You Don’t Know Me but I Know You

by Rebecca Barrow

  “You fight dirty, huh?” Julian said, and Audrey could hear his smile in his words. “That I’d like to see.”

  “Maybe one day I’ll show you,” Audrey said. “But until then, it’s you and me. You got that?”

  He laughed. “I got it, Aud. You and me,” he echoed.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Audrey stood across the street from Bettie’s, watching Jen and María messing around at the counter, blowing straw papers at each other. She hadn’t anticipated being so nervous about doing this—hadn’t she said all along that once Rose knew, she’d tell them? They were her friends. They’d be on her side.

  Of course, Audrey thought. Stop being ridiculous.

  She’d worried about what Rose would think, before. And now that nagging part of her brain had started up again, except this time it had focused on Jen. Jen, who hung out most Sundays at church and actually prayed for people when she said she was going to. Not that it meant anything—just because Jen believed in God didn’t mean she wouldn’t want Audrey to do this.

  It doesn’t, Audrey told herself. This is Jen. These are your friends. Relax.

  Easier said than done.

  “What are you doing?” Rose walked up hand in hand with Olivia, a puzzled look on her face. “You know you have to go in there, right? They don’t bring the food out to you.”

  “You’re hysterical,” Audrey said flatly. “I’m—waiting.”

  “What for?” Olivia let go of Rose’s hand and rounded Audrey to stand beside her. She stamped her boots on the slushy sidewalk. “It’s freezing.”

  “Sorry,” Audrey said. “Let’s go.”

  She followed Rose across the street and inside, over to the corner table Jen and María had now moved to. “Oh, hey,” María said on seeing them. “There you are! We’ve been waiting.”

  “We already ordered,” Jen said. “Are you getting anything?”

  Audrey cleared her suddenly dry throat. “I’ll just get a soda,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”

  “We’ll get it,” Rose said. “Coke?”

  Audrey nodded, and sat as Rose and Olivia went up to order. “Aren’t they so cute?” Jen sighed. “I’m so jealous.”

  Audrey didn’t have to look to agree with Jen. Olivia and Rose were cute in all their touchy-feely, starry-eyed infatuation, and Audrey was heart-burstingly happy for the two of them. For Rose, mostly—she deserved someone exactly like Olivia. Kind and smart and strong-willed; a girl who wouldn’t take any of Rose’s shit.

  “I’m happy for them,” María said, echoing Audrey’s thoughts. “And I’m even happier that you and Rose made up. I don’t know what was going on with the two of you, but thank God it’s over.”

  Audrey scrunched up her face, embarrassed. “Don’t,” she said. “I feel so stupid now. And also, I’m sorry. For being a bitch to you both.”

  María pulled her hair into a knot and stared at Audrey over the top of her glasses. “Apology accepted,” she said. “Bitch.”

  “I have to ask.” Jen spread her hands flat on the table and leaned far over it, her hair swinging. “What exactly happened? It’s been driving me crazy trying to figure it out.”

  Audrey took a deep breath as Olivia and Rose rejoined them, setting down drinks. She’d been psyching herself up for this moment all day, and now it was here, and now she was going to do it.

  Olivia passed Audrey a straw, and her eyes narrowed. “Audrey, what’s wrong?”

  “Wait,” Rose said quietly.

  Audrey pulled in another long breath and let it out slowly. “So, me and Rose were fighting,” she said, and she was aware of everyone but Rose staring at her, a mixture of confusion and curiosity on their faces. “Yeah. I guess it started because . . . I was keeping this secret. I didn’t really mean to, but it happened that way. And I’m still keeping it, really. You know, the rest of it doesn’t really matter, because it all started from this one thing and I want to . . .” She paused. “Well. I’m pregnant.”

  No one spoke; the only noise was the scraping of María’s chair as she shot back. And then: “Holy shit,” María said. “Shut up. That’s not funny, Aud.”

  Audrey raised her shoulders and tried to smile. “I’m not trying to be funny.”

  “Wait,” Jen said in a hushed tone. “So you’re for real pregnant? Rose! You knew?”

  “A little,” Rose said, and at the accusatory look María shot her, Rose pointed at Olivia. “She knew, too!”

  “Quiet,” Audrey said, holding out her hands. “Look, it doesn’t matter who knew what when. Now you all know.” She lowered her voice even more and plowed ahead before she lost momentum. “And you can also all know that we’re not—I’m not keeping it. I’m going to go to the clinic and get it all taken care of. Okay?”

  “Holy shit,” María said again. “So that’s why you’ve been so weird lately.”

  Jen twisted the end of her ponytail around her finger. “You’re getting an abortion?” she asked, a curious lift to her eyebrows.

  Audrey nodded firmly, focusing somewhere to the left of Jen. “Yes,” she said, and the certainty felt good. “It’s what we decided is best for us. Me and Julian.”

  “Good,” Olivia said. “I mean, not good, but—no, actually, yeah. That is what I mean. I’m glad you’ve worked it out.”

  “He’s not making you do it, is he? Because if he is . . .” María sliced a finger across her throat.

  Rose waved the suggestion off. “Don’t be stupid. It’s Julian. He would never.” She smiled across at Audrey, her eyes narrowing. “He knows I’d kill him in his sleep.”

  “Sure.” Audrey managed to force out a small laugh. “And no, he’s not making me do anything. Like I said, it’s what we decided, together.”

  “Huh,” María said. “Okay.”

  A silence descended, and Audrey busied herself drinking down half her soda. Silently, she marveled at precisely how different she didn’t feel right now. Like admitting it wasn’t any big deal to the others—just another piece of information about her that they needed to file away. It was kind of incredible.

  The silence was broken by the arrival of food: burgers and mozzarella sticks and baskets of fries that triggered a growling in Audrey’s stomach.

  The interruption pushed them out of the slightly awkward silence, and María nudged her fries toward Audrey. “Have some if you want,” she said. “How much did you spend on pregnancy tests? I bet you got the fancy kind,” she said, poking Audrey’s arm. “Did you know the scientific reliability of those is no more than the kind they give out in hospitals? They put fancy packaging on it, mark the price up, and make a killing. It’s kind of genius.”

  “Great,” Audrey said. “Well, I guess next time I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Olivia reached for the ketchup. “You remember my friend Dylan? His cousin works at a clinic in the Bronx,” she said. “She’s nice. I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about.”

  “Yeah,” María said. “Mischa Cruz—she’s in my government class—she got one last year. She said it went way faster than she thought it would. And I heard Katie Legrand did, too. They’re both bomb chicks, like you.”

  “Mischa Cruz? Huh,” Audrey said. “I never hear these things.” Strange. How many girls did she know who had gone through the exact same thing as her—how many times had she sat next to someone in the library, thinking they were doing homework when really they were working out how much it would cost in gas money to get to the clinic and back?

  Audrey glanced down the table. It hadn’t escaped her notice that, aside from her initial reaction, Jen had yet to say anything. “Jen? You still with us?”

  “Huh?” Jen seemed to shake herself back to the moment and then gave a tight smile that Audrey didn’t buy for one second. “Yeah. It’s . . . you’re pregnant. And having an abortion.” She took a deep breath and gave Audrey a bright smile. “That is a big secret. You could have told us.”

  “I know,” Audrey said. Maybe she had been right to worr
y—maybe processing was going to take longer for Jen than for the others. Audrey hadn’t really factored this in, one of them not being okay with it. Is that what this was—Jen being not okay with it? Or was she just reacting strangely? Audrey hoped for the latter, but she wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry,” Audrey said. “It’s a weird thing to be dealing with, y’know?”

  “Don’t apologize,” Jen said. “I get it.”

  “Mischa Cruz had one?” Rose said. “I thought she was, like, super-Catholic.”

  “People have their own definitions of their religion,” Olivia said.

  Jen nodded, that bright smile still shining “Everybody’s different,” she said. “And Mischa’s cool.”

  Audrey pushed the worry aside. She was probably making a big deal out of nothing. “She is. It’s kind of nice, actually,” Audrey said. “To know I’m not the only one. Not alone.”

  María’s laugh rang out over the noise around them. “You’re never going to be alone, Aud. And you’re going to get through this and kick ass the way you always have. Know why?”

  Rose spoke before Audrey could admit that, no, she didn’t know. “Because she’s Audrey.” Rose reached across and laid her hand on top of Audrey’s. “And Audrey Spencer is unstoppable. Right?”

  Audrey looked up at Rose, at her friend watching her with nothing but love on her face, and she couldn’t help smiling now. “Right,” she said, her eyes stinging and her smile aching. “Unstoppable.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Dr. Miller’s green eyes stared piercingly at Audrey. They were bright in contrast to her creamy dark skin, almost glowing.

  Audrey wondered if the doctor wore contacts. She had to, right? There was no way on earth that such emerald eyes could be real. Mostly, though, she thought it because Dr. Miller sort of scared her: she was supersmart, successful, impossibly put-together, and accepted no bullshit. So if Audrey could believe that one part of her was an enhancement of the truth, it made it a little less terrifying to be in her office.

  Which was where she was now, sitting in one of the white chairs next to her mom, with Dr. Miller offering her usual cool smile on the other side of the desk.

  “This is definitely what you’ve decided?” The doctor steepled her fingers together, her perfectly groomed eyebrows drawing together the tiniest amount.

  Audrey nodded firmly and tapped her shoe against the leg of the chair. “Yes. I would like to have a termination.”

  “All right.” Dr. Miller sat up straighter, and the overwrought concern slipped from her face. “Let’s get the ball rolling.”

  “I have some concerns.” Audrey’s mom leaned in, a finger twisting a lock of hair around and around. “About the amount of time that’s passed since—well, it’s been a while since we found out Audrey was even pregnant. Is it going to be an issue?”

  “Not at all,” Dr. Miller said. “According to my notes, the pregnancy should be around twelve weeks along now. Of course that’s a rough estimate, but even if we were off by, say, a month we’re still well within the window when termination can happen. So there’s no need to worry.”

  Laura exhaled. “Okay. Good.”

  They’re talking about me like I’m not even here, Audrey noted. Normally that would have irritated her, but right now it was a relief to have somebody else taking charge, not to be the one making any decisions. It’s kind of nice.

  And then she thought: Twelve weeks? Is that it?

  It felt like so much longer.

  “Audrey, would you like me to talk you through the procedure?” Dr. Miller turned her smile up a fraction, from Committed to Supportive. “They’ll take you through it at the clinic, too—” She looked back at Audrey’s mom then. “Speaking of which, would you like me to get an appointment for you, or would you rather do that yourselves?”

  It took Audrey a minute to realize that her mom was looking to her for the answer. Apparently it wasn’t so easy to shrug off her responsibilities. “Um . . . I’ll do it,” Audrey said, and her mom looked pleased. “And I would like to hear about the, uh, procedure. Please.”

  Dr. Miller reached for a stack of papers on the side of her desk, the cluster of rings she wore on her left hand gleaming. “It’s a pretty straightforward process,” she started, flipping through the pages. “Quite quick, and you’ll be given medication so it shouldn’t be awfully painful. There will be some discomfort, and you may find it worsens during the recovery period, but it’s nothing you won’t be able to tolerate.”

  Outside the office’s window snow fell. It wasn’t enough to make Audrey hope for school to be canceled in the morning, but through the glow of the streetlights it looked postcard-pretty. She watched the thick flakes falling as Dr. Miller talked about speculums and stirrups, scraping and sucking. It kind of made her uterus sound like a cave that needed to be excavated.

  At the end of the appointment Laura thanked Dr. Miller. “You’ve been so helpful.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” the doctor said. “Audrey?”

  She pulled her gaze away from the view outside. “Yes?”

  “Is there anything else you’d like to know about? Any questions?”

  Audrey had spent many nights on various websites, reading up on abortion until the early hours of the morning, and so she had enough information in her head to last a lifetime now. Some of it not so much information but the knowledge that certain sections of the country thought she was a coldhearted, soulless killer for the choice she was making. Which was such a fun thing to have in her mind.

  What had Olivia said? Fuck everybody else. It’s all you. Yeah, fuck those people. They could think whatever the hell they wanted, but in the end they didn’t know her. They didn’t get to make her feel like shit.

  “Audrey?” the doctor repeated.

  “No,” Audrey said, louder than she’d intended. “I think I have everything I need. Thanks.”

  They walked through the fast-settling snow, leaving footprints that wove between the steps of other people rushing home from work and heading out for a midweek dinner. Audrey tried to fit her shoes into the gaps those others had left, failing mostly, and her mom walked ahead. After a minute Laura called back over her shoulder, “Come on, Audrey, Adam’s making dinner.”

  “I’m coming.” Audrey hurried to catch up and tucked her hands into her pocket. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

  They turned into the street where they’d parked, and her mom glanced at her sideways. “Anything.”

  “How did you know adoption was the right thing for you?”

  Laura stopped walking. “That’s easy,” she said with a smile. “I really wanted a baby. I was by myself. And I have thought all my life that adoption is this amazing thing, and so it was the only thing that made any sense to me.”

  “But weren’t you scared?” Audrey shivered. “How did you know?”

  Her mom’s eyes creased at the edges, and she tipped her face back into the falling snow. “You can’t know, Audrey. You can never be one hundred percent, totally, completely sure. And I’m not talking about this—” She waved her hand between the two of them, and in the vague direction of Audrey’s stomach. “I mean in all of life. There’s always going to be something you’re scared about, and that’s okay. Was I scared when I got you? Of course. Shitless!” She laughed. “Could I raise a daughter, all on my own? Could I, the whitest chick ever, raise this beautiful biracial girl? I took you home and put you in your crib, and God, those first few nights I remember standing over you and not believing that somebody thought I was the best thing for you. I would call up Grams, my friends, in the middle of the night and say, ‘Why did I think I could do this? I’m an actor—you want me to cry on cue, I’ll do it. Pretend to kill a person? I’ll do it. But this? I don’t know what I’m doing.’ Which is— Nobody knows what they’re doing when they have a baby, not really. I would wager that nobody really knows what they’re doing in anything. Every parent every day is questioning their decisions, wondering if they should have . . .
not let their kid eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast or stopped them from climbing trees and breaking bones, or given them more freedom. I think that kind of stuff all the time. Especially now—was I sending you the wrong message when I took you to get birth control pills? Is that what other people think? Do I care what other people think? How could I have failed you like this? Not just you, but her, too.” Laura paused. “Your birth mother. She trusted me with you, because she thought I could do a better job than her, that you’d have a life she wanted for you. But here you are, seventeen, having to decide to get an abortion. I don’t think that’s what she wanted for you and so I feel guilty about that, too.”

  “But it has nothing to do with you,” Audrey said. “It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that. I made this mess.”

  “Baby, you didn’t make me feel anything,” Laura said with a smile. “And don’t worry about what I’m feeling. That’s for me to work out, not you. But y’know, this is sometimes the way life goes. The whole world is full of people trying to get through, making the best of what they have, pretending like they have a plan and hoping they can pull it off. And there’s no shame in that.”

  Laura stepped aside to let a brave cyclist rush past. “You make decisions that you think—that you hope—are the best thing for you in that moment, and that’s all you can do. I made the decision to adopt. Your birth mother decided on me. You decided on art. And now you’re deciding on this.”

  “I feel like . . .” Audrey pulled her hands out of her pockets so she could hold her hair out of her face, stop the biting wind blowing it into her mouth. “What if I have this abortion and then in ten years, fifteen years—what if I can’t have kids then? Or what if I do this and I regret it or I change my mind?”

  Her mom’s face shifted then: she looked stern and the kind of imposing Audrey would never associate with her mom. “Listen to me,” she said, grabbing for Audrey’s hands. “Really think about this. Because it’s your life, and you’re in control. Do you think that’s what’s going to happen? That you’re going to be . . . punished if you choose this way?”