Trust me, I can help. Andie’s words echoed in my mind.
But could she? After all, Andie’s mom had given birth to twin boys four years ago, when Andie was twelve. I supposed if anyone could possibly understand how I felt, it would be my best friend.
Suddenly she stood up, and I noticed the bus was heading toward my stop. “I’m getting off here with you. Like it or not.”
I didn’t argue. If she wanted to come over, fine. I just hoped Mom would be resting. Or out running errands.
Anything to keep Andie from discovering the truth.
The two of us crossed the residential street one block away from my house, and as we walked, I decided I would whisk her up to my room as soon as we got into the house. Because, knowing Carrie, she’d start talking baby stuff right under Andie’s nose.
I was not ready to discuss the baby thing. I had to be cautious and avoid it.
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
Chapter 3
My free hand turned the doorknob. I poked my head inside the front door, wary of any activity that might call attention to the family secret.
“What are you doing?” Andie asked, nudging me forward. “You’re not grounded, are you? Is that what’s bugging you?”
While she babbled behind me on the porch, I scanned the living room. Vacant.
Good.
Inching myself past the door, I glanced at the dining room. Coast clear.
I breathed a sigh of relief. “C’mon in.”
Andie looked at me cockeyed as I took her jacket and hung it in the hall closet. From where I stood, I could see Carrie, Stephie, Phil, and Mark standing with their backs to us out in the kitchen. They were all leaning forward, studying something on the center island. I could only guess what they were looking at so intently. Probably baby furniture in a catalog.
Not wanting to investigate, I steered Andie away. “C’mon, let’s go to my room.” She cast a quizzical look my way, and we scampered up the stairs.
My bedroom was the second room on the left, the first being the bathroom. Carrie and Stephie shared the room straight off from the landing, and true to form, their music was blaring. Instantly, I wondered if having a baby in the house might—at least for the first few months—quiet things down a bit. Only a serious writer would think of such a thing, I guess.
Andie and I hurried into my room and closed the door. Goofey, my cat, was sunning himself on the window seat. One lazy eyelid lifted nonchalantly, then closed. I chuckled at his passive approach to hellos. “That was Goofey’s welcome to you, in case you didn’t know,” I told Andie.
She snorted, not amused. “For some reason, cats hate me. I don’t know why. They just do.”
“Aw,” I defended her, “that’s not true. Goofey doesn’t hate you. He knows you . . . after all these years. Nah, he’s just being a big, fat cat, minding his own business. Aren’t you, baby?”
Goofey raised his round, furry head and began to lick his paw, completely ignoring us.
“Better watch who you call fat,” Andie said, laughing as we flung ourselves on my canopy bed. I pushed my shoes off and got comfortable.
“Goofey’s used to the truth about his size, aren’t you, boy?” I leaned my head around the bedpost, sneaking a peek at him.
Andie watched me, and I could tell she was trying to be discreet in her scrutiny. “Holly?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Why don’t you tell me the truth?”
I leaned up on my elbow. “About what?”
“You’ve been acting really weird today.”
I was silent. Should I tell her or not?
Goofey leaped down off the window seat and came across the room, sniffing our stocking feet. Then he jumped up onto the bed, parading past us like he owned the place.
“Goofey,” I said. “For pete’s sake, can’t you see we’re talking?” I reached out and pulled his shaggy gray-and-brown body over next to me.
“I think your cat’s trying to tell you something,” Andie said.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Like to spill your soul out to your best friend. Cats—er, animals—sense things like that.”
Man, was she grasping at straws. I stroked Goofey’s fur, contemplating my life. “It’s just that things are way out of control these days. I feel like I’m about to drown in a sea of people.”
Andie’s eyebrows arched. “Huh?”
“It’s not like I don’t want to tell you about it, it’s just . . .” I paused. “I don’t know if I can make anyone understand what I’m feeling.” I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so ashamed. . . . I really should be happy. I—”
“Holly, don’t worry about all that. None of those shoulds are important,” she assured me. “The important thing is that you have someone to talk to. Someone to confide in.”
“I know.” I leaned back on the bed. “You’re a very good friend, and I’m thankful we have each other—especially at times like this.” I was actually going to tell her; I was that close. But someone knocked on my door.
“Coming!” I got up to see who was there.
It was Mom, wearing a brand-new maternity outfit. It displayed her rounded stomach quite well. I kept the door from opening too wide. “What do you think?” she asked, twirling halfway around. “It’s my coming-out dress.”
“It’s, uh, nice.” I closed the door quickly.
“Holly?” she called. “There’s more. I want to show you the slacks—you can trade out the skirt for a more casual look.”
Andie got off the bed, looking bewildered. “Why’d you close the door on your mom?”
I wagged my pointer finger close to my mouth.
“Holly-Heart? What’s going on?” Mom asked through the door.
“Uh, it’s nothing,” I replied, feeling ridiculous about carrying on a conversation this way. “Can you show me later? I’m . . . uh, sorta busy right now.”
There was an awkward pause. Even through the closed door, I could tell her feelings were hurt. Finally she said through the door, “Well, honey, when you have a minute . . . okay?”
I held my breath. What would Mom say next?
“That’ll work,” I said quickly, hoping she’d head down the hall to the master bedroom. Maybe put on her old jeans and one of those loose, flowing tops. An encounter with my pregnant mother was not the way I’d envisioned sharing the news with Andie. Not even close.
Leaning my head against the door, I listened for Mom’s footsteps. When I heard the familiar crack of her ankle, I knew she was on her way.
I stood there in the middle of my room, looking at Andie, wondering what she thought of all this. Of course, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“I don’t get it,” she scolded. “Sounds like your mom’s got a new outfit and you won’t even look at it. What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m sure it seemed disrespectful, but there’s so much more to it than meets the eye.”
Andie scrunched up her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She sat back down on the bed. “Why don’t you spell it all out for me, starting with what you were saying right before your mom knocked on the door.”
“Why? What was I saying?”
“It’s not what you said but what you were about to say.” Andie was so good at this. Knowing when I was close to caving in with desired info. That’s what happens when you grow up best friends.
I didn’t blame her for wanting to know. Shoot, I’d kept my mouth shut long enough. I pulled on my hair, which was no longer waist length. I’d had it cut to midback before the beginning of high school last September. Taking a deep breath, I turned to Andie. “I know this’ll shock you, and believe me, I’m still in shock, but maybe you can help me.”
Andie’s eyes were saucers. “What . . . what on earth are you saying?”
I sighed, mustering up the strength to tell my secret. “My mom’s expecting a baby.”
There. The words were out. They were floating around my bedroom even
now as Andie stared at me.
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
Chapter 4
Andie’s head lurched forward. “You’re kidding. Your mom’s pregnant?”
“Even as we speak.”
“Oh, Holly.” She fell back on my bed, making it shake a bit. “I thought you were going to say something horrendous.”
“And this isn’t?”
Andie sat up abruptly. “Get a grip, girl.”
“But my mom’s nearly forty and she’s having another kid.” I insisted, “That’s horrendous . . . and scary.”
Andie didn’t buy it. “Healthy women can have babies way past forty these days.” She studied me. “What’s really bugging you?”
“I just told you.”
“No, I mean, why is this such a hard thing for you?”
“I really thought you’d understand.” Tears clouded my vision.
“Hey, look on the bright side: You might actually enjoy having a baby sister or brother.” She grinned. “I remember when Dad brought Mom home from the hospital with the twins. Oh, they were so-o tiny and cute.”
She was putting me to shame. Still, I listened.
“Even now, in their sometimes rowdy four-year-old stage, Chris and Jon will come to my room, dragging their teddy bears, and crawl up on my bed, pleading for a story.”
“That’s nice,” I said softly. “But there are only five of you at your house.”
“Five, eight, twenty . . . what’s it matter if you all love each other? Families are forever.”
“Yeah . . . forever and ever,” I muttered.
“Snap out of it,” she demanded. “I don’t know what I’d do without my little brothers. I mean, if they hadn’t been born— man, I’d be a lonely, only child!”
I could see that telling my secret to Andie had been a big mistake. Not only did she not understand my feelings, she sounded like she was taking sides against me.
Suddenly Andie got up and opened the bedroom door, poking her head into the hallway.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
She grinned. “I want to congratulate your mom.”
I hauled myself off the bed. Andie was showing me up significantly. The least I could do was go out and stand next to her while she offered her congratulatory remarks.
“Why, thank you, Andie,” Mom was saying. “Maybe you and Holly can baby-sit sometime.”
“Oh, I’d like that,” she said. “I love babies.” I tuned her out when she started saying how soft and sweet little ones were. I shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, Andie had prided herself in telling everyone how she wanted a large family of her own someday. It was a fact of life with Andie Martinez.
Much later, after supper dishes were put away and my homework was finished, I wrote in my journal.
Monday night, January 15: It’s not a happy sight. I mean Mom parading around, wearing bona-fide maternity clothes. Now that I know she’s expecting, she even looks pregnant!
I don’t care what Andie says, it’s not right for Mom and Uncle Jack to live in their own private world—planning secret things like babies and all—apart from the rest of the family.
Don’t they realize what bringing another child into the world is going to entail? I stopped writing and thought of zillions of reasons why a family of our size—and parental age—shouldn’t be added to. Had Uncle Jack and Mom taken everything into consideration?
I picked up my pen and continued.
It’s unfortunate that Andie and I don’t see eye-to-eye. She’s thrilled—literally. I can’t believe how she carried on today with Mom, discussing the special aspects of having a baby around. Shoot, I was embarrassed at the way she gushed.
When it comes right down to it, the thing that bothers me most is the timing. Mom and Uncle Jack waited till almost the last minute to announce this. I mean, it would’ve been nice to have had seven or eight months to get used to such a monumental change. But no. We weren’t even given fair warning.
I bit on the end of my pen, wondering if, on top of everything else, I’d have to give up my room to create a nursery. This room would be the logical place—just a few steps away from the master bedroom. But now wasn’t the time to be thinking logic, was it? Logic had flown out the window back sometime in July, probably while I was out in California visiting my dad.
Resentment welled up in me as I thought of Uncle Jack and Mom discussing the possibility of having a baby together. Tears made two paths down my face, and I cried out to God. “It’s not fair!” I prayed. “And I don’t know what to do about it, Lord. Please, help me deal with this.” I sobbed into my pillow. “I’m not doing a good job of it. I feel so deserted—by Mom, especially.”
I stopped praying and lifted my head off the damp pillow. There it was. I’d just voiced it to God—the truth Andie was pleading for.
Rejection.
I felt left out. The way I’d felt after Daddy divorced Mom all those years ago. That’s what was bugging me, but I couldn’t help what I was experiencing. Things like divorce left open wounds. About the time I thought my gash was scabbed over, beginning to heal, something like this was tearing it open—bringing all the insecurities back.
Later that evening, Uncle Jack called a family meeting. My first thought was that it was a bit late to confer with everyone now. The baby was already on its way. Of course, it was a nasty, sarcastic thought, and I tried to suppress it.
The living room was draped with people. Stan sprawled out on the couch as usual; Phil and Mark sat near the coffee table, counting strings of bubble gum. Carrie and Stephie had dragged their beanbags down from their bedroom and were clumped together in the middle of the room, whispering. Mom sat in the rocking chair with hands folded on her stomach, emphasizing its roundness. Uncle Jack carried one of the straight-backed chairs in from the dining room and planted it next to her.
I chose the farthest corner of the room, where a tall Ficus tree sheltered me as I sat cross-legged on the floor. Goofey purred in my lap as I stroked his thick fur.
“Tonight, let’s begin with questions,” Uncle Jack said. “Carrie and Stephie, in particular, have been curious about how babies grow inside a woman’s body.” He gave a fatherly glance at the girls sitting near his feet. “I think now is a good time to talk about all of that as a family.”
I put my head down, staring at Goofey’s adorable kitty ears and nose. How ridiculous, I thought. Why is Uncle Jack doing the birds and bees thing? Doesn’t he know we already know this stuff?
Stephie’s hand shot up. “When can we feel the baby kicking in Mommy’s tummy?”
Mom spoke up. “The baby doesn’t kick all the time. Sometimes she is asleep.”
She? Mom thought the new baby was a girl. Did she know for sure?
Mark asked, “But if the baby’s a boy, can Phil and I help name him?”
Uncle Jack chuckled. “We don’t know yet whether the baby’s a boy or a girl, but we can all help choose a name.”
Now he includes us, I thought. Now that it’s too late. . . .
Carrie twisted her long blond ponytail. “What if the baby turns out to be twins? What then?”
My stomach churned at the thought.
Mom laughed. Then Uncle Jack spoke up. “The ultrasound showed only one baby growing inside Mommy, but if there miraculously happens to be two, well, I’m sure we’ll manage somehow. Won’t we, honey?”
Mom nodded, a twinkle in her eye. She didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all! I, however, was appalled. Surely God—in His mercy and love—wouldn’t let something like twins happen to us.
After everyone else was finished asking questions, I managed to voice my greatest concern. “Where’s the nursery going to be?”
Mom and Uncle Jack looked at each other. The way their eyes caught made me even more worried. They’d already discussed moving me out of my room, I was sure of it.
“We haven’t completely decided all the details,” Mom said hesitantly. “For the first few weeks, the baby will sleep in a
bassinet in our room.”
Uncle Jack reached for Mom’s hand. “We’ve thought of various options, including putting all three of you girls in our master bedroom and taking the room Carrie and Stephie have now for ours.”
“Which would leave my room for the nursery?” I sputtered.
“That’s only one possibility, Holly,” Mom said softly. “We still have time to plan.”
I wasn’t totally ignorant. The option they’d just voiced was the most viable choice. For them.
I fumed as I thought about moving out of my room. Of being stuck in the same bedroom with two little sisters—and snooping ones, at that.
How could Mom even think of doing this to me?
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
Chapter 5
I spent most of my Tuesday morning in a daze—hardly remembered anything that happened in either government class or algebra. Choir was a blur, too, although I did remember working on our songs for All-State choir auditions, which were coming up in a few months.
The nursery scenario kept cropping up, though, pounding my brain like the rhythmic wail of a newborn baby. To think that Mom and Uncle Jack would actually tear me away from my fabulous room—the room Daddy had planned for me. It was unthinkable that Mom would allow Uncle Jack to voice such a thing.
The house at 207 Downhill Court housed my roots, my very life. A girl of almost fifteen years ought to have some say in where she laid her head at night—not to mention where she wrote her stories and kept a written record of her life.
My future writing career might be completely thrown off course if I were uprooted and forced to be in the same room— master suite or not—with Carrie and Stephie. It was outright injustice.
During lunch I poured out my heart to Andie. Even though she didn’t think the overall baby thing was anything to lose sleep over, she was sympathetic to the pain of giving up my room.
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