“Awesome,” Sarah said.
Cordelia laughed. “Hey, that’s my word!”
Chapter 98
Sarah had eaten three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two large oatmeal cookies. Now she was stretched out on Cordelia’s second bed with the stuffed lion sitting atop her stomach. It really was adorable. Maybe, she thought, they should add the image of a friendly lion to Henry’s quilt.
“So are you going to breast-feed?” Cordelia asked. “Pretty much everyone does these days, right?”
“I don’t know about that, but yeah, I’m going to breast-feed. I’m a little worried about it, though.”
“Why? Like, if it will hurt?”
“No,” Sarah said. “I don’t care about that. It’s the logistics of it all. I’ll have to pump enough milk so that while I’m at school my mother can feed the baby.”
“Oh. What about, you know, when you’re out at a restaurant or something. Or at the beach.”
Sarah felt herself blush. “I know it sounds silly, but I’m pretty sure I’d feel too embarrassed to breast-feed outside of my home. It’s just that, you know . . .”
Cordelia laughed. “I do know! You’ve never even worn a two-piece bathing suit, no matter how many times I’ve tried to talk you into buying one. If you’re not comfortable showing your naked stomach to total strangers, how are you going to handle showing your naked breast—even a part of it—to the world?”
“Yeah. And forget about breast-feeding when my father is in the room. He comes from farm stock; he probably sees it as perfectly natural and practical. But I think I inherited a modesty gene, probably from my mother’s side of the family.”
“Well, I wouldn’t breast-feed in front of my father, either,” Cordelia said. “What’s wrong with going into another room?”
“Some people would say that feeling embarrassed about breast-feeding is anti-feminist,” Sarah pointed out.
“Whatever! What ever happened to live and let live? I thought it was a free country!”
“Really. Do you know that back in May some girl in my French class asked me if I had posted pictures of my ‘bump’ on my Facebook page?”
Cordelia laughed again. “First of all, you don’t have a Facebook page!”
“And second, the whole obsession people have with posting ‘selfies’ totally puzzles me. Well, to be honest, it actually kind of repulses me.”
“I know!” Cordelia cried. “And believe me, with all the time I spend online I see a lot of ‘selfies.’ Half the time they’re posing as if they’re porn stars or something, pursing their lips and zooming in on their boobs. What’s the point? Who are they trying to impress?”
Sarah smiled. “Boys, of course.”
“Boys who are going to expect them to be porn stars? Isn’t that false advertising? My mother would call it being a tease.”
“I wonder how all those girls are going to feel about those selfies when they’re older,” Sarah said musingly. “Are they going to be embarrassed? Or are they just going to think, hey, we were kids having fun, no big deal?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I have no idea. All I know is that I’m not advertising my cleavage on social media.”
“It all seems so frivolous,” Sarah said, “except that I suspect it’s much more damaging than frivolous in the end.”
“Yeah,” Cordelia said. “Maybe.”
“Not that I have any right to criticize. I might not be into making suggestive poses and taking selfies, but I am pregnant. Sixteen and pregnant and not once in my life have I shown the tiniest bit of cleavage or bared my stomach or stuck out my butt other than to sit in a chair.”
“Hey. Be nice to yourself, Sarah.”
Sarah shrugged. “And I really hate when people call a woman’s unborn baby a ‘bump’! I don’t know, it somehow demeans the whole thing. I mean, sometimes being pregnant is unpleasant or inconvenient, but the fact of pregnancy is amazing and beautiful. It’s a miracle.”
Cordelia smiled. “I’m so glad you feel that way, Sarah.”
“I really do. At least, now I do. At first, well, not so much.”
“Hey!” Cordelia cried. “I just had a great idea!”
“What?” Sarah asked.
“I know what the baby can dress as for Halloween! A lion! With a hat like a big fuzzy mane!”
Sarah laughed. “That would be adorable. And we’ll definitely have to post that picture online!”
Chapter 99
Adelaide and Cordelia were spending the day in Portland. It was the first time they had spent any significant amount of time alone together in a while. Adelaide had been thrilled that Cordelia had met her suggestion of a day out with such enthusiasm. It was, she hoped, another step toward healing.
They visited the museum in the morning and then had lunch at DiMillo’s right on the water. After, they spent some time on Exchange Street, going into almost every one of the shops until Adelaide was exhausted from saying, “No, you can’t have that pair of earrings,” and “No, we can’t afford to pay three hundred dollars for a pair of shoes.” In a shop called Se Vende Imports, Cordelia had found a brass ring she declared she absolutely could not live without and, mercifully, it was only ten dollars. Ten dollars was not too much to pay for her daughter’s happy smile.
Now they were sitting down by the ferry dock, watching the private sailboats, speedboats, and small excursion vessels bobbing at their moorings. The Old Port was jammed with tourists, some from the enormous cruise ship that had sailed into town that morning, but here, by the water, it was relatively quiet.
“I like playing tourist for a day,” Cordelia said. “Especially since we didn’t get to go away this summer.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” Adelaide said. “We’ll go next summer.”
“It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we live somewhere gross. Anyway, I wouldn’t have wanted to leave Sarah for a whole week.”
Adelaide was so proud of the way Cordelia had stuck by her friend. She and Jack had raised—were still raising—a good person. They were very, very lucky.
“I really love my new ring. Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. It looks good on your hand. And what’s that nail polish color you’re wearing?”
“Spanish Moss. Do you like it?”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t opt for green on nails. But yes, I do like it.”
“I was kind of bummed at first that I had to keep my nails shorter than I like because of the quilt. I mean, it’s hard enough to sew with short nails!”
“But now?” Adelaide asked.
Cordelia shrugged. “Now, I don’t really care. It was worth it. Besides, once the quilt is finished, I’ll let my nails grow long again.”
Adelaide smiled. “Making the quilt has been a worthwhile thing, hasn’t it?”
“Should we bring Dad something from Portland?” Cordelia said after a moment.
“Like what?”
Cordelia shrugged. “I don’t know. Like, maybe a goofy hat or something.”
“Or maybe a cupcake from that place on Fore Street he likes.”
“Oh my God,” Cordelia cried, “that means I’ll have to get one for myself, too, and I swore I wasn’t going to eat dessert this week!”
“Okay then,” Adelaide said, biting back a smile, “a hat it is. But maybe something he’ll actually wear.”
Cordelia frowned. “On second thought, he really does love those cupcakes . . .”
“And one cupcake isn’t going to kill you, you know.”
Cordelia grinned and jumped up from the bench. “What are we waiting for?”
God, Adelaide thought, following her daughter. I am so lucky. I wouldn’t trade this child for anyone or anything, ever.
Chapter 100
Cindy and the girls were out shopping at the outlets in Kittery. They had stopped for lunch at a tiny clam shack, with only three tables inside and four picnic tables outside. They sat at one of those now, with one crab roll, one order of fried clams
, one order of fish and chips, and three bottles of water. Eating out had always been a big treat and soon would probably be a thing of the past, at least until . . . Well, at least until things settled into place.
Cindy enjoyed these rare mother-daughter excursions and was glad that Adelaide had pressed her into taking the day off. Especially since the day before Adelaide and Cordelia had gone to Portland while Cindy and Sarah had manned the shop on what had turned out to be one of the busiest days of the season.
A tall, middle-aged woman in a lightweight tracksuit passed their table, carrying a tray of food. She stared blatantly at Sarah and continued to shoot glances at her after she was seated at the next table with a man in a similar tracksuit.
Cindy bristled but held her tongue. Maybe Sarah hadn’t noticed the woman’s rude interest.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” Stevie asked. “When people give you weird looks?”
So much, Cindy thought, for discretion.
“I’m used to it,” Sarah said. “I don’t like it, but I’m used to it.”
“I mean, how do they know you’re not married or engaged? How do they know you’re not a really young-looking twenty-one? Why is it any of their business?”
Sarah shrugged.
“If Clarissa were here,” Stevie said, shooting a scowl in the direction of the overly curious woman, “she’d probably leap over there and scratch that woman’s eyes out!”
“Then I’m glad she’s not here!” Cindy declared. “So what’s left on our list besides a new paper towel holder? I can’t believe that old one finally broke.”
“Well,” Stevie said, “it was plastic. Maybe we should get a metal one or maybe a wooden one.”
“If we came home with a wooden paper towel holder, your father would be—well, he wouldn’t be angry, but he would point out that he could easily have made one himself.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m always amazed at how many things he’s good at. I mean, how did he learn to do so much?”
“He’s smart,” Cindy said.
“He pays attention,” Stevie added. “He watches things closely to see how they’re done. You know, we should get Dad something while we’re here.”
Cindy frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think he needs anything.”
“But that’s what will make it special. He won’t be expecting anything. He’ll be surprised.”
“Stevie’s right,” Sarah said. “We have to find something perfect. He’s always doing nice things for us.”
“Not that you don’t do nice things for us, too, Mom.”
Cindy laughed. “No, you’re right. Your father deserves a treat. But—what?”
“I got it!” Stevie cried. “Last week I saw his favorite Bruce Springsteen CD in the recycling bin. It was broken. Let’s get him a new one.”
“Perfect,” Sarah said. “I wonder why he didn’t say anything about it.”
“Because he didn’t want one of us spending money on him,” Cindy said. “Well, we’ll show your father!”
Chapter 101
The Busy Bee had been quiet for twenty minutes or so after a flurry of customers that had kept both Cordelia and Sarah scurrying around, answering questions, and wrapping packages. Not every person had bought something, but most had and Cordelia had happily counted their intake at close to two hundred and fifty dollars. Now, the girls were enjoying the break. Sarah was perched on one of the stools behind the counter, and Cordelia was leaning on it. (If her mother had been there, she would have told Cordelia not to lean on it because she would dirty the glass.)
“I almost did a really stupid thing,” Cordelia said suddenly. “Well, I thought about doing it. I wouldn’t actually have done it.”
“What?” Sarah asked. “And don’t say, ‘I was going to jump off a bridge into the river to see if I could survive.’ ”
“Me? Take a physical risk? Sewing is the only sport I can handle—barely! No, nothing like that, but you still can’t tell anyone.”
“All right.”
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you. Maybe—”
“Cordelia.”
Cordelia sighed and told Sarah about her nanosecond idea of losing her virginity to John Blantyre. “I don’t know what I was thinking, really,” she said, shaking her head. “Well, yes, I do. I was feeling so stupid and naive compared to you. And . . . and left out. I know, I know, it’s crazy. But that’s how I felt.”
Sarah looked horrified. “And you thought that getting someone to have sex with you would what? Make you like me? Like we’d be members of the same club or something? And after what your poor mother went through all those years ago?”
Cordelia cringed. “Okay, okay, I said I know it was dumb. And I didn’t actually do anything. I just thought about it, for like, half a minute.”
“Well, I have no right to judge. But, Cordelia, trust me, you don’t know what you have until you lose it,” Sarah insisted. “Freedom. Your childhood. Don’t be stupid, Cordelia. Just don’t.”
“I’m not a child,” Cordelia argued. “I’m only a few months younger than you.”
“Yes,” Sarah said. “Yes, you are a child. And so am I still, in a lot of ways. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s just the way it is.”
Reluctantly, Cordelia agreed. It would be stupid to be ashamed of something neutral like your age. Besides, it wasn’t as if it was something you could change. Lie about, maybe, but not change. Time and only time would make you older, never younger.
Cordelia sighed. “My mother always says, ‘don’t be in a rush to grow up. You’ll be an adult soon enough and adulthood lasts a long time.’ ”
“She’s right,” Sarah said. “You’re an adult a lot longer than you’re a child. If you’re lucky.”
“But adulthood seems exhausting, doesn’t it? When was the last time any of our parents did something really fun or wild or outrageous?”
Sarah smiled. “My parents? Probably never.”
“You know what I mean. I know there are perks to being an adult, but sheesh, all those bills to pay and toilets to clean and jobs to go to and tough decisions to make, like what health insurance plan you can afford!”
“What’s the alternative?” Sarah said. “Besides, I think the perks probably far outweigh the annoying stuff. Like, being allowed to make your own decisions.”
“Ha! About everything. No one to make up your mind for you! I mean, you even have to figure out what you want to have for dinner every night!”
“Well, that’s probably one of the good things about a relationship,” Sarah pointed out, “like marriage. Teamwork. You can share the responsibilities.”
Cordelia frowned. “Maybe. But you still have a lot more responsibilities than you had as a kid! I don’t see either of my parents slacking off, ever.”
Sarah’s expression darkened.
“What’s wrong?” Cordelia asked quickly. “Did the baby kick you in a rib?”
“No. I was just thinking that my childhood will officially end the moment the baby is born.”
Cordelia reached across the counter and took Sarah’s hand. “Oh, Sarah, I’m sorry! Here I am complaining about—well, about what amounts to nothing. I mean, about something that everyone goes through at some point. Growing up.”
Sarah managed a smile. “If they’re lucky.”
“Yeah. If they’re lucky.”
Chapter 102
Sarah held the cold glass of lemonade against her forehead. She was at Cordelia’s house again. Her own was too unbearably hot, even with the window units going. She had considered asking Mrs. Kane if she could sleep there at night but decided her parents might feel bad about it, like they weren’t providing their child with something basic like a comfortable place to rest.
“God, it’s so hot!” Cordelia cried. She was dramatically sprawled across her bed. “I can feel the heat even through the air-conditioning. It’s, like, lurking. It must be horrible to be pregnant when it’s ninety degrees in the shade,” she said sympat
hetically.
Sarah smiled ruefully. “Well, if I had planned things out, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I just hope that if I ever decide to get pregnant I look at the calendar first. I mean, who would want to be due in the middle of January when you could wind up being stranded by a blizzard on your way to the hospital! I can’t imagine giving birth in the backseat of a car. Gross!”
“And no drugs. Though I hope I can keep the drugs to a minimum. But I don’t think I can be a total hero and do without anything.”
“You’d better not even try!” Cordelia cried. “You’re going to be exhausted afterward, that’s what my mom says. Why should you be in pain, too?”
“Well, I think I’ll be in pain no matter what. But I know what you mean. Maybe if things were different, I’d feel braver. Like if I had a husband and the pregnancy was planned and I had money.” Sarah sighed. “Maybe not.”
“I’ll never feel brave about giving birth. I’m totally freaked out by the idea. Maybe I’ll have a planned C-section. A lot of people have them these days.”
Sarah frowned. “That’s major surgery, you know. And it can be risky.”
“I know, but at least I won’t feel anything.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I mean, I think you feel a lot of pressure.”
“Pressure, I can handle. It’s excruciating pain that frightens me.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said with a laugh. “I feel so calm and reassured now!”
“Oh, I’m sorry! Don’t listen to me. I’m just a big coward. You’re so much braver than I am about everything.”
“Am I?” Brave was not the first word Sarah would use to describe herself.
“Yeah. You’re going through with this. If it were me, I . . . well, I don’t know what I might do. Die of fright, probably.”
“It will never be you,” Sarah said firmly. “You’ve been scared straight by me.”
“I guess I probably have been. How weird. I always thought I was the—”
“The what? The one who would screw up?”
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