All the While (Senior Semester #3)

by Gina Azzi

  Back in my dorm, I make my bed, pick up the discarded and dirty laundry littering my bedroom floor, and stack various library books neatly on my desk. Then I sit down, steel my shoulders, take a deep breath and type “pregnancy” into Google.

  A new world of information awaits me. As I scroll through an absurd amount of blog posts, tips on handling morning sickness, the best prenatal vitamins, and more, I know I should be panicking. I mean, this is crazy. I’m twenty-one years old. I’m not dating anyone. I don’t even have a college degree! I shouldn’t be pregnant. I can’t be pregnant.

  Yet I am.

  And all I feel is a sense of wonder.

  * * *

  My head feels surprisingly clear the next morning when my alarm sounds at 5:00AM. No dull ache, no dry red eyes. I feel good. I make my bed quickly and change into my practice clothes. After checking my email and tossing a cold water bottle into my practice bag, I’m ready to go when suddenly a wave of nausea hits out of nowhere. Saliva gathers in my mouth and I know I’m going to be sick. Eyeing the door, I realize I don’t want to vomit in my floor’s shared bathroom. I huddle over the trash bin under my desk just as my stomach heaves and I expel a stream of liquid. My eyes water; little tears cling to my eyelashes. I stay crouched down for several minutes, breathing in and out of my mouth, allowing my heart rate to settle. Standing back up, I rinse out my mouth with mouthwash and spit that into the trash bin too. Then I gather and knot the trash bag, determined to remove that little piece of evidence on my walk to the Erg room, where all of the rowing machines are housed, at the gym.

  It’s cold outside, an icy chill wrapping me in a hug as I leave my dorm’s parking lot and begin walking in the direction of the gym. The cold air feels good though, settles my nerves and eases the flush from my cheeks. I’m a bit nervous about practice now that I’m pregnant. Is rowing considered extreme exertion? It’s something I’ve been doing regularly since before I learned I was pregnant so it’s definitely not a routine change. Still, I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my little wonder.

  That’s how I think about the baby now. A little piece of peace, a little soul of magic and awe and wonder. A little girl or guy I’ll love more than anyone else in the world.

  Maybe I’m delusional.

  Maybe this whole thing is crazy?

  But I’m already in love with my little love.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Zack

  We have three regattas in November. We don’t take them too seriously—it’s still not even our season—but they are a good opportunity for our boat to really home in on what we need to improve between now and March. Our first regatta was the past weekend and we came in second. It wasn’t terrible but it’s definitely not where we want to be. Coach kicks up our training a notch, and we all feel it.

  Mid-semester exams have just ended and my B average is gradually slipping toward a C. Closing myself in a library cubicle for the whole day on Sunday, I spend hours catching up on assignments and readings I’ve neglected. My thesis proposal was originally rejected on grounds of “lacking creativity,” and I plan to submit my new proposal on Tuesday.

  Focused on the work before me and determined to bring up my GPA, I ignore the groups of students having snowball fights outside or sipping pumpkin spice lattes at the group tables on the second floor of the library. I need to bring my grades up if I’m going to apply for graduate school. Or get an actual job. The thought of being a perpetual ranch hand may be just the motivation I need to turn my grades around.

  * * *

  I spend eight straight hours in the library and feel confident about the progress I’ve made with my courses. My body is dragging when I enter my house after sitting for such a long stretch of time. I need to be diligent this week and spend all of my free time committed to my courses if I’m going to turn things around in time for final exams. Plus, our first regatta is this weekend. My ribs feel broken, my hands are torn up with blisters, and Lauren is perched on the edge of the sofa wearing jeans and a cream sweater paired with a sweet smile when I enter the house.

  What is she doing here? Is something wrong?

  “Hey, Laur,” I say instead.

  “Hi! I’m so glad you’re home. Sorry, I hope you don’t mind my popping by unannounced, but I messaged Jeremy and he said you should be home around this time. James let me in.” She bounds up, full of energy, and wraps her arms around my stomach in a hug.

  Why is she here? And why is she messaging my friends? We broke up. Or rather, we never got back together in the first place.

  “Uh-huh. I’m really beat tonight. Looking forward to crashing.” I tap her back lightly and start to step out of the hug. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh.” Disappointment colors her voice for a moment before it’s gone. “No worries, I completely understand.” Of course she does. Lauren isn’t anything if not understanding. “Can we talk for a minute? It’s important.”

  “Sure.” I nod toward the stairs that lead to my bedroom.

  I hear her soft footsteps padding up the stairs behind me. My shoulders clench as I try and figure out why she would show up out of the blue after weeks of radio silence. And what could be so important that she would have to discuss it with me in person? I hang my head; I’ll never understand women.

  “So, Laur,” I begin, turning to face her. She’s literally right behind me, and I momentarily lose my balance, placing a hand on the doorframe to settle myself.

  “I have to talk to you,” she says, resting her hands on the tops of my shoulders. Her blue eyes crinkle gently as she tries to smile. Removing her right hand, she fiddles with the pendant around her neck. She’s nervous. “It’s important,” she repeats herself.

  I nod, dropping my duffle bag on the inside of my bedroom door and taking a seat at my desk, gesturing to her to have a seat across from me on the bed. I hope it’s nothing serious. I hope she’s not in some kind of trouble. She looks … well … a bit nervous but otherwise happy. She doesn’t seem distressed or upset at all; her blue eyes are clear and unaffected by the awkwardness hanging between us. “Have a seat.” I try to smile.

  She sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, her right knee bouncing lightly.

  “Okay,” I say, leaning toward her, placing my elbows on my knees and giving her my full attention. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

  She scoots back onto my bed, sitting cross-legged in the center and picking at a thread in my comforter. “I don’t want to you to freak out, okay?”

  She’s stalling. What the hell is going on? Was she like this after we broke up last year?

  “Sure.” I nod.

  She takes a deep breath. “I’m late.”

  I check my FitBit for the time. “For what? You didn’t have to wait around for me to get back. We can talk about whatever this is another time if that’s better for you.”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m late.”

  What the hell is she talking about? I must look incredibly confused because Lauren leans forward and her eyes widen.

  “I mean my period. I haven’t gotten it. I think I may be pregnant.”

  What. The. Fuck?

  My eyes shoot laser beams at Lauren. What the hell is she talking about? “But you’re on the pill,” I remind her, grasping at freaking straws because I know she’s not lying. Lauren Layton never tells lies.

  She shrugs calmly. “It’s not one hundred percent accurate. Sometimes, these things happen.” She stands up and walks toward me slowly. Her fingertips squeeze my wrist. And it feels like a fucking vise.

  “It’s impossible. We’ve always used a condom,” I remind her.

  She shrugs. And it’s strange, because she doesn’t seem nearly as upset as I am. Maybe it’s because she’s already had time to process this information? No, it doesn’t make sense. We’ve always been careful. I mean, what are the odds of getting pregnant when you’re on the pill AND using condoms.

  “When?” I swallow, the word getting stuck in my throat.<
br />
  “I should have gotten it two days ago.”

  I nod automatically. “Oh, well maybe it’s just stress. I mean, you do tend to get worked up about school and grades and stuff. Mid-semester exams just ended …”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s it. I think I’m really pregnant.” She looks at me and practically beams. “I know we’re not technically together, but, Zack…” she pauses as she kneels before me “…think about it. We’ll be amazing parents. And now we’ll always be connected.”

  What the hell is she talking about? Something is off. She’s way too happy about this. I mean a baby, right now, would completely derail her plans for medical school, something she’s been focused on for years. Something isn’t adding up.

  “How do you feel?” I ask instead, suddenly worried about her mental health.

  She shrugs again. “Pretty good. I mean, I’m just excited you know?”

  I stare at her. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed. She does look excited, elated, as if all her dreams are coming true. Did she plan this?

  A moment of anger tears through me at the thought, but I rein it in. Lauren would never do something like that, she’s too sweet, too thoughtful.

  She walks back to the bed and sits down. “Don’t worry, baby,” she coos, and I wince at the endearment. “Everything will be fine. I know this isn’t what we planned but we would make a beautiful family together. I just know it.”

  I stare at her and am shocked when I realize that I don’t believe her. If Lauren really is pregnant, it can’t be my baby.

  * * *

  That night I barely sleep at all. Even though I’m so exhausted I can’t think straight, I’m plagued by errant thoughts the entire night. Something is up with Lauren, she didn’t seem entirely sane as she gushed and showed me baby onesies on Google. I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t actually think she’s pregnant. Could this be her way for us to get back together? D’Arco’s words about her being a bit unsettled after our breakup junior year come back to me. But what if she is telling the truth? What if she is pregnant with my baby?

  Watching the clock tick slowly from 11:00 PM to 3:00 AM is almost as depressing as the thought that I’m going to have to marry Lauren. I shift in bed to stare at my bedroom wall. I guess it could be worse. Most guys would kill for a shot with Lauren. Never mind marry her. She’s beautiful, smart, sweet, and the poster woman for faithful wife and devoted mother. I face plant my pillow, squeezing my eyes shut tight. They burn.

  Could I even be a good father? My dad was amazing. I mean, he was a bit too much with going to church and having a work ethic and morals and all that, too strict a lot would say, but he was always there. He provided well for our family; Nicole and I never did without. He taught me how to catch a baseball, throw a football, and fish. I could do that, right? I could teach a little guy how to bait a hook.

  At 4:00 AM I think I doze off. Maybe.

  My alarm sounds at 5:00 AM for practice. I turn it off quickly, relieved to get up even though I’m so tired I can’t think straight. I just need to get out of my bedroom, away from the memories of last night. Once I’m in the Erg room, focused on my workout, I won’t have the energy to think about anything else. I practically run to practice.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Maura

  My week passes quickly as I read up on everything I can about pregnancy. I’m taking a prenatal vitamin every morning, have completely eradicated caffeine from my diet, ditched all the booze and cigarettes, and began incorporating some gentle yoga poses into my daily stretching routine. I’m drinking lots of water, getting extra rest in the form of a mid-afternoon nap, and made an appointment at Planned Parenthood. Once I have a dating ultrasound, I’ll have a better idea of sorting out who the father is. I think. Actually, I hope. And I freaking pray it isn’t Hector.

  Now that I’m not existing in a hungover fog, I’m managing to complete my course assignments faster and am happy that school seems to be going well. Even Photography. Our series of mini-assignments have been paying off, and I see a huge difference in the quality of photos I’m taking. This week’s assignment focused on depth, which I think will be very important for my final project. I have a few exams before Thanksgiving but other than that, nothing pressing to do. Thank God I’m taking mostly electives this semester.

  I still haven’t told my friends about the pregnancy. I don’t know why; I know they won’t judge me. At least not too harshly. But I don’t have any of the answers to the questions they’ll surely ask: Who’s the father? How far along are you? When are you due? What did your parents say? Are you going to quit crew? Are you going to graduate?

  I still have no idea. So I’ll take it one day at a time until I have to confide in someone. For now, I’m just grateful that that day isn’t today.

  * * *

  I take the bus to Planned Parenthood for my appointment on Thursday morning. I’m skipping Photography to be here but it was the first appointment the receptionist had open, and I didn’t want to lose the spot. Walking down the street to the office, I zip up my coat and wrap my scarf tighter around my neck. I’m about to cross the street when a familiar-looking girl reaches for the door of Planned Parenthood and ducks inside. I narrow my eyes. I know her. Before the door closes completely, she turns slightly and I see her face.

  Lauren Layton.

  Zack’s ex-girlfriend.

  My breath freezes in my diaphragm. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I’m not sure why. Is Lauren pregnant? Why else would she be at Planned Parenthood? I mean, I’m sure she has health insurance so I can’t think of why she would be here if she wasn’t pregnant and didn’t want her parents to know, like me. Does Zack know?

  Why do I care? It’s not like he and I are anything. A tear leaks out and trails down my cheek. I swipe it away with the back of my glove. Seriously, Maura? Stop crying and pull yourself together.

  Maybe it’s not Zack’s?

  Oh God, who am I kidding? Lauren is completely hung up on Zack. I remember Adrian telling me how she practically stalked him after they broke up last year.

  Maybe she’s not even pregnant? Maybe she just needs a birth control refill?

  Still, I can’t go in there. She’ll see me and then what will I say? That I’m just there for a birth control refill too? How freaking awkward.

  A car horn blasts loudly, and I jump. “Get out of the fucking road!” The driver yells out a cracked window.

  I step back onto the sidewalk automatically. Taking one last glance at the door to Planned Parenthood, I walk back to the bus stop and wait.

  * * *

  The next available appointment is next week. Sigh. In the meantime, I devote myself to a daily routine so rigid I don’t have time to think about anything else. On Friday, I receive a text message from Zack.

  Zack: Hey, Maura. Long time no see. How’re you doing?

  Why is he texting me? Does he want to tell me he’s going to be a father?

  Me: Hey. Yeah, crazy busy over here. How are you? Are you guys ready for the regatta tomorrow?

  Several minutes pass before he answers.

  Zack: Thanks, I’m okay. Yeah, hope so. Want to grab breakfast on Sunday?

  What? He’s asking me out? Is he kidding me?

  Zack: Things here have gone to shit, and I could really use some of your smart-ass cynicism.

  I laugh. Does that mean he knows about the baby? Jeez, Maura, stop speculating. It’s obvious he needs a friend since he reached out to me. He must really be missing Adrian at a time like this.

  Me: Sure. That sounds good.

  Zack: Cool. Wanna meet at Leo’s diner at 11:00 AM?

  Me: OK. See you Sunday.

  No need to read into anything. It’s just breakfast between two friends. Who both may be on the verge of parenthood. In college. Nothing at all weird about that.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Zack

  Lauren’s been oscillating between moody and distant and elate
d and surprising me at home all week. She’s acting completely crazy but Google told me women in their first trimester may be emotional as a result of all the hormones, so I’m trying to be understanding of her erratic behavior.

  I’ve tried to step up and be here for her. I really have. I’ve accepted my role in all of this and know that I can be a loving father to our baby and, if Lauren really is pregnant, a faithful partner to her. I mean, my parents would never accept anything less than a marriage proposal. I will provide for them both and do my best to make sure they have everything they need. But first I want to make sure Lauren really is pregnant, and if she is … that the baby is mine.

  After the Regatta on Saturday morning, I head straight to Lauren’s, skipping lunch with the team so that I can talk to Lauren in person. I know she had a blood test at Planned Parenthood this week and should receive the results this morning.

  “Laur? It’s Zack. Erin let me in,” I say as I knock gently on her bedroom door before pushing it open. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, an old copy of Cosmopolitan next to her, when I enter. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, her face pale.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  She hangs her head for a moment and I hear the quiet sniffling of tears.

  “Lauren? What’s wrong?” I ask gently, kneeling by her side and taking her hand in my own. It’s cold.

  “Oh, Zack,” she says as a torrent of tears gush forth.

  I take her into my arms and let her cry against my shoulder. Completely bewildered, not to mention incredibly uncomfortable, I have no freaking clue what is going on but know that this is not the best time to bombard her with questions.