Pregnant in Pennyslvania

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Papa is pretty funny,” I say. “And he likes to tease, so remember that he’s not always being serious.”

  “I know when he’s teasing,” Aiden says. “He gets this look in his eye, which I think is a twinkle. I didn’t think eyes could actually twinkle, because stars twinkling is just something about the light taking a long time to reach us or something, but Papa’s eyes actually twinkle when he’s teasing.”

  I laugh. “His eyes totally twinkle! Especially when he thinks he’s being crafty and thinks we don’t know he’s teasing.”

  “That’s when it’s easiest to tell he’s teasing!”

  “I know!” I say. “I figured that out when I was…oh, about your age.”

  “Aiden Thomas?” The nurse appears then, calling Aiden.

  After a thorough examination of his ankle, Aiden gets the all clear to go back to sports, but with a caution to take it easy with the first few practices, but that he should be good to go for the game later this week.

  As we leave the doctor’s office, Aiden wants to go to practice right then, since there’s still a good twenty minutes left.

  So, being the sucker I am, we head to the field. His team is practicing a play, and while there’s not time for him to dress out in his gear and practice with them, at least he can watch from the side and chat with Coaches Barnhart and Trent.

  Unfortunately, it also means I can’t escape Jamie, who walks Aiden over to me after the rest of the team ends the practice and heads for the equipment shed.

  “So, our guy got the all clear to play?” Jamie asks.

  I nod, offering him a tight smile. “Yeah. He needs to be a little cautious at first, but he should be fine.”

  “Great—we’ll need him at the game this week. Our opponent is gonna be tough—they’ve got a really good running game and a solid defense.”

  “Well, here he is, ready to go.”

  Aiden is talking to his teammates, tossing a ball around. Jamie glances at him, and then back to me—making sure Aiden is out of earshot.

  “Elyse, listen, what you saw this afternoon at José’s—”

  “Jamie, stop, please.” I hold up both hands. “I meant what I said.”

  “It wasn’t a date. I’m not interested in Debra like that. For one thing, I’m the principal where she’s a teacher. Intra-district dating is fine with me, but intra-school is not. I wouldn’t ever date anyone I directly work with, and especially not an employee of my own.” His gaze is open and truthful. “So, please, just—”

  I close my eyes and back away. “Jamie, stop. Honestly, I just…it’s not worth wasting any more time talking about this.”

  He winces. “So that’s it?”

  “That was it before this afternoon, Jamie. I can’t…I can’t—God, I’ve already explained this half a dozen times. We can be friends, but that’s it.”

  He sighs, and his eyes reflect conflict. “I know what you’ve said, Elyse. And I do respect that. I promise I will try, because I truly do respect and honor where you’re coming from.” He doesn’t look away, and his eyes are intense, direct. “But just in the name of honesty, I’m not sure I can totally forget what we’re like together. I’m not sure I can forget how it felt to kiss you…how great it feels to be around you—I can’t just turn off how I feel about you.”

  “That’s going to seriously complicate things, Jamie.”

  He nods, shrugging. “I know. I wish I could shut it down, because that’d honestly be a lot easier—it’d sure as hell hurt less. But I can’t. What I can do is promise to try my best.”

  “Your best, huh?”

  “Yeah. And, for the record, I don’t believe you really want it to be like this, but you’re scared. I think we could be great together. I think it would be something amazing, something truly lasting. I have to say that—you have to know that.”

  I swallow hard. “God…Jamie. I hate you, sometimes.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just—”

  “AIDEN!” I call, cutting him off. “We have to go!”

  “Elyse—”

  I shake my head. “No more, Jamie. Please, I can’t.”

  He sighs, holding his hands up palms out. “Okay, okay. I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not—you have to know my truth. But I will respect your stated desires, even if I disagree with them and think you’re making a mistake for both of us.” He clamps his jaws together a moment, and then speaks again. “I want you, Elyse Thomas. I want to be with you. I’m not going to just…stop, or forget. I’ll keep my peace, and keep my distance after this out of respect, but I’m going to hold out hope that you’ll change your mind someday. And if you do, I’ll be there.”

  “You should move on, Jamie,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “Not a chance. I know a good and perfect thing when I see it and feel it, and I’m not the type to just let it go without a fight.”

  Aiden jogs over, then, and I take his hand and walk away.

  “Mom?” he asks, as he gets in. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing,” I whisper.

  “Mom—”

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “Don’t, please, okay?”

  He sighs. “Okay, Mama.”

  And this time, he listens.

  15

  The autumn days both crawl by and fly past. Days can last for hours, and the weeks can vanish at lightning speed. I create a new habit in my day: I drop Aiden off at school fifteen minutes early. It means getting up earlier and getting us moving faster, but Aiden likes to help his teacher get ready for the day, and he helps Jamie get the kindergarteners off the bus and into their rooms—the opportunity to volunteer and help out makes Aiden feel important, and the extra time lets me get into my officer sooner which, in turn, means I can leave closer to the final bell.

  And, by dropping Aiden off fifteen minutes early, I avoid having to see Jamie, as he doesn’t come outside for drop-off until eight fifteen.

  I tell myself it’s for the extra office time, and so Aiden can volunteer, but really, it’s about avoiding Jamie; I’m not a morning person and never have been, so getting out the door fifteen minutes early when mornings are already hard enough is a pretty major thing for me.

  It’s worth it, though.

  I barely see him, now. Maybe the odd wave from a distance in the morning, and another wave after football in the afternoon; I watch practice from my car, now, and I don’t even pretend this isn’t about avoiding Jamie.

  Aiden doesn’t ask about Jamie anymore, and I notice there’s a discernible reduction in the number of times Aiden quotes Coach Trent; I feel guilty about that because, on a platonic level, Jamie is a wonderful influence on Aiden.

  But I try not to think about that too closely either, because letting myself think about what a wonderful influence Jamie is on Aiden only leads me down a what-if spiral:

  What if it could work…

  What if Cora is right?

  What if Jamie is right?

  “I know a good and perfect thing when I see it and feel it, and I’m not the type to just let it go without a fight.”

  What if I really am just using Aiden as an excuse, and I really am denying myself a good thing out of fear of getting hurt? And not just hurt again, but hurt even worse because, deep down, I know Jamie has the capacity to hurt me worse than Daniel ever could.

  What if I’m denying myself the possibility of finding real, true, lasting, beautiful love?

  What if I’m denying Aiden the chance to have an amazing father figure?

  These thoughts flicker through me, and I shy away from them—recoil from them, more like. I shy away, I recoil, I deny, and I hide from them. They say the truth hurts; maybe I’m just pathologically unable to allow myself to think too deeply about it, to let myself really pick apart my truth from my fears.

  I have to protect Aiden.

  I’m fragile. I can admit that much—the miscarriage and my subsequent brutal depression, Daniel’s withdrawal, our eventual divorce…it all dam
aged me much more deeply than I think I ever understood, until Jamie waltzed into my life and made it all painfully apparent.

  It’s all too much.

  And this, friends, is why I don’t allow myself to even approach the edge of the what-if spiral; once I start spiraling, it’s nearly impossible to pull myself out of it.

  I close my eyes and breathe, focusing on my breath, hold it, then breathe out. Focus on Aiden. Focus on Mom and Dad. Focus on Cora.

  My students.

  Push away thoughts of Jamie, his warm brown eyes, his ready, charming, boyish grin, his lean, muscular body. Push away thoughts of his gentle, strong hands sliding across my skin…

  “Dammit,” I whisper to myself.

  That’s not pushing the thoughts away, that’s daydreaming.

  Ugh. Why is it so hard to stop thinking about him?

  I’ve had Jamie on the brain all day, and it’s made work especially difficult.

  Flu season is approaching and feeling queasy all day hasn’t helped. I know of at least six students who are currently out sick with stomach bugs, and the school secretary went home early. Schools are great big petri dishes; I’m denying that I have anything, or that I’m coming down with anything. I’ve just avoided eating, and have been sipping on peppermint tea all day. Once I feel better, I’ll make sure I get the flu shot.

  Feelings will fade, desires will eventually go away. Need will subside. I’ll eventually stop missing him.

  Right?

  A gentle, timid knock on my door jolts me back to the present. “Mrs. Thomas?” It’s Tina.

  Her belly is rounding a little, and I’ve heard rumors about her pregnancy rumbling through the school.

  “Hi, Tina. Come on in. What’s up?”

  She comes in, closes the door, and settles in a chair. “I know it’s close to the bell and you probably have to go, but…I got a pass to the bathroom and I just…I need to talk to someone.”

  “No need to explain, honey—it’s why I’m here.” I shuffle papers, set them aside, bring up my notes on Tina on my computer, and then tug a notebook and pen over in front of me. “Having trouble with the rumors?”

  Tina snorts, waves a hand. “No—god, no. I accepted the fact that there would be rumors a long time ago. I could have hidden my pregnancy with baggy clothes and stuff, but that’s not me. I don’t hide. So I just…wear what I wear, and let people talk.”

  “Very brave of you, Tina.” I doodle on the notebook. “So, what’s bothering you, then?”

  She sucks in a deep breath, lets it out in a shuddering sigh. “I’m worried I’m getting attached.”

  “To the baby?”

  She nods, sniffling. “Yeah. I try to think of it as it, you know. Not assign a gender, or think about a baby, or any of that. But it’s hard. And I can’t—I know I can’t afford to get attached, because I’m determined to give it up for adoption. I’ve already started the process—the agency has several prospective couples lined up, and they’re narrowing it down.” She picks at a thumbnail, not looking at me. “I can’t get attached, but how do I not?” She blinks back tears. “It’s hard, Mrs. Thomas. It’s really, really hard, and I have no one to talk to. No one supporting me. Except you and Ms. Pearson, I mean.”

  I set my pen down and consider my response for a few moments. “Tina…” I sigh, chewing on my lower lip. “The honest answer here is that I’m not sure I’m qualified to give you advice on this. I’m a guidance counselor, but I’m not a licensed therapist.”

  “I’m not asking for advice, just…” She shrugs. “If I wanted a therapist, I’d go see one. I want to know what you think, because I know you and I trust you.”

  I nod. “Okay.” Another long pause as I think. “Well, the truth is…I don’t think there’s any way around the fact that you’re going to become attached. Your biology and your hormones are working against you, because your body wants you to be attached. It’s the maternal instinct. I wish I had a better answer than this, but…I think you just have to mentally and emotionally prepare yourself for this to—to get worse before it gets better.” I grab her hands in mine and squeeze. “You have a hard, painful road ahead of you, and I don’t think I’d be doing you any favors by pretending otherwise.”

  Tina nods. “I know.” She sighs, wipes away tears with one hand. “I got myself into this, and there’s no easy way out.”

  “It wasn’t just you. You had help getting into this.”

  “Yeah, but Jake is useless. He’s ignoring me in the hallways. I’ve been shunned by my circle of friends, because they were his friends before they were mine. He wants nothing to do with me. I’ll get no money from him, not a damn thing. I could take him to court, put him on the birth certificate, fight for child support, but that’s going to get me nowhere and nothing but trouble and headaches—I’ve looked into it. I’m better off just writing him off and knowing I really am in this alone. So, yeah, I know he is partly responsible, but I knew the risks of having sex with him, and I still did it. I thought we were covered, but apparently there was an accident with the condom and he didn’t tell me.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter, and then wince. “Sorry. Not a great example, am I?”

  Tina laughs. “No, you’re right about that, and I think everyone knows it.” She waves a hand. “But, whatever. I’m not even thinking about him anymore. I have more important things to spend my time and energy on than Jake Emerson.”

  I smile at the firm, dismissive tone of voice. “Good for you, honey. Although part of me wants to tell you to do whatever you can to stick him with his responsibility, I know how futile that can be.”

  “It’s just not worth it. I’ve spoken to several caseworkers about this already, and I’d spend all this time on court cases and hearings, and trying to track him down, and trying to force payments out of him…so I see no point in any of it.” She sighs. “I mean, if I was planning on keeping the baby instead of giving it up for adoption, it’d be a different story. But as it is? No. Jake can go…well, you know.”

  “Yeah, I do.” I pat her hand. “I’m here whenever you need to talk, okay? You know that—no appointment needed. You’re going to be fine. Believe that.”

  She sniffles, nods. “I’m trying.”

  The bell rings then, and Tina takes a long, slow, deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out, shaking her hands. “Okay. I’m good.” Another quick deep breath, and then she pastes a smile on her face. “I’m good!” Her smile brightens and I’m impressed by her ability to push it all away and present a calm, controlled appearance. “Thanks, Mrs. Thomas!”

  “Absolutely my pleasure, Tina. Whatever I can do, just let me know, okay?”

  I watch her go, and she absently rubs her belly with both hands.

  Something I’ve thought but haven’t said to her is that there’s no way I could do what she’s doing. I can’t imagine not having Aiden. I couldn’t possibly have carried him for nine months, birthed him, and then given him away. Granted, I had a husband at the time, but still. It’s unfathomable to me, but I’m proud of her for making the decision.

  I lock up my office, and I’m actually somewhat surprised when I’m able to get out the door without any last-minute surprises.

  Today is Aiden’s game, which means I need to head home and put on my jersey with the matching number to Aiden’s jersey, and write his number on my cheeks in lipstick—his team colors are red and white, so I’m doing red lipstick on my cheeks. Just so there is no doubt as to which team I am supporting, I will also bring my red-and-white pompoms, my stadium seat cushion, and my red-and-white team mascot to-go coffee mug.

  Aiden is always embarrassed when I show up to games decked out in all my gear, but he’s my baby boy and it’s my duty as his mom to embarrass him with overly exuberant support. He once asked me if I could choose, like, one or two things instead of the whole embarrassing get up; I responded by threatening to paint my entire face half white and half red, and he promptly shut up.

  Mom and Dad meet me at the hig
h school stadium where the game is held: we take football very seriously around here, so even the youth teams play on the nice field. Mom and Dad already have a little section of bleachers spaced off, front and center right at the fifty-yard line, and Mom is as decked out as crazy as I am while Dad, like Aiden, is probably wishing he was allowed to sit with less embarrassing people.

  “It’s just kiddy football,” he’ll grouse. “No point in getting all worked up about it. Not even a championship on the line, so just calm down.”

  Mom will laugh and pat his cheek, because she knows as well as I do that there’s no human on the planet who loves and supports Aiden more than Dad…he just has his own way of showing it.

  I take a seat by mom, with Dad on her other side. He’s got a Styrofoam cup of concession stand coffee in his hands, despite the fact that it’s unseasonably warm for this time in the fall. As far as Dad is concerned football games equal crappy concession stand coffee and nachos and hot dogs and paper bags full of popcorn. The boys are warming up in the end zone, kicking their legs high, clapping and shouting in unison, and doing all sorts of funny-looking calisthenics. The scoreboard shows there is less than a minute before the game begins, and I have the jitters for Aiden.

  Aiden is one of the team captains, so he and two others meet at the fifty-yard line with the referees, umpires, line judges, and the other team captains to determine who kicks off first and in which direction. After a brief discussion, the teams take their places on opposite ends of the field.

  Apparently the other team has chosen to kick off first, which means Aiden takes his place on the field well behind his team, since he’ll be the one to receive the ball. This, of course, assumes the other team’s kicker can get the ball in the air, which isn’t always the case.

  The whistle blows, and then there’s the soft, distant thump as the kicker sends the ball flipping end over end in a high but short arc. Aiden’s teammates surge forward, and both coaches shout for Aiden to get under it, to move forward. Aiden launches himself into motion as the ball hurtles toward the ground…he catches it neatly and cradles it in his arm, his other hand placed over the top of it protectively.