Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  “It’s not just the birth. Babies cost a lot of money, more than you can ever imagine. They need regular checkups and vaccinations. What if your baby gets sick? How will we afford the medicine?”

  “How did you manage when I was born?”

  “My parents helped me, bless their souls.”

  “I’ll go to the free clinic, like the minimum wage workers.”

  “There’s no medicine for the poor. The government health fund is bankrupt. At least Jake’s private medical aid will cover whatever costs you and the baby may incur.”

  “I can’t use him like that.”

  “What happens if there are complications during the birth? What if you need an emergency cesarean? I’m not trying to spook you, but all kinds of things can go wrong.”

  “I’ll work.”

  “Who’s going to employ a pregnant woman? No one in this town. You’ll battle even in Johannesburg. The unemployment rate is too high for any company to take a risk on a future mom who may decide to not go back to work after the birth, or who’ll need to take off many hours. As a single mom, you have no one else to take care of your child when he’s sick. Of course, I’ll always be there for you. You know that, but companies don’t think that way. They make employment decisions based on what’s in their best financial interest.”

  I sink down in the muddy grass, not caring that my jeans are getting soiled and soaked. “What if I borrow the money?”

  “No bank is going to grant you a loan without a credit history. If I could’ve taken a loan myself, I would’ve done so without thinking twice, but I’m in overdraft as it is. My repayments are way overdue.” Her face softens. “I’m so sorry, Kristi. I wish there was another way.”

  “Jake is going to hate me,” I whisper.

  “He has a fifty percent part in this,” she reminds me gently.

  I hug my knees tightly. “Are you disappointed in me?”

  Going down on her haunches, she wipes my hair from my face. “Never. You surprised me, that’s all. You’re normally so level-headed.”

  Except where Jake is concerned. “We got carried away.”

  “I know, honey. The heart is so passionate at your age, and the body its slave.”

  Does she have any idea how much I appreciate her not saying, I told you so? I look toward the reeds on the other side of the shore. “I guess I’m not going to university.”

  “That may be a bit difficult. Childcare is expensive, and I won’t find another job elsewhere. I’m lucky to have one in Rensburg as it is. It doesn’t mean your life is ruined. Your path is altered, but what you make of it is in your hands.” She straightens. “Explain your decision to Jake. Be upfront about marrying him for financial reasons. You can always get divorced later if things don’t work out.”

  She makes it sound easy and uncomplicated, a gift my mom has for taking the drama out of emotional situations.

  “Come on.” She puts on a bright face. “I’ll make milk tart for teatime.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell her the sound of that only makes me want to puke.

  It’s cruel to let Jake stew in worry when I’ve already come to a conclusion, but it’s something I have to tell him in person. I call and ask him to come over before his night shift. I’m a mess the whole day. When six o’clock arrives and he cycles up the road to the trailer park gate, I’m worn out from anxiety. He leans the bike against the trailer and walks to where I sit on a picnic bench under the trees.

  “Feeling better?” he asks when he stops next to me.

  His pale face and strained features give away his own stress. Dark patches mark the armpits and front of his T-shirt. His jeans are dirty with the red dust of clay soil. He must’ve come here straight from work.

  I motion at the bench facing me. “Maybe you want to sit.”

  He glances to where I indicate but takes a seat next to me. He moves so close our legs touch. The warmth of his hard thigh pressing against mine does things to me it shouldn’t, especially since we’re already knee-deep in our predicament. I suppose I can’t get more pregnant. Kissing and doing more than innocent fondling aren’t what I should be thinking about, but it’s difficult to ignore his body when his signature scent invades my senses and reminds me of twelve years of infatuation with a boy who grew up into a man. Closing my eyes for a second, I try not to inhale too deeply or stare at the dark, masculine hair on his forearms.

  Did his mom tell him about our visit? The fact that he doesn’t bring it up makes me think not. I’m not going to tell him his mother called me a lazy slut and shut the door in our faces. Jake doesn’t need that on top of everything else.

  He tilts his head left and right as he studies my face with those intense, brooding eyes. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Only when I smile.”

  His expression darkens. “I hate to be the reason you don’t smile.”

  “It’s not you.” I don’t want to talk about last night anymore. “Thanks for coming over.”

  “You said you thought about a solution.”

  “It’s for you to decide if you agree.”

  His voice is calm, but the way he starts bouncing his knee gives away his nervousness. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I think it’s best we…” I bite my lip. It’s tougher to say than I thought. “I can’t have this baby without financial support. I think it’s best we get married.”

  He stares at me for a moment that stretches too long. “For financial reasons.”

  “I’m going to need medical aid. I wouldn’t have asked if I could’ve secured my own somehow, but it’ll be tough finding a job being pregnant.”

  He rubs a palm over his breastbone as if he’s trying to massage away an ache. It’s a gesture I know well, one he only makes when he gets angry.

  “What about us?” he asks carefully.

  “You go to Dubai as planned. I have the baby, and then we see.”

  He intertwines his fingers on the tabletop. “Then we see what?”

  “Then we see where we go from there.”

  “That’s all you want from me?” he asks with a tight jaw. “Money for the birth?”

  “Of course not. You’re a part of this baby as much as me. I want you to be involved if you wish. I’ll never take that right away from you. I just don’t want you to give up your dream.”

  “What about your dream, Kristi?”

  “Mine was never as big as yours.” My laugh is too uncomfortable to sound natural. “I was only going to get a BA degree in Johannesburg. I would’ve probably ended up working at the town library. It doesn’t compete with studying at a posh school in Dubai and launching a chain of restaurants.”

  “Don’t put yourself down.”

  “I’m only stating the facts.”

  “You’re saying my dream is more important than yours. Didn’t you tell me everyone’s ambition is important?”

  “I’m saying I don’t really have a dream, not like you.” Except for renting a proper house and giving my mom the break she deserves. “You know what you want. You know how to get there. I’m not even sure if literature would’ve been the right choice for me.”

  “I’m offering to stay.”

  “And I already declined.” I rub at my temples where a headache starts building. “Look, let’s just get the logistics sorted and take it from there.”

  “Don’t you want me to ask you to marry me the proper way, on one knee with a ring?”

  Something deep inside me twists. It hurts more than I could’ve ever anticipated because I do want that. I want a proper proposal more than anything, but not for the wrong reasons. I don’t want it forced or staged.

  “I’m just trying to be rational about all of this.”

  He pushes to his feet. “Whatever you want.”

  I only come to my senses when he’s halfway back to our trailer.

  Jumping up, I rush after him. “If this isn’t what you want I’ll—”

  He spins around to face me. “You’re asking m
e to walk away from my responsibility.”

  “I don’t want to destroy your future. I don’t want you to end up hating me.”

  “The only person I’ll hate is myself.”

  “What are you saying?” I shake my head in frustrated confusion. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do what you want.”

  “Jake, don’t be like this. Tell me if you don’t agree.”

  “You made the choice for me. I’m going to Dubai. The rest we’ll just have to play as it fucking goes.”

  Tears burn at the back of my eyes. A knot lodges in my throat. “That’s not fair. You do have a choice.”

  “Let me know when and where,” he says as he stalks away. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 7

  The magistrate can’t give us a date before the end of December, four days before Jake is due to leave. I only know his departure date because he sent me an impersonal text message with his flight details so I could fix our civil wedding date.

  When I try to involve Jake in the planning, he ignores my voice and text messages. People’s actions sometimes hurt, but I never thought any non-action could cut so deeply. Why is he so angry with me for trying to salvage his dream? I love him too much to allow circumstances to change him. Living a monotone life in a dead-end town with nothing but red clay and an overwhelming majority of small, box-shaped houses that speak of unsophisticated poverty will definitely change him, and not for the better. I’d lie if I say I’m not devastated about his departure. I’m terrified. I’m scared of facing the future alone, even if I can always count on my mom. There are holes in my heart my mom’s love can’t fill.

  My mom took it upon her shoulders to arrange a wedding lunch. Even if it’s a forced marriage, she refuses to let the event go uncelebrated. According to her, ceremonies are sacred and traditions define our roots. We’ll have a simple picnic lunch after the morning formalities.

  Elizabeth and Hendrik declined the invitation, saying they wouldn’t be at the magistrate’s office to witness the sad occasion, which left it up to my mom and me to find witnesses. Daphne and Will accepted the honor.

  Since we haven’t announced the wedding like the norm with big, joyous celebrations, the rest of the town is oblivious as to how drastically my status will change in a few days, but there’s plenty of gossip about my condition, courtesy of how early I’m showing. It didn’t take long for Snake, who’d seen Jake and me in suspicious circumstances in the alley, to add two and two together, and now everyone knows Jake knocked me up. The whole town is talking about my condition as if it’s a shameful disease.

  No longer going to university, I have to continue living with my mom and find a job here. I’m still working weekends at the OK Bazaars as a cashier, but there are no permanent positions available. I applied at the gift store, the hairdresser, and even at Eddie’s without declaring my pregnancy on my applications. If I’m lucky enough to get any interviews, I’ll be upfront about my condition. I put my name on waiting lists at restaurants, the library, the municipality, and every other business as far as Heidelberg. The only place I refuse to try is the brick factory. I’d have to be starving before I work for Hendrik Basson.

  The baby seems to be thriving. At the rate I’m eating, being constantly hungry, he’ll definitely not be underweight. If I’m not having stomach-growling cravings for fries drenched in vinegar, I’m vomiting. I’m not slender. I have well-rounded hips and ample breasts, but I’ve always had a flat stomach. My choice in clothes favored tight-fitting jeans and skirts, which doesn’t count in my favor for keeping my pregnancy hidden. At three months, I already have a bump, and my pants don’t fasten any longer. Under the stretch fabric of my dresses, my rounder stomach is a dead giveaway of my sin.

  I’m wearing my increasingly tight-fitting maxi-dress, one of the few items in my closet I can still wear, getting groceries at Eddie’s on the corner, when Denis walks in. I duck behind a shelf, but he’s already seen me. Rounding the pyramid of corned beef tins, he drops his shopping basket to the floor.

  “Hey, Kristi.” His gaze drops to my stomach, his eyebrows pulling together with disdain. “I see the gossip is true.”

  I rub a hand over my belly where everything goes tight. “What gossip may that be?”

  “You’ve got a bun in the oven. It’s Jake’s, isn’t it? I saw you that night in the alley.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant the gossip about how you popped my cherry.” Eddie, who’s behind the counter, lifts his head. “Because you and I both know that’s a lie.”

  Denis’s face turns redder than the packets of chili noodles on the shelf next to him. “You’re just like your mom.”

  He said it softly enough for Eddie not to hear. I should ignore him, but the insult to my mother has me bristling. It takes all my self-control and more not to project packets of ginger cookies at his head. “Oh, good, because I admire her. She doesn’t have to lie about having sex, because she’s actually getting some.” I lift my arms. “I’m the living proof.”

  “You’re disgusting,” he spits as he picks up his basket and pushes past me. “I can’t believe I wanted to date you.”

  I raise my voice to his back. “I’m glad you find pregnancy so disgusting because you’re not man enough to handle it.”

  He grabs a bag of flour from the shelf and slams it onto the counter without sparing me another glance.

  Great. Why don’t I just burn a big A for adultery on my forehead like in The Scarlet Letter? I pretend not to be fazed, but my hands shake as I continue with my shopping. So much for believing Denis to be kind. In the end, he’s just like everyone else. I’m not sure if I’m more disappointed in him or myself for being so naïve.

  When the chime of the bell announces Denis’s exit, I still with my hand on the margarine. It takes a moment to gather myself. Turning my mom’s words over in my mind, I take comfort from them. I didn’t do anything wrong. I had sex. Agreed, having unprotected sex was not only foolish but also highly irresponsible. I’m paying a heavy price for a few moments of magical lust, but it wasn’t filthy like Denis implied.

  On second thought, I exchange the margarine for butter, even if the price makes me cringe. The trans-fatty acids in the margarine aren’t good for the baby. I put back the ginger ale I was going to buy for the nausea. Adding wholegrain bread and the cheapest brand of tuna to my basket, I go to pay.

  “How’s the baby?” Eddie asks with his strong Mandarin accent while he’s ringing up my items.

  I may as well make a public announcement in the local newspaper. “Good.”

  “You?”

  “Better when I’m not being insulted.”

  “It’ll be better when you’re married.”

  “Who says I’m getting married?”

  He gives a goofy smile. “You’ve seen the doctor. He made a test.”

  “Dr. Santoni told you I’m pregnant?” I exclaim. “That’s breaching patient confidentiality.”

  “No, not the doctor.” Seeming to check himself, he takes a six-pack of ginger ale from behind the counter and puts it with my groceries. “For you, on the house.”

  My mouth drops open. Is this the same Eddie who made me walk all the way home in sixth grade because I was three cents short on the price of the milk my mom had sent me to buy? Is this the Eddie who wouldn’t give me a five-cent Wilson toffee in second grade because I only had four cents in my pocket?

  “That’s kind of you, but not necessary.”

  “Please. Take it. For the baby.”

  My cheeks heat. His kindness is touching, but also embarrassing. I don’t like that he saw me put back the soda.

  He takes my cash and waves me out. “Go on, now. Can you carry this, or must I drop it off?”

  Hiding behind the veil of my hair, I pack the items in my reusable shopping bag. “It’s not heavy.”

  “See you soon then,” he says, dumping a cereal bar into my bag with great show. “For the road.” He throws in another w
ith a wink. “For your mom.”

  For no explicable reason, my eyes tear up. Maybe it’s because he’s trying to make me feel better, or because it’s the first time he’s being kind to me. Or maybe it’s just the pregnancy hormones.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, hurrying to the door.

  “You’re welcome,” he calls after me. “You call when you need a delivery, any time.”

  Keeping my head low, I walk down the dirt road with my load. I’m not ashamed to be in my own skin, I just need a very thick one to not let the insults get to me. Does Jake suffer the same treatment? Do people look at him as if he’s worse than the muck at the bottom of the lake?

  Eddie is right. The whispering and sideway looks will calm once we’re properly married, but my reputation is stained forever, not that I care. I don’t believe in the hypocritical values of the people who judge me. Sometimes, it’s just hard to pretend you don’t mind being an outcast. For the first time, I have a true taste of what my mom went through.

  The noise of a vehicle draws my attention. I stand to the side because the curb is narrow. A truck pulls up in a billow of dust that makes me cough. Jan and Kallie, two boys from my class, hang their arms down their open windows.

  “Hey, Kristi,” Jan says. “Want a ride?” He winks. “I’ve got a nice, big backseat.”

  “Yeah, big enough to do us both,” Kallie chimes.

  My thinly stretched patience snaps. “Go fuck yourselves on your nice, big backseat.”

  “Come on now, girl,” Jan says. “Don’t get your hackles up. Since you’re giving it away for free, a man’s got to try, right?”

  “The problem with that phrase is you’re not a man, so sorry, darling.” I bat my eyelashes. “No freebies for you.”

  Kallie whistles long and hard, slapping Jan on the back in a fit of laughter. “Doesn’t say much if you can’t even get laid by the town slut.”

  I wasn’t going to take the bait. I’ve learned it’s easier to beat them at their game than to show their cruel words have an effect, but my emotions are all over the place today.

  “You’re such assholes,” I hiss. “Good luck finding a virgin to marry you two man-whores. By the way, that prostitute in Johannesburg you paid to teach you how to hit a hole-in-one said it took several tries before you hit the right hole.”