“They can’t do that. There are antidiscrimination laws—”
“Sure there are, but if they fire you for something unrelated to the baby, it isn’t discrimination.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Abby said, setting her ice cream on the coffee table and curling her legs up against her chest.
“Well, I talked to Pat’s dad and he had one idea. He thinks he could pull some strings at the post office.”
Abby tried to picture herself wearing the uniform polyester pants and button-down shirt hauling sacks of mail around town.
“I know, I know,” Breanna said. “It’s not your dream. But this isn’t the time for dreams. This is the time for reality. A government job will give you decent hours, good pay, really good benefits, and they are more likely to follow those anti-discrimination laws than any kind of private company.”
“But the post office?” Abby wanted a nice, quiet job, a receptionist or some kind of clerk with her own little cubicle to hide in.
“They’re always hiring. That’s what Pat’s dad says.”
“Yeah, to replace all the employees who go postal. Remember that expression? It exists for a reason.”
“He thinks he can get you a customer service job. You have plenty of experience dealing with people. You know about customer service. It won’t be so bad.”
Abby pressed her fists into her eyes and shook her head. She thought of the cranky people who worked at the post office around the corner who yelled at all the customers no matter how reasonable their requests. She’d rather stick with the drunks at the bar.
“It won’t be forever. You get this job, and then you can figure out your dream job. You can go back to school later. Right now you have to be practical.”
Abby sighed. “Right. I can be a full-time mom with a full-time job and go back to school to get qualified for my dream job of cutting people’s hair or something like that. Totally.”
“No more pity-parties,” Breanna said, getting up. She returned a minute later with her laptop. “You apply online. Pat’s dad will call as soon as you file the application. Let’s go.”
“Can’t I think about it?”
“What’s to think about?”
Everything! Abby wanted to shout, but she knew Breanna was right. She had to be practical. Besides she had no dream job to hold out for. Her dream job was being a stay-at-home mom, raising the kids, keeping house, baking cakes. Sadly, that job didn’t pay. Abby took the computer and filled out the form. A week later she had an interview and they hired her to start the third week of March. It’s not forever, she reminded herself, when they gave her the uniform.
Having a job only solved one of Abby’s major dilemmas, though. The other was housing. The lease on the apartment she and Breanna were sharing was up at the end of April. Breanna and Pat planned to get married in December or January. That meant there was no hope of Breanna renewing the lease with her. She’d probably want to move out before the wedding. Although Nathaniel had gone with Abby to her last prenatal doctor’s appointment and had even been pretty nice about it, he was mostly distant and withdrawn. He said it was work. He’d picked up an extra class to try to save money, he said. Abby knew that pressuring him would only backfire, so she decided to take his lead, to give him space, and to hope that he realized how much he wanted to be a father. She couldn’t hound him to help her look for apartments. She kept hoping he’d offer to have her move in with him, but she knew that was unlikely.
Fortunately, it was Breanna to the rescue again. She talked to their landlord and convinced him to let them go month-to-month. They’d been good tenants for over three years, so he agreed. She told Abby she had no intention of moving out until the wedding. When Abby protested, saying Breanna shouldn’t postpone her life for Abby, Breanna was definitive in her reply.
“I have the rest of my life to live with Pat, so I don’t see why I should rush. Besides, it’s more romantic this way,” she said. “And anyway, you’re the sister I never had.”
“You have a sister,” Abby said.
“Yeah, and you’re the one I never had.”
Abby rolled her eyes, but she smiled. She was finally starting to believe it was going to okay.
Giving her notice at the Watering Hole was harder than Abby had imagined. As much as Bill could be an idiot sometimes, he was always nice to her, and he seemed sorry to see her go. When she told him she’d gotten a job at the post office, his first question was, “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
Abby nodded.
“I thought so. Between New Year’s and,” he glanced down at her chest and raised an eyebrow.
He asked if there was anything she needed and made her promise to stay in touch, and Abby cried, because she cried over everything these days.
“I tell you what,” Bill said, when she was leaving his office, “I think I was pretty lucky to only have boys. I don’t know how the parents of girls manage.”
Abby knew what he meant. From the moment she found out the she was pregnant, she’d been wishing for a boy. Boys never have to go through this. Men might have to tell their parents that their girlfriend is pregnant, but that’s a whole different thing than an unmarried woman telling her parents that she’s going to have a baby. It shouldn’t be so different, but it was, and Abby knew it, which was why she was taking a week off before starting her new job. She needed to face her parents and tell them—in person.
When she and Nathaniel agreed to wait three months before telling even their parents, she had hoped he’d be there with her when she told them, holding her hand, showing how supportive he was. How delusional she had been. At least Breanna and Pat had offered to drive her out there in Pat’s car, so she wouldn’t have to take the bus, alone, mentally rehearsing the two dozen ways the conversation could go wrong.
The second week of March the weather turned unseasonably warm. Overnight, the forsythia burst into bloom, crocuses came up everywhere, daffodils and tulips started emerging. The sudden spring felt like a sign to Abby, who was not normally superstitious, but who needed whatever reassurance the universe could offer at that moment. The world was thawing out and waking up, she was starting a new respectable job, and she was finally going to be able to tell everyone she was pregnant. If it wasn’t exactly every little girl’s dream—unwed, working at the post office in an unflattering uniform—at least she was ready to take charge of her life and become a great mother.
The drive from Somerville to southwestern New Hampshire was quick and easy. When they pulled onto Abby’s parents’ street, Breanna turned around from the passenger seat and smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” she asked.
Abby shook her head. She had to do this alone. It would be okay. They would be upset, but they would come around. She needed them. It wasn’t like she was seventeen. She was an adult in a long-term relationship. At least, she thought she was still in a relationship. Nonetheless, she was the baby of the family and the only girl. She was her mother’s angel and her father’s darling. They dreamed of her white wedding at the church in town. Her father would walk her down the aisle and cry when he lifted her veil. Her mother would give her the pearl earrings that she had gotten from her own mother on her wedding day. The idea of their little girl’s big day was important to them. Her mother sometimes clipped pictures of bridal gowns or cakes from magazines and sent them to her. Though her parents didn’t like Nathaniel, they had accepted his presence and could not comprehend what was taking the boy so long to propose. Well, mom, Abby thought, I gave away the milk, so he didn’t need to buy the cow. That was one of her mother’s favorite warnings, one she’d heard a few times back in high school. It was as close as her mother ever came to having a sex talk with her.
Pat pulled into the driveway and got out to help Abby with her suitcase. Abby took a deep breath and looked at her parent’s home, a raised ranch with fading blue
vinyl siding and white shutters. The red bud tree in the front yard was starting to bloom. In the front windows, Abby saw the familiar curtains, the same Waverley print that had hung there for as long as she could remember. On the front door, she saw the same Easter wreath with plastic eggs and fake flowers that her mother put out every year. Coming home was like walking through a time warp to 1999. Even her mother’s hairstyle hadn’t changed.
“All set?” Pat asked, opening the car door for her. Abby climbed out and walked up to the garage door, Pat following her. She punched the code on a number pad and the door opened.
“I can take that,” she said, reaching for the suitcase.
“Should you?” Pat said. “It’s heavy.”
“It’s not that heavy. I got it.” Abby took the bag, gave Pat a little hug, waved to Breanna, and walked into the garage. It wasn’t as hard as she had thought it would be. No invisible wall had blocked her path. Her feet didn’t stop communicating with her brain.
She skirted around her father’s prize BMW, his Sunday car (in good weather only), and opened the door to the basement. She smelled fresh laundry and sautéed garlic and onions.
“Hey, honey,” her mother shouted down the stairs.
Abby left her suitcase just inside the garage door and went up to the kitchen where her mother stood at the stove, her back to Abby.
“I’m making your favorite,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to smile at Abby. “Your father and brother are out golfing. They should be home soon. Isn’t this weather something?”
Abby opened the refrigerator and peered around for nothing in particular. It was simply part of the ritual of coming home. For some reason, every time she arrived at the house, she had to survey the fridge and cupboards. She had noticed her oldest brother, Rod, always did the same when he was home visiting. Jeremy, who was only two years older than she, still lived at home, mooching off of their parents and postponing any semblance of adult life.
“Don’t spoil your appetite,” her mother warned.
Abby shut the fridge and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her mother work. She wasn’t exactly sure what “favorite” her mother was cooking up in her honor. Probably pork, judging from the ingredients she saw on the counter.
“Can’t wait to hear more about this new job,” her mother said, turning to look at her daughter. “Not that there’s anything wrong with bartending, but this sounds like something with a little more future in it.” She grabbed an apple and peeler from the counter and nodded towards the sink. “Wash your hands and you can help me.” Then she deftly peeled and sliced the apple and tossed the slices in the skillet on the stove.
Abby knew better than to argue. She pushed up her sleeves and let the hot water run over her hands. Something with a little more future in it. Really? Ringing up stamps sounded like something with a little more future in it? She shook her hands in the sink and then wiped them on the on the terry towel that hung from the knob of the cabinet below it.
“There’s some broccoli in the crisper,” her mother said without looking up.
Abby got the broccoli, a cutting board, and a knife, and began cutting the florets into small pieces to be steamed. She thought about how she should ask her mother about some recipes. She needed to learn how to make a wider variety of things than pasta and baked chicken.
“I know you love dumplings with your pork, but I have to watch your father’s diet,” her mother said, tossing another apple in the skillet.
“That’s ok. I should watch mine, too,” Abby said. She rummaged in the cabinet and found a sauce pan and steamer basket.
Her mother turned to look at her for a moment. “Yeah, you mighta put on a few pounds,” she said.
Abby shrugged. She couldn’t decide if she should tell her parents together or separately. And if separately, then who first? And if together, should she include her brother? Should she tell them today and get it out of the way, or should she wait a couple of days so they could have a nice time first and enjoy each other’s company?
“Well,” her mother said, washing her hands. “That’s all. Now we just wait for the pork to finish up and the boys to come home. Can you believe that golf course is already open? You want a drink, honey?”
“Nah,” Abby said. She followed her mother to the front room and flopped down onto the couch in front of the TV.
Her mother flipped on the news, but then she turned the volume down and faced her daughter. “So how are things with Nathaniel?” she asked.
“Fine,” Abby said, weaving her fingers into the holes on the crocheted afghan that lived on the back of the couch.
Her mother nodded. “So you two are still...” Her mother raised an eyebrow as if she wasn’t sure how to classify them.
“Yep.”
“You haven’t talked much about him lately, so we didn’t know if you two had, you know, broken up or something.”
“Nope,” Abby said, looking at her mother and forcing a smile.
“Well that’s good. We were a little worried when you said you were coming home for a whole week that it was because you had bad news.”
“Oh,” Abby said. Bad news. Did she have bad news? Babies are a blessing, right? And her parents did want grandchildren. They were always hounding her oldest brother, Rod, asking him when he and his wife were going to start a family.
“That’ll be the boys,” her mother said, hearing the garage door creak open.
Abby wasn’t ready to see her father. She wasn’t ready to disappoint him. Her whole life, he was always pushing her, holding her up to some impossible standard that he called “her potential.” If she got a C in math class, she wasn’t fulfilling “her potential.” If she got cut from the swim team, she wasn’t working up to “her potential.” By settling on a job as a bartender, she wasn’t putting her God-given brains to use to make something of “her potential.” She doubted he saw her new job as a huge improvement, but he had to see it as at least a small step in the right direction. Until he learned the reason. Then it would be about two-thousand steps in the wrong direction.
“Your mother and I, we didn’t have the opportunities you’ve had,” he liked to say. “Don’t you squander your potential.”
Every time she saw him, he reminded her how she could go back to college any time she wanted. She’d had some time off to think about things, and now that she’d had her taste of the “real world” she could go back any time. What he thought she’d go back to school for, she did not know.
He had always wanted to be a historian. He loved reading histories about war and presidential biographies. In another life, he would have gone to college and become a history teacher, but in his actual life, he was the manager of Country Tire & Auto, where he’d worked since he was eighteen. When Abby was growing up, he’d tell his friends his daughter was going to be the first woman president or five-star general. That was back when she’d say anything if she thought it would make him happy. She’d go with him to revolutionary and civil war reenactments and learn all sorts of facts and trivia to talk to him about, the way some kids learn all the stats of their dad’s favorite baseball team. They visited West Point once when she was in middle school, and caught up in its beauty and the sight of all those young men in their uniforms, Abby said she was going to go to college there. She suspected her father had never quite forgiven her for not following through on that one, even though she’d never had the grades for that. Besides, Rod had fulfilled his father’s dream of entering the army, enlisting straight out of high school. Two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. That ought to be enough for any father. He held her to a different standard, though, a higher one than either of her brothers. It was as if he believed that boys will be boys, but girls could be relied on to be good and faithful and dutiful.
She heard the door from the garage to the basement open and shut, and her brother and father clomped up the stairs.
“Hey, sis,” Jeremy said, pulling her off the couch into a hug. “Long time, no see.”
When Jeremy let go, her father stepped in and wrapped his arms around her. “There’s my girl,” he said.
“We were about ready to go eat without you,” her mother said, launching herself from the recliner and walked toward the kitchen. “You go wash your hands and then we’re eating before the pork is a dried-out mess.”
Abby helped her mother set the table and plate up the meal. Her father and Jeremy came in and sat down without so much as offering to get the flatware. Once everyone was seated and the food was served, her father started asking her questions about her new job. Abby hardly knew how to answer most of them, since she didn’t actually begin work for another week.
Jeremy served himself a second-helping of pork and all the fixings and then got up to get a drink.
“You want a beer, Abby?” he said, moving the milk and OJ to get at the beer in the back of the fridge.
“No, I’m fine,” Abby said.
“Since when are you a teetotaler? What are you pregnant?” Jeremy said, pulling out a bottle and prying off the cap with the bottle opener mounted on the wall next to the fridge.
Abby should have laughed it off. She should have made a joke. But his comment caught her so off guard that she didn’t react quite fast enough, and in that pause before she could spit out a retort, her mother set down her fork and looked at her, really studying her for the first time since she got home. Jeremy noticed their mother’s reaction and froze by the fridge, looking back and forth between his mother and sister. Their father went on eating with no notice of Jeremy’s comment or either woman’s reaction.
“Gary,” their mother said. “Abby’s got something to tell us.”
“Huh?” their father said, looking up from his plate. He smiled at Abby but then, seeing the pained look on her face, turned toward his wife and his smile fell. “What’s up?”
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” she asked, still looking at Abby.
The Latecomers Fan Club Page 10
