So . . . That Happened

by Laci Maskell

My eyes widen. Amelia raises an eyebrow suggestively and motions with her finger from me to join her in the dressing room. Now, I am happy to oblige. I close the door behind me and pull her flush with my body, running my fingers up and down her skin. Amelia giggles as if I tickle her. I kiss her neck and down her shoulder. She puts her hands on my hips and moves them to the front, toying with my pants. She undoes the button, slides down the zipper, and shimmies my pants and boxers until they are around my ankles. She comes back up to meet her lips to mine. She takes the sides of my shirt in her hands and begins to pull it up when there is a knock on the door. Amelia and I both still, then burst out into laughter.

  “One sec,” Amelia says through her laughter.

  I retrieve my pants and fasten them, then squeeze through the dressing room door, leaving Amelia behind to get dressed.

  When Amelia has spent a good chunk of her parents’ and my money, in a store I could care less about, we move on to a store I’m willing to spend money in; Victoria’s Secret. And once I’ve picked out new lingerie for her, I beg Amelia to accompany me back to my house so she can try it on, I would even settle for her house. But no, she still wants dinner and a movie. So what does a good boyfriend do? He pleases his girlfriend, in any way he can. In the hopes of getting something that will please him.

  Chapter Three

  Seven Weeks

  Lux

  There is a person growing inside of me. A whole person.

  I cannot feel it. But I know it is there. Calling it an it breaks my heart, but there is no way I can call it he or she. No, it fits.

  I still can't even believe that I am pregnant. I wasn't even sure I'd had sex until I missed my period. I was positive that the act of the sex was merely a figment of my imagination, a great dream that stuck with me when I woke up. I'm still not sure how I got Greyson Fletcher to have sex with me. I'm not sure how I had the nerve to have sex with him when we'd never actually talked in our lives. Also there is the fact that I have no spine. When Greyson's girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, whatever she is, looks slightly menacingly in my general direction I cower away from her and into the closest thing to me, which is usually Leah.

  My head hurts thinking about it. I try to clear it with anything that might be happier, or at least a little less aneurism inducing. But all that comes to mind is the scene from Mean Girls when the PE teacher is talking about not having sex. I laughed when I watched the movie, but he was right. Don't have sex, he said, because you will get pregnant. And you will die. My stomach rolls. I lie back on the pillows on my bed and focus on my breathing. It doesn't exactly help. My mind races with things I know I must do.

  A week has gone by since I learned of the it inside me. I haven't told anyone but Leah. I know I need to tell my parents about the baby, but I'm afraid of how they will react. I know they will be upset. They have to be upset. How could they not? Their youngest child has gotten herself pregnant. But besides telling my parents, the person I am most afraid to tell about the baby, is my older brother Wren.

  I have two best friends, Leah and Wren. Wren is two years older than me, but we have always been very close. Like Leah, Wren was very popular in school. I'm not sure how I ended up as such a loner/loser, but there you go. Wren has always been my hero. He has always looked out for me. Disappointing my parents is one thing, but I fear disappointing Wren more than anything. He holds me at a higher standard than anyone else.

  How can I tell him?

  "He's going to hate me," I say out loud, to no one in particular, even though Leah is sitting next to me.

  "Who is?" she asks.

  "Wren. He's going to hate me. How could I get pregnant, Leah? This is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me," I say, starting to hyperventilate, and possibly get sick at the same time. I get sick a lot. I've thrown up more in the past week than I think I have in my entire life. How my parents don't know I'm pregnant is a miracle. They have to notice me throwing up so much. "My parents and Wren are going to hate me. They may throw me out of the house. How could I have let this happen? I'm the responsible one, remember?"

  My mouth salivates and I know I'm about to get sick. First the saliva, then the light headedness, then my leaning over the toilet hurling out everything I've eaten. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

  Leah runs a hand along the length of my arm. It is meant to soothe me but the repeated motion makes the bile in my throat rise. I close my eyes and try not to think about it.

  "Listen," Leah says, her voice stern but soothing. I open my eyes to watch her talk. She gets mad if she feels you are not paying attention to her. "You're parents are not going to hate you, and they are not going to throw you out. You know that as well as I do. And, yeah, Wren is going to be really mad. But that is because he loves you so much. He will get over it. And as far as the responsible one," she says, using her fingers to make air quotes, "I certainly hope you weren't insinuating that I am not responsible." Leah screws up her face so that she looks mad, but it doesn't work because her smile breaks her scowl.

  "You know what I meant," I say as my mouth fills with saliva. I try to swallow it back. Sometimes that helps to keep me from throwing up.

  Not this time. Leaping off my bed, I run for the door, throw it open, and run for the bathroom. Luckily I make it in time to hurl into the toilet, and not on the floor. I have not always been so lucky. Also, luckily, my parents are not home yet. They surely would hear this. Throwing up is not the most quiet of affairs.

  After all the contents of my stomach have been removed, I brush my teeth and return to my bedroom.

  Leah has a sympathetic look on her face the only worsens my post-puking mood.

  "Is this normal?" I ask, moving to sit on my bed. "I thought it was called morning sickness because it happened in the morning."

  Leah sits beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Maybe we should find you a copy of What To Expect When You're Expecting."

  "Yeah, maybe."

  "You're going to get through this," she says, resting her head against mine.

  "I know," I say, although I'm not sure I believe it.

  "But first you have to tell your parents."

  ***

  I sit at our dining room table listening to my parents talk about their day and know that in an hour or so they will never look at me the same. I feel ill as I push the food around my plate. I've never been so nervous in my life. I deserve this though, don't I? I'm the one who had sex. I'm the one that got pregnant. I'm the one who has disappointed my parents. Luckily, or maybe miraculously, Wren is out shopping for last minute college supplies and won't be home for the big blowout.

  I feel the need to openly sob and I haven't even told them yet. I'm a freaking mess.

  "Lux?" It sounds like my mother, but I can't quite hear her.

  I stare down at my plate in a daze I can't shake.

  "Lux?" Again, I swear I hear my mother.

  "Lux." This time it is my dad, and it is loud enough to shake me out of my stupor.

  "Yeah?" I ask.

  I look to both ends of the table. My parents are both staring at me with concern in their eyes. Maybe they suspect and are going to confront me about it. Oh no. This is not how it's supposed to happen. I need to sit them down, stand far enough away that they won't hit me, and tell them. They can't ask me about it now, not while we are eating dinner. Broken, flying dishes are a danger hazard.

  I hold my breath waiting for one of them to accuse me of being a pregnant whore.

  "Are you okay, sweetheart?" my mom asks.

  I stare at her, confused. Maybe she doesn't know. Maybe they don't already hate me. That only makes it worse. They are worried about me. If only they knew that after supper they will hate me.

  "Uh, yeah, mom. I'm fine."

  "You don't look too good, Lux." My dad says.

  "I'm just tired, dad," I say, which is not a total lie.

  "Maybe you should go to bed early tonight," he says.

  "Yeah, okay. That's a good idea," I say,
unaware of the words coming out of my mouth.

  They love me. I can see it in their eyes. My stomach rolls. I am such a failure. I have disappointed them more than I ever could and they don't even know it yet.

  Both my parents smile at me and return to their conversation. Maybe I can't do this. I mean, yeah, sure, they're going to find out eventually and I'm sure they'd rather I tell them. But maybe I can wait a month or two. They don't need to know until I start showing, right? Man, this sucks.

  We finish eating, or rather, my parents finish eating while I pretend to. There is no way I am going to have anything in my stomach when I tell them. There will be no upchucking while I tell them their youngest child is pregnant.

  I watch in awe as my parents do the dishes together. They must not think they have an audience because they play with each other. It is a bit weird to see grown adults playing while doing the dishes. My dad wipes a hand full of suds on my mom's face then kisses them off. It is oddly cute and totally gross. And yet I can't look away. My mom pokes my dad in the side with her elbow. My dad retaliates by splashing her with the spray hose. They laugh, and kiss, and are happy.

  And I am going to ruin it.

  I retreat to the living room, sit on the couch, and wait for my world to end.

  I am pacing a path into the carpet when my parents walk in. Again with the concerned look. I almost can't take it.

  Before either of them can ask if I am okay, I blurt, "I have to tell you something."

  They look at each other. They look back at me. They consider moving closer to me. Then they sit down together, on the couch.

  "We're glad you're coming to us with this," my dad says.

  "You know you can tell us anything, sweetheart. We will always be here for you."

  "I don't know how to tell you this," I say, swallowing a large lump in my throat. It constricts my breathing, but who could breathe at a time like this anyway? I stare at my feet and say, "I'm so ashamed."

  "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Lux," my dad says.

  I look up at him, confused. Clearly he doesn't know what it's like to be a pregnant seventeen year old.

  "Um. . .," I say, not knowing what to say.

  My mom leans forward on the couch and says, "Honey, bulimia is nothing to be ashamed of. We can get you help. We are just so glad you are telling us about it."

  "Excuse me?" I say, not knowing what is happening.

  "We've seen the weight loss. We hear you throwing up. You don't eat anymore. We knew what was happening, we just didn't want to confront you with it and scare you off of getting help."

  This could be good. Maybe I don't have to tell them I'm pregnant. Maybe I can just let them believe I'm bulimic. Surely that's less disappointing than a teen pregnancy. And it has got to be easier to hide.

  "Are your friends pressuring you to look a certain way?" my dad asks.

  I can practically hear Leah rolling her eyes. If she were here she would be saying, just tell them. With a big sigh to finish it off.

  I take a deep, shuttering breath and say, "You've got it all wrong. I'm not bulimic."

  "You don't have to hide it from us anymore," my mom says.

  "I'm not bulimic," I almost shout at them.

  They pause, look up at me, and wait.

  My pulse quickens. The lump in my throat grows. I can't do this. Ican'tdothis. Ican'tdothis.

  I look back down at my feet and say, "I'm pregnant."

  My mom gasps loudly. My dad puts his head in his hands. And Wren slams the front door.

  That is when I stop breathing.

  Wren was not supposed to be here.

  I can't look at him. I can't. I can't see him hate me.

  Time has stopped. The earth has stopped spinning.

  I bite my lip and tilt my head in Wren's direction. I'm pretty sure he has stopped breathing right along with me. His face it sheet white. His arms hang at his sides.

  "You're what?" he asks.

  "I'm so sorry," I stammer, knowing it will never be enough.

  He stares at me. His chest heaves. His mouth turns into a snarl and he walks away. I close my eyes and tears stream down my face as Wren slams his bedroom door.

  I hang my head and let the tears poor out of me. I've gone from two best friends to one. It doesn't really matter if Wren hates me now. I hate myself.

  "Lux?" my mom asks.

  I almost forget they were here.

  A sob escapes me as I look to my parents.

  "You're pregnant?" she asks.

  I nod my head, crying.

  "I'm so sorry," I say for the second time. I know it will not be the last.

  My dad has sat quietly since the words left my mouth, but now he stands up, throws his arms down, and says, "How could you be pregnant, Lux? How? You're not like those other kids. I didn't even know you were sexually active."

  I recoil at the words sexually active, but know he is right.

  "I'm sorry," I say again. Apparently they are the only words left in my vocabulary.

  "I don't want you to be sorry," my dad yells. "I want you to explain to me how you let this happen. How long have you been having sex, Lux?"

  "Doug," my mom says, but there is no conviction in it. She knows he has every right to yell at me.

  "Once, Dad," I yell back at him because I don't know what else to do. "Once. I had sex one time and I got pregnant. Okay. Is that punishment enough? I know I screwed up."

  "Why didn't you use protection? I thought you would have known better," my mom says.

  "We did use protection. I don't know what happened," I say, defending myself, and Greyson, for whatever reason.

  My mom closes her eyes, lowers her head, and shakes it back and forth. My dad pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. A fog of disappointment blanket coats the living room. Music blasts from Wren's bedroom.

  "I understand if you hate me," I say, rubbing my hands over my arms.

  "We don't hate you," my dad says through a sigh.

  "We're just-," my mom begins.

  "Disappointed, I know," I finish for her.

  "I screwed up. Big time. I know," I say. "I don't know what to do."

  "First," my dad says, "you're going to tell me who the little prick is that touched you, so I can go rip his arms off and beat him with them."

  "I don't want to tell you," I say.

  "That's too bad," my dad says. "If I recall, you are the child in this situation and I am the parent. You will tell me whether you want to or not."

  "It's Greyson Fletcher."

  "Greyson Fletcher? As in Dean and Margaret Fletcher's son?"

  I nod but don't answer him verbally.

  "Lux, have we taught you nothing? The Fletcher's are not good people."

  "I know, Dad. I'm sorry. But he's different, or at least I thought he was."

  A heavy sigh escapes from my father. My mom still sits on the couch watching intently. I swear I can see years aged on her face from supper.

  "Have you told the boy?" my mom asks.

  I shake my head rapidly back and forth. There is no way I can tell Greyson that I am having his child. That night at the party was a fluke thing. We may have connected on some level and we may have had sex, but like I told Greyson that night, everything would go back to normal once he sobered up. And it has. I haven't seen or heard from him since the night of the party. I can't just go up to him, be like, hey, do you remember me? I'm the one night stand you had at that party that one time. Well anyway, I'm pregnant. It's yours. Happy day. No. That will not be happening.

  "Lux you have to tell him," my mom says.

  "Please don't make me," I plead.

  "Lux, you have to tell that boy. He has a right to know. Also, he is going to find out eventually," my dad says.

  Again I hang my head in defeat. This night totally sucks.

  "I'm going to kill that kid," he says.

  "You are not, Doug," my mom says. "Lux is just as guilty in this as he is."

  "How so?" my d
ad asks. "You know he pressured her. She's too good of a kid to do this."

  Hearing my dad talk about how good of a kid I am breaks my heart. Why couldn't I have just seen what was going to happen and stop myself from sleeping with Greyson? Yes, what we did may have been special, but surely sex with Greyson was not worth ruining the lives of my parents, myself, and an innocent child. So if that is the case, why can't I stop thinking about him? Having to tell him I am carrying his child disgusts me, but it means I get to see him. It means I get to talk to him. Shit. I am one messed up kid.

  "I'm sorry," I say, for who knows what number of times tonight. I haven't even talked to Wren yet. I'm sorry will be worn out before I'm done talking to him. If he even will talk to me.

  "Lux," my mom says, finally removing herself from the couch. She moves towards me and places her hands on my arms. "We know you are sorry. You made a mistake. We all know accidents happen. Yes, we are disappointed in you, but you are still our kid and we still love you."

  My dad harrumphs. When my mom looks back at him, scolding him, he says, "You know we still love you, kid."

  "This is going to be a lot to get through, but you know we will," my mom says.

  My parents still love me. I can breathe again. At least for a little while. I haven't seen Wren yet. The way he looked at me when he heard me say I'm pregnant. It was like he didn't know me. I'm not sure our relationship can survive this.

  Now, to tell Greyson.

  Greyson

  I sit at our giant twenty seater dining room table and listen to the silence. The silverware doesn't even make any noise, afraid it will get scolded and thrown out if it slightly scratches against the plate. No one asks how anyone's day went. No one discusses their plans for the evening.

  My parents eat quickly. They are dressed up for some function out of town that I'm sure would bore me. They wish I would attend these death defying functions merely because I am the heir to the Fletcher throne. Not because they want me there.

  Sometimes I wonder what it is like to have conversation at the dinner table. I see it on TV but wonder if that is real. I've never seen it. None of my friends parents talk while they eat. Most of them don't even eat together. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I started a conversation. I mean, there isn't a set rule that says no talking at the dinner table. It has just never happened. And I've always been too afraid to find out.