by Laci Maskell
Fresh tears stream down my cheeks as she says this. After the initial shock of discovering the pregnancy, I’ve thought about what type of mother I would be. I’ve pictured so many things with this baby. Pushing it down the sidewalk in a stroller. Seeing it smile for the first time. Laugh for the first time. Walk for the first time. I’d be by its side for everything.
No. No. No.
No.
I am not going to be this baby’s mother. Even if I want to be.
But that damn look in Leah’s eyes is so hopeful I can’t say no to her.
“Fine. We can look.” I say. It doesn’t mean I will be paying any attention what so ever.
Leah squeals and runs to retrieve her laptop from her room. She sits beside me, boots up the laptop, then opens Google. She types in what does a baby cost and hits enter. Several articles pop up so Leah clicks on the first one, Cost of Raising a Child Calculator. The page opens to a list of questions. The first question is Where do you live? Leah answers the question and moves on to the others. Are you a single parent? What’s your annual household income? How old is your child? Will you pay for your child’s college education? When she is done answering the questions she clicks see results which opens to a page that says the total cost of raising this baby will be $164,160. The cost per year being slightly over eight thousand dollars. There is a list of things like housing, food, transportation, clothing, healthcare, daycare, and so on.
“Eight thousand dollars? I don’t have a job. How are my parents supposed to find an extra eight thousand dollars a year to pay for my baby?” I ask, nearly hyperventilating.
“Surely it can’t cost that much,” Leah says, raising her shoulders. “I mean, you’ll be living at your parents’ house right? That cuts out like three thousand dollars.
Under the amounts for the different categories, there are other age groups. I move my finger over the touch pad and click on the next age group. The total amount per year for the baby goes up by almost one thousand dollars. I click on the next age group and the ones after that. The amount per year that the baby will cost grows significantly. I’m going to be looking at over ten thousand dollars a year by the time the baby reaches eighteen years old. Who could possibly afford to have a child? Let alone multiple children. It makes me wonder how much Wren and I have cost our parents.
“I can’t afford this. My parents can’t afford this,” I say.
“There is a way you could,” Leah says, almost cautiously.
“Oh, really?” I say, my eyebrows raised. “I’d love to hear it.”
“Greyson.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“No. I don’t,” Leah says, turning to face me full on. “You have repeatedly said you won’t take his money, though I know he has offered it. But you have never said why you won’t take it.”
I turn away from her. I know she’s not trying to make me angry, but the feeling is there nonetheless.
I don’t know what to tell her. Do I even know myself why I won’t take it? I’m sure if I were to keep the baby and my parents were to help me out with it, they would want the father of the baby to contribute some.
Could it be my wounded pride? Greyson bolted the minute the sex was over, even though I was sure the time we spent before the sex meant something to him. He had never, once, acknowledged me before that night. He has only acknowledged me now because I am pregnant with his child and he likes to yell at me for it.
Could it be the fact that despite everything, I still have feelings for him? And that I still stupidly wish for a future with him one day, even though I know that will never happen? And that I fear making him pay for the baby with his money will one day lead to him resenting me and the baby and therefore inevitably ruin any chance that future may exist.
Or perhaps it may be a combination of all of those reasons. But no matter the reason, I know that I cannot take Greyson’s money for this baby.
“There are several reasons,” I tell her. “One, his parents would find out. Then the entire school would find out. Then everyone would hate Greyson and Greyson would, in turn, hate me and the baby. I would want it to be an I-am-woman-hear-me-roar situation. I would want to be Lorelei Gilmore, mom and best friend extraordinaire. I don’t want to be known as the leech who sucked Greyson dry of his money because I wanted to keep my baby.”
Leah watches me closely. I’m not sure why. Thankfully, neither one of us has tears in our eyes. I didn’t so much touch the other main reasons I don’t want to take Greyson’s money but I’m not going to let my face let Leah know that. Because, knowing Leah, she will push for more.
After a time, she says, “I realize that you are seventeen and that you are poor and that you don’t want to burden your parents and all the other myriad of reasons you have for giving this baby up for adoption, but I want you to know something. You are allowed to keep this baby. You want to know why? You are its mother. If you want to keep it you can. You may find a set of parents who will love and take care of it, but no one and I mean no one will love this baby more than you will. And you’ve already proven it. You are taking care of yourself so your baby is healthy. You didn’t hide it for months, meaning it’s getting the proper care it needs. You are willing to sacrifice your future happiness with this child so that it might have, what you think, is a better life than you can give it.”
Great. Now I’ve got tears in my eyes. I told myself I wouldn’t let Leah talk me out of the adoption. But darn it if she isn’t trying her best.
After a long pause, Leah says, “So, should we get back to Googling baby expenses?”
I smile and nod my head, but there are other things besides the cost of the baby that are eating away at me.
Leah opens a new web page, something with a lot of ducks in the background. My eyes lose focus as my mind begins to swirl.
What happens when the baby gets sick? Other than not being able to pay for the doctor visit, I won’t know what is wrong with it or how to take care of it. What happens when the baby cries and I don’t know what type of cry it is. How can people even tell if it is a tired cry or a hungry cry or any of the other cries they have? How will I know how to potty train a child? I don’t want my kid to be the one who takes their poop and smears it all over the walls and the floor, or runs a tractor through it. How am I supposed to raise this child with morals and values? Sure I possess them, but I don’t know how to instill them in someone. What if my kid grows up and doesn’t have any friends? I have Leah and that’s it. I love Leah, but sometimes it gets lonely. And bullies. What if my kid is bullied? What if it feels like it can’t come and talk to me about things? What if it is a bully? What if it breaks an arm? Or a leg?
“Lux. Lux!” Leah yells, shaking me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly out of breath.
“What is wrong with you? You’re mumbling stuff I can’t understand. And you’re rocking back and forth. Do you not like the cribs on this page?”
I look down to the computer on her lap to see a web page covered in cribs, bassinets, and the like. There are dark wood ones, ones with high backs, some with Whinnie the Pooh decorations, and some with wild animals.
“No. It’s not that,” I say, breathing in deep and sighing heavily. “Can we watch a movie or something? I’m sure Jesse will be here with the Pizza soon.”
Leah blinks in surprise. Then looks guilty and sad.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I’ve clearly hurt her feelings. “I was thinking of all the ways I could screw up raising this baby and why adoption really seems like the best option.”
“Okay,” Leah says and smiles a fake smile I know she wishes would cheer me up.
I take her hands in mine, smile, and say, “I want you to know how much what you said means to me. You are the best friend a girl could ever ask for and I know I don’t say that enough.”
“What’s going on here?” Jesse asks from the entry way to the family room. He raises
an eyebrow and the pizza at the same time.
“Oh, you know,” Leah says, recovering quickly. “Lux was just telling me what an amazing friend I am because I was picking out her baby stuff.”
Jesse turns his head to the side and opens his mouth as if to say something. I’m so afraid he is going to say he knows about the adoption. But then he smiles and nods and hands us the pizza, stealing the remote and throwing himself onto the other couch, but not before he steals two slices of pizza.
Leah, Jesse, and I sit and watch TV together. We all talk and joke and comment on the program we watch. Being with Jesse and seeing him like this, comfortable with me and nice, gives me hope that Greyson might be the same. Maybe the act they put on in school really is just an act and all the Posh People are actually decent human beings. Well, not all of them, I’m convinced Amelia and Elizabeth are really lizards in human skin.
As we sit there, finishing off the pizza, Jesse gets a call from Greyson and leaves the room. Something stirs in me when Jesse says, “Hey, Greyson.” I cannot like Greyson, and yet there is something in me that pulls towards him. It is maddening.
When Jesse is out of the room I turn to Leah to suggest we pop in one of our favorite romantic comedies when I notice she looks a bit forlorn. I know that she was looking forward to being an “aunt” but I also know she knows how big of a deal this is and possibly how hard it will be to raise a baby. Even if she knows I secretly wish there was a way I could keep it.
So, instead of asking her about the romcom, I pull the laptop to my legs, open a new web browser and say, “Leah, would you like me to show you some of the couples who could possibly be this baby’s parents?”
The smile that comes to her lips brightens her whole face. “Uh, yeah,” she says with a bit of attitude that I know is hiding a quiver in her voice.
I can’t help but think I have the best friend in the whole world.
Greyson
I’m bored.
I can’t stop thinking about Lux and the baby.
The two are a deadly combination.
Lux and I haven’t spoken a word to each other since the night I went to her house. I know she has kept her word and not told anyone about my panic attack in her room, because I have not yet been ostracized from my group of friends.
I can’t say that I’ve wanted to face Lux since that night.
I went to her house for several reasons. Reasons I might not have been fully aware of when I went there. As much as I tell myself it’s not true, I wanted to see her. I won’t admit it until the day I have to, but there may be a growing attraction to Lux. Nope. Nope. Not true. See, can’t admit it. It has to be the fact that I feel deeply guilty for getting her pregnant. And possibly that I feel the need to remind her to keep quiet that I am the father. Yes, that is a much more believable reason for me to have gone to her house.
But then I was there, and she lifted her arms, causing her shirt to ride up on her belly and I lost my shit. I think, up until that point, I had convinced myself that I was living in a dream, rather a nightmare, and that I would wake up and laugh at my crazy imagination. But no, Lux’s shirt lifted, showing off the tiny swell of her belly and it was all real in that moment. And it was more than I could handle.
I’ve never had a panic attack before. It was by and large the worst experience of my life. I could not get breath into my lungs. I thought I was going to die. Wouldn’t that have killed my parents and Amelia? The ambulance rolling me out of Lux’s house on a gurney. I think Amelia would have brought me back from the dead just to kill me. I’m pretty sure the women in my life are going to kill me.
Every reason for me being there was forgotten the moment I saw the swell of her belly. I honestly can’t remember anything that happened that night after my panic attack. All I could think was, there is a tiny baby in Lux’s belly and it is my baby. And then I kept thinking about how this baby was going to ruin everything I have been working for my entire life.
Maybe it won’t be the women in my life to kill me. Perhaps it will be my thoughts. The ones that control my mind. The ones that change daily. The ones that take the breath from my chest.
Just like now. I have a girlfriend and I can’t stop thinking about a girl who is not my girlfriend. My thoughts make me do stupid things. Maybe they will truly be my downfall.
I pull my laptop from my desk, lie back on my bed, and pull up Facebook. I type Lux’s name into the search box, stare at it, then hit the backspace button until it is gone. I repeat this four times until I hit enter.
When Lux’s page pops up I place my hands on the back of my head and sigh long and heavy.
This is such a bad idea.
I take a few moments to look at her profile picture. It is of her and Leah. They are both smiling. Lux looks genuinely happy in the picture. I wish I could see that look on her more often.
I scroll through her page to see any posts she may have uploaded recently. The last post she uploaded was from a few weeks ago, around the time everyone found out about the baby. There are more recent posts from other people. I read through them to see what Lux’s friends say to her, but what I find is not friendly. The posts say things like Way to go and get knocked up, slut. Or, Whores get what whores deserve. Or, I wouldn’t claim it if I was the father either. Or, I feel bad for that baby. I’m not surprised to see some of them are from Elizabeth. That bitch better watch it before she gets what’s coming to her, I think. But I can’t help but think if it wasn’t for the fact that I am the baby’s father, the one who wouldn’t want to claim it, I would be just as mean to Lux as my friends are being. Life’s a bitch sometimes. It’s no wonder Lux hasn’t posted anything for weeks. I wouldn’t want to open my page to find hate.
I move on to Lux’s pictures. Most of them are of Lux and Leah. Selfies of laughter and fun, some serious, but most of true friendship. There are many of Lux and her brother, Wren. Just like with Jesse and Leah, I feel a pang of jealousy. Most of the time, I like being an only child, but sometimes this big house is too quiet.
I move my mouse to search more of her page when it lands over the friend request button. I move the mouse quickly to avoid accidentally sending a request. There are too many things that could go wrong by me sending a friend request to Lux. One, everyone would see if she accepted. Everyone including my girlfriend. Two, how embarrassing would it be if she declined it?
Ugh. This is ridiculous. I close out of Facebook, slam my laptop shut, and throw it across my bed. I have a girlfriend. I have a girlfriend and a life outside of Lux and this baby. One I need to get back to.
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I dial Amelia’s number but pause before hitting send. I do have a girlfriend but she is not what or who I need right now. Plus, I think I remember her saying something about shopping with Haley and Elizabeth.
This time I dial Jesse’s number and hit send.
“Hey, Greyson,” Jesse says after the phone rings twice.
“Hey,” I answer.
“What’s up?”
“I’m bored. You wanna hand out?”
“Sure. Leah and Lux are over here though, so I can come to your place.”
My heart leaps at the mention of Lux’s name. Or maybe it’s my stomach. Either way, I have a bodily reaction to it. I almost tell Jesse that I’ll come to him. However, I’m sure I would act differently if I was confronted with Leah and Lux, and then Jesse would know something was up and the shit would hit the fan. Of the four of us, Jesse is the only one who doesn’t know I’m the father.
So instead, I say, “Yeah, that’s fine. Come on over.”
“Be there soon,” Jesse says, then the phone disconnects.
When he shows up, I lead him straight to the game room and to the liquor. It may be a school night, but my parents aren’t home and right now I feel like getting sloshed and forgetting about a lot of things.
I grab us a couple beers from the fridge, toss one to Jesse and take a long swig from mine. It tastes good and goes down easy. I take anothe
r drink then set it on the edge of the pool table to rack the balls.
Before there was Amelia and Haley and Liam and the rest of them, it was just Jesse and I. We would spend our afternoons and weekends drinking and playing pool. Back in those days we drank pop, but the sentiment was always the same. Shoot pool and shoot the shit while enjoying a nice cool beverage. Now, with the rest of our group, we don’t get down here as often as we might like.
The cue ball hits the racked pool balls with a smack as Jesse breaks. A striped ball lands in one of the corner pockets. I chug the rest of my beer and grab another while he shoots again. He misses a shot to a side pocket.
“You’re up,” he says.
I set my beer down on the edge of the table and line up my shot. I aim for the solid purple ball and strike the cue ball with my cue stick. The solid purple ball hits one of Jesse’s striped balls then falls into a corner pocket.
I move to line up my next shot when Jesse makes a defeated sound then says, “I call slop.”
“Psht. Slop my ass. Maybe if we were in a tournament. This happens to be my table.”
Jesse raises an eyebrow at me but says, “Alright. I’ll give it to you.”
I hit more balls into pockets while Jesse grabs another beer from the fridge. When I miss, Jesse takes his turn.
We go back and forth doing this, hitting balls into holes and downing beers. There is not much talk in the beginning. I keep thinking about things I’m trying not to think about, while Jesse seems to have something on his mind keeping him quiet.
After three beers and five games of pool, the beer has helped to mellow us out and the constant clack of the balls is distracting enough to forget about certain things.
While I rack the balls for another game, Jesse walks around the bar and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels.
“Care to make it interesting?” he says.
“How so?” I ask, though I have a good idea.
“Trick shots. You remember how to do them?” When I nod he continues. “Numbers called. Eight ball shots. You lose, you drink.”