How It Ends

by Catherine Lo

  On the other path, I’d tell her that I’ve made up my mind and that I’m confident in my decision. That way, I could be free of all of this. I wouldn’t have to take on the responsibility of being a teenage mother, throwing away college and my future. I wouldn’t have to endure the stares and the whispers and the jokes. And I wouldn’t have to explain to my child why her father never visits and why I’m so young compared with the other girls’ mothers.

  I must have been sitting there thinking about her question for a while, because Janet suddenly puts her pen down and starts to get up. She’s going to get Madge, I realize in a panic. The biggest decision of my entire life is in front of me, and there’s no time.

  I don’t want Madge in here. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. So I say it. “It’s my choice.”

  Janet’s hands go to her hips, and she looks at me for a long time while I study the cuticles on my thumbnails.

  When she sits down again, her voice is soft. “This is a permanent choice. There’s no going back. Which is not to say it’s not the right choice for you. It very well might be. But only you can decide that. So I’m going to ask you a very important question, and I want you to answer it honestly.”

  I look up at her.

  “Do you have any doubts about this choice, or have you made up your mind?”

  I start crying. I can’t help it. Because there’s only one way out of this mess, and it’s not fair that the decision comes down to me. I’m not the only one who brought me to this awful moment. So why am I the one who has to shoulder all the weight of this decision?

  I could tell her all that. I could tell her I’m not sure yet and need more time.

  But I don’t. “I wish things were different. But I’ve made up my mind.”

  She nods, all business, and writes something on my paper before asking me to take a seat back in the waiting room.

  I sit three chairs down from Madge and refuse to look at her. She doesn’t even care. She just shrugs and pulls out a book.

  How can she sit there and fucking read? We’re about to take a life, and she’s reading a shitty romance novel like it’s nothing.

  I can’t look at her anymore, so I look around the waiting room instead. There are three other girls here, and I wonder about their stories. They’re all young, though none as young as I am. Two of them look about seventeen or eighteen, and the other is probably in her early twenties. The girl in her twenties is alone, and I feel a pang of jealousy. I already know that I’ll be walking around with the memory of today for the rest of my life, and I wish that Madge weren’t a part of it.

  I check out the mothers of the other two girls. They’re so different. The one beside the blond girl is holding her hand, and that breaks my heart into a million pieces. They’re leaning into each other, and the mom never takes her eyes off her daughter’s tearstained face. I wonder what they talked about on the way here. I wonder if they made this decision together.

  The other girl’s mother sits rigidly in her seat. She reminds me of Madge. There’s no handholding or reassuring pats on the leg with this woman. She never once looks at the shamed-looking girl curled into a ball beside her. She stares straight ahead, and I can feel the anger rolling off of her.

  I wonder what Madge and I look like to them. Do they feel sorry for me because she’s all I have left in the mother department? I want to announce to the whole waiting room that she’s not related to me. That I didn’t come from inside this cold woman. She’s just my stepmother! I want to shout.

  A woman in a white coat appears at the door on the far end of the room. She looks down at the charts in her hands, and my heart freezes. Not yet. “Amy and . . . Nicole.” She looks up and smiles while the two younger girls get up. The blond one’s mother stands up with her and gives her a long hug. They rock from side to side while she whispers something in her daughter’s ear.

  I make eye contact with the other girl, and something passes between us. We’re both crying. Her mother doesn’t get up or even look at her. I know exactly how this girl feels.

  I’m still thinking of her when the nurse comes back and calls my name. She shows me to a little closet closed off by a curtain and asks me to get changed and then sit on a chair in the hallway.

  I stow my clothes in one of the cupboards in the little room and then tug at my shirt to make it longer. When they asked for a long T-shirt, I didn’t really think about why. Now I find that it’s my only coverage. I had to take off even my underwear.

  I perch tentatively on the chair, pulling my shirt under me to act as a barrier between the seat and my body. I don’t want to touch anything in here. Everything feels dirty.

  I look around for another door. Some way to sneak out the back of this building and hide.

  But then a nurse taps me on the shoulder and gestures to a dark room. I follow her and climb onto the table, starting to panic. I’m not ready to do this. I turn to the nurse and open my mouth to ask for help when a doctor rushes noisily in.

  He peers at a piece of paper on the table and then smiles widely at me. “Annabel? My name is Dr. Duncan.” He snaps on a pair of latex gloves and takes a seat beside me.

  “This is how things will work. I’m going to use this machine to get a look at the fetus and see where it’s positioned. I’ll then take some measurements to determine how far along you are. You’re welcome to watch the screen or look away if you prefer. Some women find it helps them to accept the loss if they’ve seen the fetus.”

  It’s all so official. So scientific. I start to calm down a little.

  The nurse positions my feet in the stirrups at the end of the table and pulls my T-shirt up. Embarrassed, I look away from my naked body and will them to hurry.

  The doctor squirts cold gel on my belly and pushes a white plastic probe hard against my skin. The screen beside me flickers to life, and I see wavy lines and shapes that mean nothing to me. I feel like I’m watching from across the room.

  I hear a series of clicks, and then a line appears on the screen. It spans the distance of a little bean shape in the center. I stop breathing and look closer.

  “That’s the fetus,” he says. “And that is its heart beating. It looks to be about nine weeks.” He makes a few notations on the paper and then snaps off the monitor. The nurse wipes my belly with a tissue and they scurry around arranging tools.

  No one notices that I’m no longer a living person. Something in me died when I saw that little heart beating. But rather than jump up and take it all back, I just lie there and let the scene unfold. And when it’s all over and they’re congratulating me on how well I did, I feel empty. I wish they could give me a pill that would erase my memory of today. Some drug that could make this terrible feeling go away.

  They take me to a little rest area where there’s juice and cookies. Like we’re a bunch of kindergartners on a break. I sit in a recliner, feeling dizzy and nauseated. Nurses start buzzing around me, taking my blood pressure and monitoring my temperature, but I barely notice them. I’m holed up somewhere deep inside myself.

  There are other girls here too, but I’m not curious anymore. There’s a low moaning coming from somewhere to my right, and the sound of someone trying to stifle her sobs, but I don’t care. I don’t want to know their stories or think about their lives. I’m full of my own shame. I haven’t got room for theirs.

  After a trip to the bathroom and the paralyzing sight of blood, I’m given a pad and shown back to the little closet that holds my clothes. They look like they belong to someone else. I don’t even know the girl who wore them here. She’s gone.

  I stumble into the waiting room, feeling like I’m sleepwalking. Madge looks up at me and hurriedly packs up her bag. She takes me by the arm to lead me out of the clinic, but I yank my arm away and look at her with dead eyes. We ride home in silence. She doesn’t speak at all until we hit the driveway.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you that it would be better for you if your father didn’t hear about this.”<
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  She’s so pathetic to me in that moment. I just walk away. After everything I’ve been through, all she’s worried about is covering her own ass. I almost want to tell my dad, just to watch her burn.

  She follows me to my room and watches while I climb into bed. “The doctor says you’ll only be sore for a few hours. You should be out of bed and back to your old self by the time your father gets home.” Then she shuts the door and leaves me.

  I can’t sleep. I burrow deeper under my covers and press my forehead against the mattress, trying to force the memories out of my head. I’ve been trying to fall asleep for what seems like hours, but every time I close my eyes, I see snatches of the day.

  I need my music.

  I’m reaching for my iPod when Madge opens my door and walks in, uninvited.

  “Your father is home,” she says, clapping her hands, as if I’m a dog she’s calling to attention. “You need to get up for dinner.”

  I stare at her, surprised by how different she looks. Madge has always been the enemy. I’ve been fighting her every single day for as long as I’ve known her. But in this moment, I look at her and she means absolutely nothing at all.

  There’s a flicker of something behind her eyes. Fear, maybe. Or doubt. I’m not sure, and I don’t care. It’s like my mind was a fist clenched around my hatred of Madge, and now I’ve released my grip and let go. Just like that. Not caring is such a relief that I lie back down and luxuriate in it.

  “Anne,” she hisses, closing the door partway. “Get up. You don’t want your dad asking questions, do you?”

  I look her straight in the eyes as I put my earphones in. Then I crank my music, turn over, and tune her out.

  I wake up to my dad’s kiss on my forehead. “Hey, Button,” he says when my eyes flutter open. “Madeleine says you’re not feeling well again.”

  “I’m okay,” I mutter, sitting up. I feel groggy and stiff. I’m confused, and I’m not sure if it’s night or day. Why am I in bed? Then it all rushes back to me with a force that leaves me gasping for air. I look at my dad and burn with shame.

  “You’ve been sick a lot lately. I think it’s time to schedule a checkup with the doctor. I don’t want you to miss any more school.” He sits on the edge of my bed and I feel panic stirring in my chest. No doctors. Just the thought of it makes my heart pound.

  “I’m fine. Just tired tonight,” I assure him. “I’ll be at school tomorrow, don’t worry.” I cringe at the thought of going back. My dad knows about the first week I was away, but he has no idea that all last week I doubled back home in the mornings and hid in my room all day. I’ve been erasing the messages from the school’s attendance line.

  His eyes wander away from me and he looks around my room. “It’s been a while since I’ve spent any time in here,” he muses, getting up to take a look around. “You haven’t fully unpacked yet, I see.” He gestures to a stack of boxes in the corner of my room.

  I shrug, embarrassed. “I don’t even know what’s in those boxes.”

  “It’s funny, isn’t it? . . . When we were packing, everything seemed so important. But now that we’re here, there are boxes and boxes of things we haven’t even touched.”

  It feels weird to have Dad look around my room like this. Scary. There’s so much of my life I keep hidden from him that it’s terrifying to have him show an interest.

  “Still, it would be good for you to get more settled here. Put some of your drawings up on the walls, make this room yours.” He comes closer to my bed to check out the one thing I’ve pinned up. The Alice in Wonderland quote Jess gave me: “I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.” I can barely breathe as he reads it. It feels like a million years ago that I spent that afternoon in Jessie’s room.

  He smiles sadly at the quote. “Very true.” He looks at me over the top of his glasses, as though seeing me for the first time. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

  Instinctively, I reach for my necklace, and my whole body goes cold.

  It isn’t there.

  What the . . .

  Dad keeps talking, but I can’t hear him over the roaring in my ears. What happened to my necklace? I close my eyes and try to think. I know I put it on this morning. I remember debating it. I didn’t want my mom involved in the whole mess, but I needed a piece of her there with me. Regret eats away at my insides.

  “Honey? Are you okay?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t feel very well.” I lie down on the bed and run my hands down the sheets, praying that my fingers will catch on the chain of my necklace.

  Dad comes over and feels my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you’re very pale.” He pulls up the covers. “Get some rest, Button. We’ll chat more later.” He kisses my forehead and slips out of the room.

  The second the door clicks shut, I leap out of bed and tear off the sheets. I search them like a madwoman, feeling every inch of the fabric. I rip off my clothes and search them, too. Then I rifle through the bag I took to the clinic, hunting through every pocket and trying to convince myself that I took off the necklace for safekeeping and just don’t remember it. I search the folds of the T-shirt I wore and then sneak downstairs to search my sneakers and jacket. Nothing.

  Back in my room, I go over every square inch of carpet and all around the bed at least five times. Then it’s back downstairs, retracing my steps. The necklace isn’t on the stairs or in the front hall. It’s not on the porch or on the sidewalk or even in the grass. It’s not in the driveway or in the car.

  The car is where Madge finds me. I’m running my hands frantically over and under the seats, whispering prayers and promises to God if he’ll just let me find the necklace. I’ll snap out of this. I’ll change my ways. I’ll make myself perfect and stop pouting and just concentrate on being a good daughter and friend and student and person. Just please, please, please let me find the necklace.

  But I don’t find it.

  I can’t sleep. I can’t think. The clinic won’t open again until tomorrow. What if it’s not there? What if I’ve lost it forever? I can’t imagine ever looking my dad in the eyes and telling him that I lost Mom’s necklace. It’s all he had left of my mother, and he gave it to me. He trusted me with her most valuable possession, and I lost it. Not just lost it, but lost it while at an abortion clinic killing the baby I should never have been pregnant with. He’ll never forgive me. Why should he? I’ll never forgive myself.

  Jessie

  I pushed my way through the hallway, searching for Charlie. He’s been waiting for me by my locker every day this week, but it feels too good to be true, and my heart skitters each morning until I catch sight of him.

  The crowd parted and there he was, leaning back against my locker door. When he caught sight of me, a smile lit up his face and my knees went weak with the sheer unexpected joy of having someone so happy to see me.

  “Hey,” he said, pushing off my locker and handing me his phone. “How’s your morning?”

  I looked at the screen, open to a list of movie times. “What’s this?”

  “Be my date. This Friday night. You can pick any movie you like—girly, action, horror, you name it.”

  I bit my lip and handed him back the phone. “Would you be upset if we didn’t go to the movies?”

  He blinked in surprise and took a step back. “No. Uh, that’s okay, I guess. I just thought . . .”

  “Wait until you hear my suggestion before you say it’s okay.” I laughed. “Because this might well be the lamest thing you’ve ever heard.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “So, my family has this tradition . . .” I put my hands over my face, suddenly mortified that I was actually doing this. “It’s called Avery Family Games Night, and it’s way more dorky than you can even imagine. There are tacos and board games, and even sombreros.” My face blazed with embarrassment.

  “Are you asking me to come to Avery Family Games Night?”

  “Um . . . yes?�
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  He enveloped me in a hug, his laughter vibrating against my chest. “I’d love to,” he rumbled. He pulled back and looked into my eyes, and I’d have melted into a puddle on the floor if he hadn’t been holding me up.

  Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me, I thought, just as Kevin walked up and broke the spell by smacking Charlie on the back of the head. “There are impressionable children around,” he quipped. “Put that shit away.”

  Charlie laughed and fist bumped Kevin while I shot him a murderous look. I was about to make a sarcastic comment about how he was just jealous when I caught sight of a familiar-looking figure dressed all in black.

  Annie.

  After more than two weeks away, there she was, looking like a completely different person.

  Charlie noticed the look on my face and followed my gaze to where Annie was slinking down the hallway, her head bowed and her hair hanging limply over her face.

  It was as if years had passed instead of weeks. She was back to her all-black uniform from the beginning of the year—but with a twist. The beginning-of-school Annie had glowed in a rebellious and slightly dangerous way. This Annie was like a shadow. She was pale and vacant, with no fire in her.

  “Isn’t that your friend?” Charlie asked quietly.

  I nodded, my stomach twisting. How could I let myself be so happy while Annie was suffering?

  I waited till Kevin made his way to class, then told Charlie, “I’ve been emailing her every day for the last week. I told her not to worry about Courtney and Scott and everyone else—that I’d be here for her no matter what. But she never emailed me back. She’s so mad at me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”