded the corner, holding a glass of her homemade peach iced tea.

  I groaned inwardly. The only time she made her peach iced tea was when she was having company over. And since it was a Saturday afternoon I knew it was likely women from her bridge club who were with her. Sure enough, a few paces behind my grandmother stood two women looking to be in their early fifties like my grandmother, both of whom I was familiar with.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, staring at my grandmother’s golden hue that was about two shades lighter than my own copper coloring.

  “Oh, Dottie, you know how these teenagers are,” Betsy stated from behind my grandmother’s five-foot nine inch frame, before smiling over at me.

  I
gave her a small smile in return before lowering my gaze.

  “Sandra will be nineteen in a few months. She is almost out of her teenage years. It’s time she began acting like it.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from reminding my grandmother that I had spent nearly my entire teenage life not acting like a teenager. I was president of numerous clubs in school including the debate team, chess team, and the honor society. I had just graduated two months earlier as number one in my class and I was on my way to a very prestigious university on a full academic scholarship. Yet, somehow all of that was negated by the fact that I’d raised my voice a few octaves too high for my grandmother’s liking.

  I sighed and I had to ball my hands into fists and shove them into my pockets to keep from clutching my belly. I never wanted my future child to feel like they weren’t good enough.

  “We were finishing up anyway,” Amy, the second woman with my grandmother, stated. “Dottie, the tea was lovely as usual.”

  “As were the pastries. We’ll see you next week.”

  I nodded and mumbled partings to the women as they passed by me, along with my grandmother. Taking a few steps into the living room, I listened as my grandmother said her good-byes to her friends. I swallowed and inhaled deeply, mentally preparing myself for what needed to be said. I couldn’t keep this secret. I was terrible at lying, and knowing that my baby was growing inside of my womb every day would kill me not to say out loud.

  “Did you and Randy have a good time at the movies? He’ll be heading off to Notre Dame soon.”

  A wave of nausea overcame me. It wasn’t from the pregnancy. It was due to hearing his name. I’d made up a story about going to the movies earlier, and my grandmother had just assumed it was with him, my supposed boyfriend.

  “Um, he got sick so we didn’t go.”

  She paused, her forehead wrinkling. Her perfectly arched eyebrow raised. Not for the first time I noticed how well my grandmother was put together. At five nine she couldn’t weigh anymore than one-hundred and twenty-five pounds, due not only to the healthy diet she fed the both of us but also the strict exercise regime she kept up five to six days a week. Her golden skin glowed healthily and her dark hair was pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She wore a light grey, crew neck, cashmere sweater as well as black pants. This was her “around the house” attire. She never let anyone see her with a hair out of place.

  “That’s odd. I hope he’s well enough to start practice soon. They begin well into the summer months for football season, don’t they?” she inquired.

  I shrugged.

  She tutted. “Sandra what have I told you about shrugging? It looks sloppy.”

  “Sorry. I honestly don’t know when R—” I broke off, unable to even speak his name. “He and I broke up weeks ago,” I lied.

  My grandmother tilted her head. “You told me you were going to the movies with him just this morning.”

  I shook my head. “I said I was going with a friend.” I never said who. She’d assumed since he was the only friend I had. But, well, he wasn’t that either.

  “Well, who did you go—”

  “I’m pregnant!” I blurted out much louder than I’d intended. I needed to say it before I lost my nerve. And it took a full ten seconds for my grandmother to fully process those two little words. But once she did, she repaid my surprise with one of her own. She hauled back with her right hand and smacked me clear across the face.

  I gasped as my hand flew to my left cheek. At first, I was too stunned to feel anything. My grandmother had never hit me. But within seconds my cheek went from stinging to throbbing.

  “All of these years,” she began through clenched teeth as she took another threatening step toward me, “I sacrificed and took care of your ungrateful ass. I endured the shame of your birth and raising you after your mama ran off.”

  I flinched at her words. They stung more than the slap had.

  “I sheltered you. Had you live in one of the best communities and sent you to a great school, and this is the way you repay me?”

  I blinked, trying to hold back the tears, but it was useless. I knew she’d be upset, angered, but the vitriol I heard in her voice, I hadn’t expected. I knew the story of my wild child mother who’d gotten pregnant at sixteen and stopped only so long as it took to give birth to me before she was out the door. I’d only met my birth mother twice in my life.

  But I wasn’t her.

  “Does Randy know?” my grandmother demanded.

  I swallowed, shaking my head. “I-it’s not h-his,” I stuttered.

  “That’s why you broke up, isn’t it? Bad enough you went back on your purity promise, but you broke that poor boy’s heart cheating on him! Just like your tramp mother!”

  I gasped again. I’d never heard my grandmother use such harsh language. Especially, about her own daughter.

  “I-I didn’t—”

  “Didn’t what? Open your legs and act like a complete whore?”

  No. I hadn’t done that. But for some reason I couldn’t let the words come out. I could see it in her eyes. She wouldn’t believe me even if I did tell the truth.

  “You’re not keeping this baby!” she insisted.

  My hands went to my stomach. “I can’t give her up for adoption,” I blurted.

  “Her? You already know it’s a girl?!” Her russet-colored eyes bulged as they dropped to my belly.

  “I have a feeling.” My voice had fallen to a whisper.

  “Well, you’re not keeping her. Nor are you giving it up for adoption.”

  My eyes swung upwards to meet my grandmother’s. She couldn’t be saying what I suspected she was saying.

  “You’re aborting it,” she stated as if her word was final.

  “What?” Ever since I could remember, my grandmother had been an advocate against abortion. She called it murder. Always said girls and women who got knocked up deserved to be forced to reckon with the consequences of their actions. She was one of the loudest proponents of a state bill that decreased the time period a woman could get an abortion to just twenty weeks. In short, my grandmother was the last person I’d ever expected to be standing here demanding I get an abortion.

  “You heard me! You’re aborting that baby!”

  I was more scared than I’d ever been in my life. Add to that I was hurt by her words. But even those emotions didn’t stop me from shaking my head in rebellion.

  “I’m not killing my child.” My voice shook but I held firm.

  “Oh yes the hell you are!” she seethed. “I’m getting on the phone right now with Doctor Ludwig.” The sentence was just barely out of her mouth before she whirled around and started toward the phone that sat on the shiny wooden end table next to the couch.

  “No,” I stated firmly.

  My grandmother stilled, her spine straightening. Slowly, she turned to me. “No?”

  “I’m not aborting my baby.” Gone was the shakiness of a few moments ago. I’d made my decision. I was sure my once my grandmother got over her initial shock and disappointment she would come to see things my way. She would accept this baby.

  “Then you will get out of my house.”

  Or maybe she wouldn’t.

  “Grandmo—”

  “Don’t grandmother me! You’ve made your decision. You wanted to spread your legs like a common hooker and dare to tell me no when I tell you how this needs to be handled?” She waved her hand in the air, shaking her head. “You will not embarrass me the same way your mother did. I will not raise that!” she spat out, pointing toward my stomach as if some alien life form was growing inside instead of a human baby.

  “I’m not asking you to raise her. But I will be in school and—”

  “I don’t give a damn what you do. That child will never step foot in this house. Get out!” she ordered.

  “Grandmother!”

  “Now! I want you to pack your things and be out of my house within the next twenty minutes!”

  “B-but whe
re am I to go? I don’t have anyone else.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you got knocked up. Why don’t you go live with whatever boy it was who did this to you.”

  A lump formed in my throat and my stomach lurched at the thought. That certainly wasn’t an option. I’d rather die than do what she’d suggested.

  “Of course, you can’t go to him, can you? Well, you were grown enough to let this happen to you. Be grown enough to figure out how to raise this baby on your own. You have twenty minutes or I’m calling the police!”

  I blinked as she stormed out of the living room. I knew she was serious. My grandmother would never get the police involved unless she meant it. And as a county court judge, my grandmother held a lot of sway in our community and with the police.

  Resigning myself to the fact that I would have to find somewhere to stay for the night, I trekked my way through the living room and up the wooden staircase to my bedroom. Getting my duffle bag out of the closet, I stuffed as many of my clothes and belongings as I could into the bag. I grabbed a few of my books, my Vivaldi’s Cello CD along with a few other classical CDs I loved, and some toiletries before heading out and back downstairs.

  My ears perked up when I heard my grandmother’s footsteps round the corner. Maybe she’d had time to think this over and realize how irrational she was being. I raised my gaze to meet her, hope filling my chest, but it was quickly extinguished. She brushed right past me, not even glancing my way. Instead, she moved to the front door, holding it open for me to pass through.

  I opened my mouth to speak but nothing would come out. I couldn’t tell her the truth—it was much better kept a secret I’d take to my grave. Besides, no matter what the truth was, I knew I was keeping my child. Come hell or high water.

  My grandmother refused to look my way as I passed over the threshold to the outside. And as soon as I did, she swung the door closed to my back.

  The loneliness I’d always felt growing up was even more pronounced in that moment. My grandmother had never been the most affectionate or loving person but she was there. She’d kept a roof over my head and kept me well fed, made sure my basic needs were tended to. Now that was gone.