“I’ll tell her.” Audrey started walking down the hall. “I just have to figure out what to tell her.”
Julian fell into step beside her. “You could always actually—”
“Don’t.” Audrey halted in the middle of the hall, then ducked into the alcove under the stairs. “Don’t say I should tell her that. I can’t. Not yet.”
The way Julian looked at her right then initiated a spiraling guilt inside her. Like she needed any more nausea—the morning sickness had kicked in hard last Friday, as if her body had been waiting for her to take those three tests before giving her that lovely gift. Plus, whoever named it morning sickness clearly never suffered themselves, because Audrey’s throw-up sessions came right in the middle of art class. (And right when she got home, and once more before bed, for good measure.) She was only lucky that Ms. Fitz gave them free rein in class and that so far nobody had noticed her jaunts to the bathroom.
“Rose isn’t stupid,” Julian said. “She’s going to know something’s up.”
“Probably.” Definitely.
It was weird. Usually Rose was the first to know any and all of Audrey’s secrets, and at first she’d thought this would be no different. But this secret wasn’t only hers; it belonged to Julian, too. And now Audrey had begun to be afraid of Rose’s reaction—would she think Audrey was so pathetic for getting into this situation? Maybe she’d think Audrey was crazy for entertaining, even for a second, the idea of keeping the baby. Or maybe she’d go the complete opposite way and look down on Audrey if she even mentioned getting rid of it.
All these things that she hadn’t realized she’d feel had begun piling on top of everything else. And in a strange way it was nice to have a secret of her own for once, taking up space normally occupied by Rose’s issues. Something that belonged to her. She’d keep it a secret a little while longer, maybe. Because deep down she knew what Rose would say: You’re pregnant? Jesus Christ, I guess I’m going to have to give you The Talk again. All right. What are you going to do? Let’s make a list.
“I’ll tell her.” Audrey slouched against the wall, her shoulders heavy. “But not right now. Not when we only just found out.” She paused. Okay, maybe “only just” was an understatement, because somehow an entire week had blurred by since those lines had shown up. “And when we haven’t even talked about it.”
Now Julian looked guilty. No, beyond him saying “How are you?” five times a day and Audrey either shrugging or saying “Fine,” they most definitely hadn’t discussed it. Who had known they were such masters of avoidance? “I thought you might need to wait a little,” he said. “Before we . . . decided anything.”
Yeah, sure, Audrey thought. Because I might need to wait. Like he wasn’t freaking out, too, and running over all the options in his head until he felt more confused than when he’d begun. Audrey knew him, knew how his mind worked—this was the boy who regularly took so long to decide which movie to see that all the showings had started by the time he’d picked one. At least he hadn’t turned into one of those boyfriends saying “But you’re going to get rid of it, right?”—or worse, those ones who denied any and all responsibility and completely bailed. Hopefully he’d be able to put his logical mind to good use and think rationally about which path they were going to take. Because Audrey had no fucking idea what to do, and the really scary thing was that her instinctive response had been the opposite of how she’d ever imagined she would feel.
And so far, it wasn’t going away.
She sighed, reaching across the space between them to sweep Julian’s hair out of his eyes. They were the same dark brown as her own, like looking into a mirror. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to be a bitch.”
“Like you could ever.” Julian lifted one corner of his mouth. “So, you’re not coming tonight.”
It wasn’t a question, but Audrey nodded anyway. “It would feel too weird,” she said. “Besides, I’m not in the Halloween mood anymore.”
“What do you want to do instead?”
“What?”
Julian raised his eyebrows. “If we’re not going to the party. Should we . . . actually talk?”
“Oh, I don’t— You should go. Have fun with Cooper and the others,” Audrey said. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”
“What?” Julian looked unconvinced. “I don’t know. I won’t feel right going without you. Feels like an asshole move to me, partying when my”—he lowered his voice—“pregnant girlfriend is at home by herself.”
It did sound like the kind of thing that douche bags did, but Julian wasn’t that kind of guy, and Audrey actually wanted to be at home by herself. Adam and her mom had plans with some of Adam’s work friends, so maybe she’d be able to Google-research to her heart’s content without worrying that one of them was about to come bursting into her room and bust her.
“Not at all.” She put both hands on his chest, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I need some time to . . . process. Besides, I need you to keep an eye on Rose for me. Make sure she doesn’t melt down if a certain ex of hers turns up.”
Julian wrapped his hands around her wrists, bringing her hands to his mouth and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Rose doesn’t need me to watch out for her. She can more than handle herself.”
Audrey raised her eyebrows. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Hey!” A shout came their way as Davis jogged by them, grinning. “No PDA in the hall, assholes!”
Audrey managed to flip him off, muttering under her breath, “Dick.” She turned her attention back to Julian, who was trying not to laugh. “You’ll go tonight, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll go.” He laughed for real then. “I think I must have the only girlfriend in the world who wants her boyfriend to go to a party without her.”
Audrey shook her head. “I think your girlfriend sounds pretty awesome.”
“Oh, she is.”
She smiled big, the tension in her muscles easing—sometimes she forgot how much she loved him. Which made the remembering so much better. And even when she was feeling shitty, Julian could make her think that goodness was hiding somewhere in her.
She stepped out of the alcove, into the emptying hall. “Give me a ride home? I don’t have my car, and I don’t have the energy to walk.”
She didn’t have the energy to do much, but she thought that making out in front of her house when Julian dropped her off was something she could manage.
Then again, maybe they shouldn’t—Isn’t that how we got into this mess in the first place?
Audrey let out a bizarre laugh at that, covering her mouth when Julian looked at her like she was being weird and asked, “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It’s stupid,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
TWELVE
Around ten thirty that night Audrey was regretting her decision to stay in. Turned out that abortion plus Google did not a good night make. So much political shit and extreme pro-life propaganda came flying at her that she’d had to close her laptop and put it away. Then she’d sat there zombiefied, alternating between thinking of ways the guest room across the hall could be turned into a nursery and how amazing the classes she’d dreamed of taking at RISD would be.
Eventually she couldn’t stop her antsy hands, and she dialed Julian, sighing impatiently as she waited for him to answer.
“Hey!” When he finally answered, Audrey could hardly hear him, her ear suddenly filled with staticky noise. She could hear enough in his loud voice to know he was well on his way to drunk, though. “Audrey? Hello?”
“Julian?” Audrey threw herself down on her bed, the air rushing out of the covers with a whoosh. “Can you hear—”
“Hold on, I can’t hear you,” Julian’s yell came. “One second.”
Audrey watched the ceiling as she waited, her irritation ticking up. Oh, wasn’t it nice for him to be out, having fun, getting drunk? Huh. That would probably
be their future with a baby: Audrey in on her own on a Friday night, bored and despondent, while Julian partied it up with his friends, no worries at all. She’d watched enough repeats of 16 and Pregnant to know that.
“Okay.” Julian sounded breathless. “That’s better. Hi, babe.”
“Don’t ‘hi, babe’ me,” Audrey said sharply. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” Julian said. “I’m at Cooper’s.”
Audrey was quiet for a moment before flaring up. “I can’t believe you actually went,” she snapped. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What? You told me to go!”
“I didn’t mean it!” Audrey pinched herself hard on the thigh, the nervous tic that she tried so hard to keep under control. “Okay, I did, but I didn’t think you would do it.”
“Sorry,” Julian said, sounding immediately sober and irritated. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to understand that by saying you wanted me to go, you really meant that you didn’t want me to go.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair? You’re the one yelling at me because I had the audacity to do what you told me to. If you didn’t want me to go, why didn’t you say so? I can’t read your mind, Audrey. God.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Audrey said. “I shouldn’t have to spell out every little thing to you. Did you really think this was a good idea?”
“You told me to go!” he yelled again. “I thought this was what you wanted!”
“Well, clearly it wasn’t!”
“Clearly?” he said. “Clear to who? I have no idea what you’re—”
“I swear to God, Julian. Why are you being such an asshole?”
“Well, why shouldn’t I be?” Julian said. “That’s obviously the role you’ve cast me in already.”
“No,” Audrey said. “Julian—”
“Julian what? What?” His frustrated groan deafened her. “I shouldn’t be talking to you now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“No! Don’t you dare hang up.” Audrey listened to his silence. “Julian?”
“I’m making it worse,” he said. “I don’t want to be mad at you, but I’m not exactly sober right now and it’s too hard. I don’t know what you want.”
“I want . . . I thought I would feel better here than there but I don’t.” She exhaled slowly. “I want to see you.”
“So come see me,” he said. “There. Easy.” She could hear his breathing down the line, fast and heavy. “Audrey.”
They stayed there, hanging in limbo, for a minute. Then Audrey swallowed her pride, contriteness spilling into her voice. “I’m sorry,” she said, curling her toes into the sheets. “I’m an asshole. I’m sorry, J.”
He was silent again, and Audrey thought she’d pushed too far, too hard. But then he spoke, his voice calmer. “It’s fine,” Julian said. “I mean . . . I feel like an asshole anyway. Being here while you’re there. Kind of a dick move.”
Audrey shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “Truce?” she said. “Let’s start over.”
“Deal,” Julian said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. “So. Do you want me to come over?”
“No! No.” The last thing she wanted was for him to come to her house—if she spent a minute longer in there, she would choke. She’d never been one to get claustrophobic, but right now it felt like the walls of her bedroom were pressing in on her, the awesome ladies whose pictures were up there staring down at her. Ava Gardner, Lucille Ball, Josephine Baker, all judging her with their paper-soft eyes. “I have to get out of here,” Audrey said. “Meet me at that playground by Coop’s.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll be waiting.”
After they hung up she curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees and glancing up at her portrait ladies. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “Not a single one of us in this room is perfect.”
She slammed her car door as she stepped into the chilly night, winding her scarf a little tighter around her neck. From the street the park was hidden, tucked away in the midst of family-filled houses whose occupants complained about the roaches and empty forties left there by kids with nowhere else to party. Audrey knew it would be empty tonight—it was Halloween, and that meant everyone was partying elsewhere, dressed up and drinking in costume or being scared out of their minds by movie monsters.
She heard the rattle of the swing set before she saw Julian sitting there, drifting forward and back lazily. He didn’t look much in costume, wearing a baseball jacket over a white button-down and dark jeans, the thick-framed glasses on his face the only unusual thing. “Hey,” she said as she neared. “Catch.”
Julian shot out his left hand to easily snatch the Hershey’s Kiss she’d thrown him out of the air. “You been trick-or-treating?”
“As if.” Audrey lowered herself into the swing next to Julian, wrapping her hands around the cold chains. “I told my mom that I’d answer the door to all the little punks, but really I locked it, turned off all the lights, and took the candy for myself.” When Julian laughed, she allowed herself a small smile. “Hey, I need it. I am eating for two, after all.”
Julian laughed again, but this time there was a hollow ring to it. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you are.”
They swung in silence for a while, a sudden burst of noise from nearby the only interruption: a shriek, two, followed by a cacophony of laughter. Pranks gone right, Audrey thought.
“You look nice.”
She started. “What?” She looked down at her jeans, the ones she wore for painting that were covered in bleached patches and smears of cerulean, worn thin at the knees. “I look like a mess.”
Julian reached across the gap between them, stretching for her hand. “No,” he said, so urgently that Audrey turned to look at him. “You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful.”
“And you’re drunk.”
“I only had a couple beers,” he said. “And one shot. I know exactly what I’m saying.”
Before she could say anything, he took a deep breath. “Let’s talk.”
“You first,” Audrey said. She knew it was a cowardly move, but a big part of her worried that if she started talking, she’d word-vomit every little thing that had gone through her head in the past ten days, and sensible, supportive Julian would see she’d lost her mind and run for the hills.
His fingers tightened around hers. “Here’s what I’m thinking: we have three options, and we have to consider how we would feel if we pursued each different one. So, how we would feel if we either became parents, pursued adoption, or ended the pregnancy.”
Audrey just looked at him in awe. “Jesus, J.” The way he said it was so blunt, so matter-of-fact that Audrey let out a surprised giggle. “Sorry. You sound like some pamphlet.”
“Well . . .”
“You didn’t!” Rational, logical Julian—see, she did know him almost better than he knew himself.
“I was in the nurse’s office,” he said, defensive. “Headache.”
“Nerd.”
“Be serious,” Julian said, and Audrey put her feet out to stop her swinging, feeling a little like a scolded schoolchild. “Okay,” he continued. “So, adoption—I mean, you’re the expert here, right?”
“Sure,” Audrey said, nodding. “That’s me.” Although she’d never thought too hard about the fact that she was adopted; it had always been just that, a fact. A thing she knew about herself, as simple as knowing that her eyes were brown and her hair was curly and pineapples made her sick. A woman—girl, really—had placed her for adoption and had chosen Laura. When she thought of it, she thought of it as an act of pure love.
There was a box of things in her mom’s office that sat alongside her acting things from when Audrey was little and they’d lived in California. The box contained all kinds of sentimental stuff: some of Audrey’s baby teeth, glowing report cards, the skipping rope she’d learned to do tricks with. A letter from the girl who’d given birth t
o her.
It was a miracle that it hadn’t faded even a bit over the years, over the many times Audrey had read the letter: First with her mom lying next to her in bed, reading it out when Audrey was too little to string the words into sentences. Then when she got older, on her birthday and Christmas and sometimes Mother’s Day. She could recite it in her sleep, picturing the neat, printed words on the lilac paper: My dear sweet baby girl, it began. You don’t know me but I know you. I’ll love you forever—that’s the first thing I have to say—but we can’t stay together. I’ll miss you when you’re not with me anymore.
It went on, about how Audrey needed to be with someone who could give her all the things she needed, and how she was going to do great things with her life, and maybe one day they’d meet again. It was equal parts sad and happy, and Audrey would be forever grateful to this girl who’d gifted her with the life she had now.
But for herself? For Julian? She wasn’t sure. “Honestly,” Audrey started, “I don’t know. I think adoption is amazing, of course. I wouldn’t be here without it, would I? Wouldn’t have my mom, or Adam, or you, or my friends. But thinking about doing it myself . . .” She paused, considering it for the first time, and the idea of it seemed alien right now. “That’s scary. And strange. Can you imagine?” She’d be pregnant—more pregnant than she currently was. Pregnant for nine whole months while this . . . thing, this baby, grew inside her. What might that be like? she wondered. Could I do it?
“My birth mother did it.” Audrey looked away from Julian again, watching the slight clouding of her breath in the cold air. “But that was her and we’re us. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Julian said. “I get it.”
“What if it wasn’t even right for her?” Audrey asked, the thought occurring to her out of nowhere. That was scary, too—what if it hadn’t been right for her? Maybe Audrey had ruined her life. Or maybe she’d made it better, in her absolute absence. “How could I know if it would be right for me, for us? I don’t know. What do you think?
“I think . . . I have no idea,” Julian confessed. “I don’t know. Have you ever wanted to meet her? You birth mother?”
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