“I guess it just hit me today that the grandbaby I always dreamed of is going to go to someone else,” she sobbed, wiping the tears from her eyes so she could watch the road.
“I’m sorry to put you through this. I hate myself for it.”
“Lenna, I don’t want you to hate yourself. You’re trying to do the right thing. I know that. It’s just so…” she sobbed, “hard.”
“Maybe we can have an open adoption, like Melissa talked about.”
“I think that would be even harder.” She wiped her nose. “To have just a little contact with the baby but not be a significant part of its life—to have to watch someone else raise it, be its grandparents.” She cried harder.
“I just don’t know.” I rubbed her arm and put my hand in hers. “I would do whatever I could to take your pain away.”
“Maybe daddy and I could raise the baby,” she said, a look of desperate hope on her face. “We could raise the baby, and you could still be its mom, but I would take on all the work.”
“Oh mom.” I shook my head. She was already in her late fifties, my dad in his early sixties. They had waited a long time to have children, and once they had started trying, there had been problems. It took them years to get pregnant with me, and by then, my mom was already forty-one, my dad forty-five. They always told me I was their miracle baby—a true gift from God. I didn’t feel like such a gift these days—more like a burden. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking me to do that. I’m offering.”
“Mom, do you realize dad would be eighty when the child graduated from high school?”
Lucidity filled her face again as the realization of what she was offering dawned on her. My dad was just finally getting ready to retire after working hard his whole life. After I went to college, they had plans to travel and get a condo not far from wherever I ended up, which they hoped would be somewhere warm, like Florida or Arizona. My mom forbade me from going to school anywhere with icy weather.
“No, you’re right,” she said in a defeated tone. “I don’t think we can do it all over again. Not at our age. I just wish…” She choked up again. “I just wish we could.”
I hugged her while she gripped the steering wheel. “I promise you’ll have another grandbaby one day.”
“I know.” She cleared her throat. “When the time is right and you’re happily married to a wonderful man. I know.”
She smiled a sad smile and turned into the parking lot of the doctor’s office. After parking, she turned to me and said, “Hey, after this, how about we surprise daddy at the office and go look at Christmas lights?”
I reached up to wipe the dampness from her cheek with my sleeve. “That sounds nice. Why don’t we stop at Ludwig’s for some soup for dinner first? That way you don’t have to cook tonight.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said. “We’ll have enough cooking to do over the next couple of days.”
I reached over and hugged her as tightly as I could, as though I could smother all of her anguish with my firm embrace, smother it till it died. I pulled away and she said, “I’m sorry I totally lost it. I’ve been trying to be strong for you. You have enough to worry about without having to worry about me.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide your feelings from me,” I said. “We can comfort each other.”
She nodded. “Well, we’d better get inside before they make us reschedule.”
We walked into the office, signed in, and waited, but this time the waiting room was loud, crowded, and hot. My turtleneck suffocated me, and I pulled on the collar while I glanced around at all the moms with babies, both inside and out. One mom was so enormous, she looked like she might give birth right there in the waiting room.
My mom smiled at her. “When are you due?” she asked the big-bellied woman.
“Eight days ago,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “This one just wants to torture me as long as he can.”
My mom laughed. “Yep. They won’t come out until they’re good and ready.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” The woman nodded.
“Lenna James.” A woman in scrubs holding a clipboard stood in the doorway of the waiting room.
“Here!” I called, putting my hand up. A few women around me chuckled, and I immediately put my hand down, embarrassed at my own immaturity.
“Let’s go, sweetie,” my mom said, picking up our bags.
We followed the woman to a small room that looked like every other doctor’s room I had ever been in. Well, except for the table with stirrups—I had only seen those in my gynecologist’s office, and I had only been there a couple of times for routine check-ups. I eyed the stirrups hesitantly and looked at my mom, secretly motioning to them. She looked at the stirrups and chuckled, shaking her head.
After the nurse asked me a few routine questions and took my temperature, she left the room where my mom and I sat with nothing to do but crinkle the protective paper on the patient chair and play with the tongue depressors.
Twenty-five minutes later, the doctor came in. “Hi Lenna,” he said, putting his hand out for me to shake. I hesitated, hoping he had washed it recently, then put my hand in his. “I’m Dr. Levin. So,” he looked at his folder, “it says here you think you’re about eight weeks pregnant. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I conceived on October thirty-first.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, I’m very sure.”
“When was the first day of your last period?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I have no idea.”
“Can you give me a guess?”
“I guess around October fifteenth,” I said.
“So that means you are…” he counted in his head for a second. “About ten weeks pregnant. That puts you due around…” He picked up a small paper wheel and turned it. “July twenty-fourth.” He wrote something on his chart.
I pondered how I could possibly be ten weeks pregnant when I knew for a fact I was only eight weeks pregnant. But who was I to question the doctor’s expertise?
“Let’s see,” Dr. Levin continued. “You’re sixteen years old. How long have you been sexually active?”
“Oh, about eight weeks,” I said, emphasizing the part about the eight weeks. “But I’m not sexually active. It was a one time deal. So you see I couldn’t possibly be ten weeks pregnant.”
Other than raising an eyebrow, he ignored my comments and continued writing something on his chart. “And you’ve been going to the gynecologist for regular check-ups, I assume?”
“Yes,” my mom answered for me. “I’ve taken her ever since she started her period about three years ago.”
“And when was her last check-up?” he asked.
“About four months ago,” my mom said.
“Okay,” he said, still writing, writing, writing. “No problems ever?”
“Nope,” my mom and I said at the same time.
“And the father? He doesn’t have any STDs or anything like that?” Dr. Levin asked.
A jolt ran through my body, and I looked at my mom in distress. “I don’t know,” I said. “I hadn’t even thought about it because I’ve been so caught up in all this pregnancy stuff.” I looked back at Dr. Levin. “Should I be worried?”
“Do you know if he had been sexually active before you?” he asked.
I glanced at my mom, ashamed she had to hear this. “Yes.” My mom chewed her lip and shifted in her seat.
“Well, we can add in a few tests if you’d like, just to be sure. And you should probably talk to the father.” Dr. Levin eyed me seriously.
“I’d kind of been avoiding that,” I said. “I guess I’ll talk to him after Christmas. I need to tell him some things anyway.” I hadn’t told Aidan I was putting the baby up for adoption yet; I didn’t want his participation in it at all. And his parents had never even called again or anything. I guess they were hoping the whole situation would just magicall
y disappear if they ignored it.
“Okay, good,” Dr. Levin said. “I’d like to send you to the lab to get some blood work done then. And I’ll need to do a pelvic exam today.”
“Oh man!” I cried. “I was hoping to avoid that too.”
“We don’t have to,” Dr. Levin said. “But if you haven’t had one since you had sex, it might be a good idea.”
I looked at my mom. She nodded. “Okay.” I slumped my shoulders in dramatic fashion. “Do what you gotta do.”
After all the unpleasantries were over and I had peed into a cup, we continued our appointment in his personal office. I asked the doctor if we might be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat yet. He told us it was still early, but we would probably be able to hear it around my twelve week check-up.
“Would you like your baby to be screened for chromosomal disorders, like Down syndrome?” Dr. Levin asked, sitting behind his large mahogany desk.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” my mom agreed. “She’s awfully young, and I read those tests aren’t always accurate.”
“That’s fine,” Dr. Levin said. He gave us a bunch more papers about everything from regular check-ups, ultrasound, and diabetes testing to safe medications, nutrition, and unsafe activities. I looked at the sheet that contained a list of dangerous activities and giggled.
“What?” my mom asked, leaning over to look at the sheet. I pointed to where it listed roller coasters. She chuckled.
“So, do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Levin asked after giving us his spiel on everything.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Well, actually… No, never mind.” I stood up.
“Ask him your question, Lenna,” my mom urged.
“Okay,” I said, feeling stupid. “How much does it, you know, hurt to have a baby? I’ve never seen a birth before, except in the movies, and well, does it really hurt as bad as they make it seem?”
Dr. Levin smiled. “Every birth is different. And if you’d like, we can give you medications to ease the pain. They’re all listed on one of the papers I gave you.”
“Oh,” I said, relieved. “That’s good. Well, thanks.”
He stood up and shook my hand. “It was nice to meet you, Lenna. I’ll see you in about a month.”
As my mom and I walked out of the office, she said, “That wasn’t so bad, huh?”
“Of course it wasn’t bad for you. You weren’t the one with a Q-tip in places where a Q-tip should never go.”
She laughed and put her arm around me. “Let’s go see dad now.”
Chapter 8
I took the necklace out of the box and held it up to the light of the lamp. The pink stone sparkled as it twisted in the lamplight. Pink was Heather’s favorite color. I put the necklace carefully back into the jewelry box, picked up the phone, and dialed Heather’s house. It rang twice before Heather’s mom picked up the phone. “Merry Christmas!” she said instead of the usual hello.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Jacobson,” I said.
“Lenna! Is that you? How are you? I feel like we haven’t seen you in ages. Let me get Heather for you. She’s sitting right here. Have a Merry Christmas, dear!” She didn’t wait for me to respond to any of her questions.
“Hi Lenna,” Heather said when she got on the phone.
“Hey,” I said. “Merry Christmas Eve.”
“Merry Christmas Eve to you too. What’s going on?”
“I was just thinking about you, and I wondered if I could stop by today. I have a present for you.”
“Yeah! I have a present for you too. And we’re not eating till later. Why don’t you come over right now?” Her excitement was evident, even through the phone line.
“Great!” I said. “I’ll just use my mom’s car ‘cause they’re not going anywhere today.”
After talking to Heather, I worked on getting the jewelry box wrapped, being as meticulous as I could in my folding and taping. Afterward, I sat at the kitchen table, finishing up the last part of a long letter I had written. But not for Heather. The letter was for Will. After much going back and forth, I finally decided to sign it Love, Lenna and placed the letter in an envelope.
Will wouldn’t talk to me at school or youth group. He always had something he had to do or somewhere he had to go or someone he had to talk to. And the two times I had called his house, his mom told me he wasn’t there, but I knew she was lying. I was growing anxious because I knew the longer we went without talking, the longer it took for me to tell him the truth, the worse it would be for our friendship.
I pulled the plastic spider ring out of my pocket and smiled, remembering when Will had given it to me. Hard to believe it was half my lifetime ago. We were only eight years old, our two families having dinner together at Perfect Pizza, where the pizza wasn’t really so perfect.
Will and I wandered around playing games, using up all of our tokens within ten minutes, an unfortunate circumstance because after they were all gone, I discovered a machine full of sparkling plastic jewelry. All I had to do was put in two quarters and I could get anything from a giant orange diamond ring to a set of gold teeth, all inside of colorful plastic eggs. Will immediately ran to his mom and begged her for two quarters. She refused him, telling him he got what he got, and when it was all gone, it was all gone.
All through dinner, he sulked and begged and promised to clean his room every day until finally, he wore his mom down and she gave him the two quarters. We ran to the jewelry machine. He put in his two quarters and turned the knob. A purple plastic egg popped out of the hole. Will snatched it up and busted it open. All the while, I silently prayed it would be one of the beautiful diamond rings. Will’s face fell as he saw what was inside. He reached into the egg and pulled out the plastic spider ring.
I smiled and held my hand out in front of him, waiting for him to slip it on my finger. He shook his head, clearly more disappointed with it than I had been. “It’s too ugly for you.”
“It was the one I wanted,” I assured him, still holding my hand out.
He looked up. “No way!” he said, but his face brightened anyway.
“Yep,” I insisted.
He slipped the ring on my finger. “Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?”
“I’ll always be your girlfriend.”
Now I stared at the silly ring, missing the person who had given it to me, wishing I could go back to that first day of our junior year, wishing I could have a do-over. You don’t get do-overs in life, but you may get second chances, and that’s what I was hoping for.
I slipped the ring into the envelope, sealed it shut, and held it in my hands. After several minutes of sitting there staring at it, I grabbed my pen and on the outside wrote, It’s still the one I want.
~ ~ ~
“Hey!” Heather exclaimed, hugging me as I walked through the door.
“Hey!” I hugged her back.
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
“I had to drop something off at Will’s house,” I said as I hung my coat up in the entryway closet.
Her face lit up. “Did you guys make up?”
I shook my head. “No. He still doesn’t want to talk to me. I just put it in his mailbox.”
“That’s too bad.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m going to have to talk to that boy.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Please don’t. He’ll talk to me when he’s ready.”
Heather looked at me in anticipation, bouncing from foot to foot, her eyes nearly bulging out of their eye sockets. I knew she wouldn’t be able to wait.
“Here.” I rolled my eyes and handed her the small gift-wrapped box. She snatched it out of my hands and was already unwrapping it—completely ignoring my meticulous wrap job—as we walked into the kitchen.
“Lenna!” Mrs. Jacobson said, turning away from the oven to give me a hug. “It’s so good to see you. How’s your mom? Is your dad still working a lot? He works too much, doesn’t
he? Gosh, it’s good to see you!” She hugged me again. Mrs. Jacobson was easy to talk to—because you didn’t have to talk at all.
“Oh my goodness!” Heather said as she pulled the necklace out of the box. “Lenna, this is beautiful. It must have cost so much money.” She held it up in front of her bright eyes, smiling at the pink heart-shaped crystal.
“Oh, no,” I lied. “It wasn’t expensive.” Actually, I had drained my bank account in buying it (I would never get a car). The heart-shaped stone was a pink sapphire, and around the heart were tiny diamonds—almost too small to see, but real diamonds nonetheless. I had also opted for a white gold chain, instead of silver, so it wouldn’t tarnish.
“Are those… real diamonds?” Heather asked, holding the necklace so close to her face, it looked like she might actually poke herself in the eye with it.
“Yeah,” I answered. “But they’re miniscule.”
“I can’t believe you did this.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed me tight.
“Give it here, give it here,” Mrs. Jacobson said, holding her hand out and bouncing from foot to foot, just like her daughter. “Let me see it!”
Heather handed her the necklace. “Isn’t it beautiful!”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Jacobson said.
All the fuss about the necklace was starting to embarrass me. As though Heather had read my mind, she said, “I have your present upstairs. I’ll go get it.”
“I’ll go with you,” I offered. “I have something to talk to you about.”
“Okay!” she exclaimed. I wished I felt as excited about everything as she did.
Heather absentmindedly led me up the stairs, studying the necklace the whole time. “I just love it,” she said to herself as we entered her room. She walked over to her dresser and, watching herself in the mirror, put the chain around her neck. She turned to me. “How does it look?”
The Day We Met Page 6
