“Actually, that makes a lot of sense. It would be so easy to get trapped in this moment, only thinking about how you feel today, but you’re right, you’ve got a lot of years ahead of you. I’m sure you’ll meet the right guy and have the family you deserve someday, with no regrets.”
“It’s hard to imagine that happening to me, falling in love, having someone fall in love with me. But I have to make myself think that way, or else I’ll lose my mind.” She shook her head. “Let’s not talk about my mess anymore. You know pretty much everything about me. I want to know about you. Do you visit your aunt often? I’ve never seen you here.”
Grace would have remembered such a good-looking boy wandering around the neighborhood. Tall, with dark wavy hair and startlingly blue eyes, Charlie reminded Grace of a character from a Jane Austen novel, and like his aunt he spoke with the slightest accent, as if he had lived abroad for most of his life. It was a dazzling combination.
“I’ve only been here a couple of times since Aunt Helen moved out from the City. My father works for Macro Financial. They have offices all over the world, so we’ve had to move around a lot. Until June we were living in Paris, but then my dad got sent to Moscow to work on some special project for a year.”
“You’ve been to Russia?” Grace’s most exotic destination up to this point had been Toronto.
“I spent the summer there, but I didn’t want to spend my last year of high school in Moscow, so Aunt Helen offered to look after me.”
“Don’t they have an American School there?” It felt good to think about somebody else for a change. For a few minutes Grace could almost forget what had happened, how she came to be sitting on this swing with this guy in the first place.
“They do. I’ve been to the American Schools in Paris, Florence, and Berlin. They’re fine, but I was missing home — we haven’t lived in the States since I was twelve. It seemed like a perfect opportunity, with Aunt Helen being on her own. And she isn’t getting any younger. It’ll be good for both of us.”
Charlie looked back at the house and smiled. He thought but didn’t say that Grace’s presence was proving to be a pleasant diversion. If only she weren’t pregnant with some guy’s baby — but if she weren’t, then she wouldn’t be here, so maybe it was meant to be. Beshert, as Aunt Helen would say — fate, but with a twist.
“Your life sounds incredible. I, on the other hand, am a total hick.” Unsophisticated, provincial, and pregnant — quite the prize package. All that was missing were bare feet, a couple of tattoos, and a trailer park, Grace imagined Charlie must be thinking.
“Well I think you’re very nice … for a hick.”
“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard from a boy in a long time. It really is.” Grateful that Charlie was making the effort to flirt with her a little bit, to make her feel like a girl rather than a science experiment, Grace started to relax.
The sound of a bell interrupted them. “That means dinner’s ready. Shall we?” Charlie held out his arm and Grace tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. This guy was an old-fashioned gentleman, easy on the eyes and genuinely kind. Where were you a few months ago? Grace thought sadly. If he had appeared on the scene a little earlier, maybe her life would be completely different right now. But perhaps this was some weird destiny thing, and she just needed to wait for her future to play out in whatever strange way it needed to. For a second, Grace could imagine a decent life after the bean.
Candles provided the only light in a dining room that could easily seat twenty. Two huge silver candelabra sat on the mahogany table, flanking a large blue and white porcelain bowl overflowing with fresh fruit. Sterling flatware and crystal goblets sparkled in the flickering candlelight. It was an oil painting come to life, thought Grace as she and Charlie sat down opposite each other near the end of the table. Helen was already sitting at the head, sipping a glass of wine.
“First, let me apologize for this whole state dinner setup. Vera wanted to make it special tonight to welcome you to our home,” Helen said. “But perhaps it’s a bit much.”
“It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. She shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me.” Grace was already worried about becoming a burden. She had no idea how she would ever be able to repay Mrs. Teitelbaum for all her kindness.
“Don’t worry — Vera loves to do this. She gets bored doing supper in the kitchen every night. But I probably should have brought you dinner in your room — you’ve had a long day.” Helen squeezed Grace’s hand.
“No, this is wonderful. Please don’t apologize. I don’t know how to thank you for everything. I’m sure my parents will get over this pretty soon, and then I can get out of your hair,” said Grace, needing to believe that her parents were just having the forty-something equivalent of a temper tantrum. In a day or two they would come to their senses, would realize they had overreacted, would realize how much they missed her … she hoped.
Charlie spoke up. “Until they recover, you should enjoy it here. Staying with Aunt Helen is like taking a vacation at a five-star resort — incredible food, heated swimming pool, there’s even a putting green behind the apple orchard.”
“Exactly,” said Helen. “Think of this as a mini holiday, except for the fact that the two of you have to go back to school on Tuesday.”
“Thanks for the buzzkill, Aunt Helen. Are you trying to ruin the weekend?” Charlie laughed, as he poured more wine for Helen and some for himself.
“Sorry, children. You’re right. Let’s talk about something more festive. Charlie, why don’t you tell us about things in Moscow? Did you go to the Hermitage?”
It was so wonderful having young people in the house. Vera, George, and Ada were good company, but there was nothing like listening to children chattering away about their lives. On the cusp of adulthood, they found everything exciting and new; the world was rife with possibility. It made her feel lighthearted and free, although she hadn’t felt that way herself when she was seventeen. When Helen had been their age, she was still trying to find her way in America, still trying to master the language and lose her thick accent, which had made her feel gauche and ugly. She had been living with a distant cousin, trying not to look like an immigrant, and starting her freshman year at Barnard. It was in September of 1950 that she had met Abraham for the very first time. Two weeks later he had proposed, and by Thanksgiving they had been married. Life was funny that way. You never knew what was going to happen next. Something wonderful could be just around the corner. The day before she met Abraham, she was wishing she had died with her family in Poland — she had been that miserable. She must remember to tell that story, except for the death wish part, to Grace, who could certainly use a little dose of optimism, considering all that had happened to her.
Distracted by all the drama in the last couple of weeks, Grace had nearly forgotten that she still had to get through senior year. During her first three years of high school she couldn’t remember any girls with beach balls for bellies waddling through the halls of Silver Lake High School. A dubious honor to be the first. Instead of enjoying the euphoria of senior spring, she would be going into labor in AP Psychology and giving birth in the nurse’s office. But Helen’s glass-half-full attitude was contagious, and for the first time she thought that maybe everything could work out. Taking a sip of ice water, Grace smiled at her miraculous hostess. As Charlie described the collection of Fabergé eggs at the Hermitage, enamel-covered treasures dotted with diamonds and emeralds, Grace was almost, but not quite, able to enjoy her first evening in her temporary new home.
Lying in bed later that night, unable to fall asleep in spite of the incredibly comfortable bed, Grace wondered if her parents were still awake. Were they thinking about her, or had they banished her from their minds as they had banished her from their house? She stared at her phone, dialing the first three digits of her parents’ number over and over, unable to finish. What would happen if she called them? Would they answer, or would they just let the
machine pick up?
CHAPTER 7
Dear Baby,
I don’t know what you are yet, so I will just call you Baby. Poor sweet Baby. You’re almost eleven weeks old, about the size of a lime, and you have tiny fingernails. The baby book says you can swallow and you’ve started kicking, but you’re still too small for me to feel. I’m looking forward to feeling you moving inside me, but I think it will be kind of scary, because then everything will become real. Right now I still find it hard to believe that you are living inside me, like a tiny tenant in a studio apartment who will outgrow your quarters in seven months.
Love,
Grace
It was September ninth, the first day of senior year. Instead of enjoying the relief that should come with gearing up for the last lap of high school, Grace was on the verge of a breakdown, not sure she had the strength to suck it up and slog through the day. Suddenly uncertain if she’d made the right decision about the bean baby, the time for changing her mind was running out. Standing under a tree outside school, waiting for Jennifer, Grace felt certain that everyone knew, that she gave off some fecund pregnancy scent, or that Nick had blabbed, and she might as well have a big red A tattooed on her forehead. Rivulets of sweat ran down her back, and her breasts ached inside her painfully tight bra. Certain that pregnancy had caused her to swell up like a pair of cantaloupes, which would be another dead giveaway, Grace wore a sports bra that, while it flattened out her chest, was incredibly uncomfortable. Something had to give, because the way she felt at this moment, she wasn’t going to last another week, let alone until April.
Although Charlie had driven her to school in Aunt Helen’s gleaming silver Mercedes, he had left her to attend a meeting of some singing group he was thinking of joining. Credit to him, he had said she could tag along so she wouldn’t be alone, but she had refused. The time had come for her to stand on her own two feet, at least until Jennifer arrived — or until her ankles became too swollen to hold her up, which she felt was going to happen any second, but according to the pregnancy book was a treat that was still a few months away. Where was her best friend, who had promised her that she would be there through thick and thin, which definitely included being pregnant on the first day of senior year? Checking her watch every fifteen seconds, as if that would hasten Jennifer’s arrival, Grace waved and smiled, pretending to be normal.
Already late, Jennifer skidded into one of the last open parking spaces. Checking her face in the rearview mirror, she was startled by someone tapping hard on her window. “What the hell do you want?” she hissed.
She stared up at Nick, hoping he might go away, but he continued knocking. “Let me in. I need to talk to you.”
As gorgeous as he was, there was a cool detachment about him that transformed his flawless features into a death mask. Reluctantly, she popped the lock and he slid into the front seat. Trying to sound tough, Jennifer asked, “What do you want, asshole?”
“I want you to talk some sense into your crazy friend. You need to make sure she gets this taken care of, now.” Nick spoke in a monotone and stared out the windshield at a tree. It was like a scene out of a mafia movie. His next line would be something about concrete boots and sleeping with the fishes.
“What exactly do you mean, ‘taken care of’?” Although Jennifer knew very well what Nick meant, she wasn’t going to make this easy on him. She wanted to make him spell it out and prove what a scumbag he really was.
“Don’t play dumb, Jennifer. You know what I’m talking about. She needs to get rid of this thing, this problem. If my parents find out, I’m dead. I don’t think she’s thought this through.”
Realizing that if he came on too strong this girl was going to stonewall him, he tried to soften his voice. If charm didn’t work, there was always time to get nasty later. Besides, she was kind of hot in a bitchy way, and it didn’t hurt to keep his options open. The type of chick who always had to have the last word, she probably liked it a little rough, and definitely on top. She had possibilities, if she ever stopped talking. But now wasn’t the time to think about a potential Number Twenty. Number Seventeen had to be dealt with first.
“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get your way. Grace is having the baby, and probably giving it up for adoption, you douchebag.” Blond hair falling just so over his forehead and miles of white teeth notwithstanding, it was easy to see that this guy was a total bastard. Jennifer wondered how brilliant Grace hadn’t been able to see it.
“That’s not good enough. This needs to go away, now.” Playing nice wasn’t working. Desperation rising like a wave inside him, Nick could feel his very loose grip on his limited self-control slipping. He didn’t know Jennifer all that well, but she didn’t look like someone who would give up when her back was against the wall. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to hold it together, just a little while longer.
“Or else? Are you threatening me, you selfish prick?”
If they hadn’t been sitting in the crowded school parking lot, Jennifer wouldn’t have been so ballsy. In spite of his reputation as a ladies’ man, from what she could see, he was more of a bully. Nick didn’t look above hitting a girl if he didn’t get what he wanted from her. But the steady stream of kids and teachers made her brave. That and the can of pepper spray she kept under the seat.
“No, I just think that Grace should think a little more about what she’s doing. Having a baby isn’t like buying a fucking dog. I don’t love her, I don’t want to be a father, I’m not going to marry her, and I think I should have some say in how this thing plays out, assuming it’s even mine.” That last bit was unnecessary and incendiary, and, even he knew, ridiculous, but it didn’t hurt to keep that seed of doubt alive. “Can’t you see what I’m going through?” In spite of the fact that Grace was the one who had to carry the baby, Nick felt like he was entitled to a little sympathy too.
Jennifer shook her head. “You’re even more of a shit than I thought. You probably should’ve considered all those things before you took your dick out of your pants. But you don’t have to worry your pretty little head. You’re not going to be on the hook financially, and Grace doesn’t plan on telling anyone who the father is, so why don’t you go fuck yourself. And get the hell out of my car.” Jennifer sounded way more sure of herself than she felt. As little as she thought of him, he was still intimidating with his perfect profile and testosterone-fueled confidence.
“Just tell Grace what I said. And tell her if she wants anything from me she’s going to have to get a DNA test.” Nick got out of the car, slammed the door, and stormed off. “That was a waste of time,” he mumbled to himself.
Jennifer sat in her car, taking deep breaths and trying to figure out what to say to Grace about her babydaddy. When the first bell rang, she still hadn’t decided how to broach the subject, other than to postpone it as long as possible. As her mother always said, bad news keeps. Reluctantly Jennifer got out of her car, pasted a smile on her face, and hurried to find Grace, who had to be furious that she was so late.
“There you are,” Grace called out, relieved that Jennifer had finally arrived. There was no way she would get through this first day without a wingman.
“Sorry I’m late. Minor wardrobe crisis.” It was not the moment to tell Grace that she had run into Nick in the school parking lot, and that he had urged her — more like threatened her — to talk some sense into Grace about her problem, as he called it. Jennifer knew she would have to tell Grace about her little encounter with the devil, but there was no rush.
“You look beautiful, so I guess it worked out,” Grace said.
In a short navy blue sundress and red flats, Jennifer did look gorgeous. Grace wondered again why the boys couldn’t seem to get past Jennifer’s personality issues — her body was amazing, and her hair looked like spun gold. Grace’s build was much the same, but she was already mourning the loss of perfect proportion and the advent of miles of elastic that would be needed to encase her rapidly swelling a
natomy. This had been the first summer her mother had allowed her to wear a bikini, and now she would probably never look decent in one again. It was a minor problem in the grand scheme of things, but upsetting nonetheless.
“And you look just like you. No one can tell. I swear.” Jennifer didn’t have to lie. There was no suggestion of a bulge anywhere on Grace’s slim frame. But according to the baby books Jennifer had consulted — she owed it to her best friend to be well informed — the change would happen overnight. One day soon, Grace was going to wake up looking pregnant; it was inevitable.
“Thanks for caring enough to bullshit me,” Grace replied as the second morning bell rang and they joined the herd of students lumbering into the first day of school.
Miss Tappan, the AP English teacher, tottered into the classroom, a hippopotamus in clam diggers and kitten heels. “Welcome back, children.” Her eyebrows rose. “Yes, you’re still children. Enjoy it — it’s almost over.” She perched on the edge of her desk, staring at her class over bright red glasses sitting on the end of her bright red nose. “I know you’re all chomping at the bit, desperate to become adults, believing that therein lies some magical key to happiness. But let me be the first to burst your bubble. Adulthood means responsibility, making difficult decisions, some of them wrong, and with no one to come and clean up after you.”
Although Grace knew it was practically impossible, she felt as if Miss Tappan were speaking directly to her. Could she know? Her face nearly as red as the teacher’s, T-shirt clinging to the damp skin on her back, Grace fought the urge to run out of the classroom. Fleeing would only raise more eyebrows, and her secret, if it hadn’t already gotten out, would be that much closer to the surface.
Someone in the back of the classroom raised his hand and asked, “Does this have anything to do with AP English? Are we going to be tested on this? Should we be taking notes?” Everyone laughed. It was a universal sentiment: unless it was on the test, nobody gave a damn.
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