“Thanks,” she says, but we both know she won’t. I know her so well that I can do most of the translations in my head without missing a beat.
Sasha stares at me with weary eyes, her lank hair lying against her shoulders and her washed-out skin nearly the same color as the wall behind her. I love her so much, only the love is all pain now. I don’t want to remember us like this; I don’t want to feel this way every time I look at her, but maybe I will. It’s not something I can run away from.
“You look tired,” I say gently. “Maybe you should go back to sleep.” Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to go, but it has to happen sometime.
“Now you sound like my mom,” Sasha says with a yawn.
“It could be worse, right?” I joke. “I could sound like your dad.”
“Yeah.” Sasha crosses her ankles next to me. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I hope not.” I’d like to think I wouldn’t make my teenage daughter feel like crap for getting pregnant. “I think I’m gonna call my dad tonight—let him know about everything.”
“What about your mom? You never told her?”
“I’m going to. As soon as I get home.”
Sasha tilts her head as if to ask: Why now? And I don’t know except that it’s happened and it’s finished. I’ve been doing a shitty job of acting like Nick lately and today I can’t do it at all. If you tapped my chest, you’d hear the sound of emptiness.
“I should’ve told her before,” I continue. “Even my dad said that. I should’ve told her on Christmas Eve.”
“Your mom’s okay,” Sasha says. “She’ll be upset, but it’ll be all right.”
“Yeah.” I nod at Sasha. She always knows what to say—even on a day like today. “Did you talk to Lindsay?”
“She called last night, but I didn’t want to talk. I’ll probably call her back later.”
“Nathan called yesterday when I cut art.” I reach behind me, grab my 7-Up from the dresser, and down a couple mouthfuls. “Sometimes I feel like he’s the only person aside from you that gets how I’m feeling.” Him and Jillian, but she’s going and I’m still not ready to hear any details about that journalism student. That last part is something I really need to work on. There are a few things I have to work on and with hockey on the back burner I have a lot of time.
“He’s a really good person,” Sasha says.
“He is,” I agree. Him and Sasha are the best people I know.
“Listen.” Sasha turns and adjusts her pillow. “Maybe you better go soon after all. I want to take a shower.” She puts a hand to her head. “My hair’s disgusting.”
“You look fine.”
“You must be legally blind,” she says.
I stand up and hover around her dresser as she gets off the bed. “You’re okay to take a shower?”
“No baths,” she says. “Showers are okay.” I move out of the way as she grabs a pair of underwear from the dresser. “And I have to take my temperature again later.”
I read about that on the Internet. A fever can mean you have an infection. Bleeding is normal, but too much isn’t. They say abortion’s one of the safest surgical procedures, but there are still things to watch out for. Thinking about that makes me glad we didn’t do this on our own, that Sasha’s mom is right here looking out for her.
“Okay.” I bend down and kiss Sasha’s forehead, as softly as I can. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Yeah, see you Monday.” Sasha folds her arms in front of her chest, just like she did that day at school when I chased after her. “Thanks for coming by,” she adds quietly. “It means a lot.”
I bury my hands in my pockets and nod. We’re at the very end. There’s nothing left to say. All I have to do is walk out the door.
twenty-one
There are voices coming from my living room, mingled with the sound of some English band’s gloomy guitar chords. Holland is musically challenged and loves this shoe-gazing crap. I bypass the living room and leave her to it, but a guy’s laugh stops me partway to the stairs. I poke my head into the living room and take in the scene. Holland and Diego are sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, the Scrabble board spread out between them.
It’s like I’ve been hurtled back in time. Our Scrabble board hasn’t seen the light of day in three years. Diego bounces me a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, Nick. How’s it going?”
“All right,” I tell him. “You?”
“All right,” he says.
Holland adds her own smile for good measure and I turn and double back to the stairs. I go up to my room and sit on the floor next to the bed. The sheets are twisted into a solid mass, leaving the mattress partially exposed. My sleep over the past few days has consisted mostly of shifting positions and I’m exhausted, but I won’t lie down.
When I’m sure Mom’s home, I slog down to the kitchen and catch her pulling a bag of Brussels sprouts out of the refrigerator. “Can I talk to you?” I ask. You’d think it’d be hard to say after waiting so long, but it’s not. I’m on auto and everything feels the same.
“Mmm?” she says, her head darting back into the fridge. My flat tone obviously hasn’t set off any alarm bells. “What is it?”
“No, I mean…” I point to the fridge, although she hasn’t looked up at me yet. “Can you stop what you’re doing so we can talk?”
Mom’s back straightens and her eyes meet mine. She closes the refrigerator and motions towards the table. I pull out a chair and wait for her to sit down next to me. As soon as she does, I announce: “Sasha had an abortion.”
Mom’s head wilts slightly. Her bottom lip juts forward. She stares at me in silence. I look at the table, then back up at her, waiting for my words to sink in. “Is she all right?” Mom asks.
“She’ll be okay.”
Mom’s eyes are unreadable. Her head springs up as she opens her mouth. “I didn’t know you two had that kind of relationship.”
“Before we broke up,” I say factually. “Yeah, we did.”
“And when did this happen?” Mom asks.
“Yesterday.” My throat’s drying out. I don’t have an ounce of water left in my body after what happened at Sasha’s earlier. “I just saw her today.”
“Do her parents know? Is she being taken care of?”
I nod leadenly. “Her mom took her. She’s at home with her now.” Mom’s head slopes towards mine and I keep going. “I couldn’t tell you before. You take things really hard.” I slump down in my chair. “I didn’t know what to say.”
Mom’s head snaps up again. It’s the wrong thing to say, I guess, but it’s the truth. “You can always talk to me, Nicholas. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I can’t always,” I argue. “You can’t expect that.”
“But you told your father?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “That’s different. He’s not around all the time.” I’m too tired to do this with her. Why should I have to explain the way things are? Why can’t she just open her eyes and see it? “Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m telling you now. If you turn this into something about him…” My face is throbbing red. I can feel it.
“I’m not doing that,” Mom says evenly. “But you can’t expect me to hear something like this and not give it a second thought—because this is what’s been upsetting you lately, isn’t it?”
“Since Christmas Eve,” I confirm. “I couldn’t get away from it.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Nothing’s the same.”
“No,” Mom says. “Of course it isn’t.” I stay quiet and stare at my knees. “This is a very serious situation. This is something you could be dealing with for a while.”
“I know that.”
“Okay.” Mom folds her hands into her laps and squints at me like she’s about to say something intense. “What do you want me to say to you?”
My head jerks up. “I don’t know.” I stare past her. “I don’t know.”
“But I’m sure you know nothing like this should ever happen again.” Mom leans in so I can’t ignore her.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Because right now you may think you’ll never find yourself in that situation again, but you will.”
I’ve already decided to listen to whatever lecture she has in store for me. My face is fixed in a passive expression and I nod as she continues.
“I hope talking to your father helped.”
“A bit.” My jaw twitches in surprise. “He was pretty good about it, but I haven’t talked to him for a while.”
“Maybe you should give him a call,” she says. “I’m sure he’d want to hear from you.”
“Yeah, I might.” An idea begins building in my head and snowballs with momentum. “I was thinking maybe I’d go down and stay with him for a few days. Just to get away, you know?”
Mom blinks and looks into my eyes. “It’s not a bad idea if it’s all right with him.”
“I’ll check,” I tell her, and before I know it, I’m standing. “Thanks.”
Mom stands too and then we’re both standing there trying to pretend this isn’t as awkward as it seems. “Go ahead and give him a call now,” she suggests. “Let me know what he says.” I take a step towards the door and she adds, “Dinner’s in about forty minutes if you’re interested. Holland’s friend is staying.”
I shake my head and Mom nods sympathetically and says, “I’ll put some aside and you can have it later.”
“Thanks,” I say gratefully.
Upstairs, I pick up the phone and dial Dad’s condo. He has a lot of late meetings and I expect to get his machine, but he answers.
“Nicholas, how are you?” he asks. “What’s happening?”
He could’ve called me himself to find out, but I let that go and fill him in on the last few days. When I come to the point about staying at his place, he interrupts with: “Nick, this isn’t enough notice. Bridgette’s sister and her family are coming in from Calgary on Saturday, and you have work and school, I’m sure.”
“I can call in sick,” I tell him. “And I won’t miss much school.”
“The thing is I have plans, Nick.” Dad puts on his hearty voice. “What do you say to two weeks from now? I’ll come pick you up and we can get tickets to a Leafs game—the whole thing.”
Two weeks seems like a life sentence and I say, “No, that’s fine. Do your family thing with Bridgette. I’m cool.” In fact, my words are like ice. I never ask him for anything and all I’m asking for now is time. Not even a full consecutive twenty-four hours, just time.
“Nicholas,” Dad says. His tone’s all “don’t be that way.”
So okay, I won’t. I hang up and flick on my stereo. After a minute the phone rings, but I don’t pick up. Thirty seconds later there’s a bang on my door and Holland swings it open and says, “There’s a man on the phone claiming to be your father.”
“Did you ask him for proof?”
“I didn’t think of that,” Holland says. “Are you picking up or what?”
“No.” I’m not going to beg him so what’s the point?
“What?” Holland scrunches up her face. “Are you guys fighting?”
“Yeah, so go downstairs and hang up the phone like a good little girl, okay?”
“I don’t think so.” Holland picks up the receiver and places it facedown on my bed. “Do your own dirty work, Nick.” She shuts the door gingerly behind her and I stare down at the abandoned receiver.
“Hello?” Dad’s voice is sputtering. “Hello? Nick? Hello?”
“Okay, fine,” I say irritably, my fingers closing around the receiver. “I’m here.”
“There was no need to hang up, Nick.” Dad’s really worked up; he sounds like my parents’ divorce all over again. “If you’d listen for a moment—all I’m saying is that next week is out. We have theater tickets tomorrow and Saturday we’re leaving for Montreal for two days. So, I’d really like to do this in two weeks’ time.” He pauses and then adds, “I’d like to see you.”
“Just us?” I need to make my temporary escape now, but I can see that’s not going to happen this week. “Because it’d be cool if it could just be me and you for a change.”
“All right, Nick,” Dad says. “We can do that, but you have to realize Bridgette is important to me and that’s probably not going to change anytime soon.”
“That’s your business,” I tell him.
“Sure, but it’d be nice if the two of you could get along.”
“I’ll be nice. But I’m not going to promise anything else. You can’t expect me to like her just because you do.”
“Okay,” Dad concedes, frustration rumbling around in the back of his throat. “I’ll give you a call next week and let you know the arrangements.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely.
“Are you going to be all right?” Concern gives his words a razor edge.
“I’m okay. I just need to get away from everything for a while.”
“Sure,” Dad says genially. He’s already forgiving me, silently ascribing my attitude to everything I’ve been through lately, or at least that’s the way it sounds. “I think it’s good you told your mother. Most secrets don’t do people much good.” He didn’t say all, I notice, and I still believe in good secrets, but they’re fragile.
After Diego’s gone, I throw my dinner in the microwave and tell Mom I won’t be going to Dad’s for a couple weeks yet. She doesn’t ask me to explain; she says it’ll be good for me to spend some time in Toronto and that the time frame will give me the chance to book shifts off work. I realize I never told her about leaving the Courtland Cougars and fill her in on that too.
The next morning she wakes me up, stares down at me, and says, “I wasn’t sure you’d want to go school today but I thought I’d check.”
I must’ve forgotten to set the alarm, but I want to go to school and I mumble that in barely coherent morning English. Mom smiles and tells me that with everything that happened yesterday, she forgot to mention that the company she interviewed at wants her to come in for a second interview.
“See?” I say. “I knew you’d do good.”
“They’re interviewing three other people too, but I’m still in the running,” Mom says, her lips stuck in a grin. “The second interview is on Monday.” She tosses her head back in mock aggravation. “There goes another sick day.”
Monday’s also Sasha’s first day back at school and the thought of that makes me shudder. I want her to be there and I know I can’t avoid her, but I know exactly what it’ll feel like to see her again—like I’m missing a layer of skin. I don’t know how to walk around like normal all day when I can run into her at any time.
But for today, at least, I don’t have to deal with that. My egomaniac English teacher makes jokes at various students’ expense, and Keelor hunts me down in the hall and wants to know how I am. I can tell he doesn’t get it, but at least he’s trying. Keelor wants me back on the ice as soon as possible, but he’s trying not to push it. Everybody’s being so good and concerned and I’m glad, for sure, but underneath that there’s another part of me that nothing even touches.
Ms. Navarro has the radio on during art class, like always, and it relaxes me a little even though it’s jazz. Nathan talks to me in a mellow voice through the whole thing and that relaxes me too.
“So what happened to the journalism student from New Year’s Eve?” I whisper. “You ever going to see him again?”
“Naw.” Nathan stops sketching and looks up at me. “Not really my type.”
Here we are again. I’m clumsy at this, not like him, but he needs to know that I’m going to try. Seriously, I mean it. “You know there will be somebody, though,” I say under my breath. “It’s just this stupid small town.”
“Maybe.” Nathan’s eyes are suspicious.
“For sure,” I tell him.
“You know.” His tone turns breezy. “If I didn’t know better, I’d
think you were trying to tell me something.”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes at him. “You know what I’m saying. Don’t be an asshole.”
“I know. Thanks for the approval rating.” Nathan grins and shakes his head. “You’re so uptight, Severson. What’re you gonna do in university when the gay city boys start hitting on you?”
I give him a suitably dirty reply and Nathan busts his gut laughing. I laugh too. I laugh so hard that it hurts and I bend over clutching my sides. Ms. Navarro glances in our direction and I straighten up, this goofy grin stretched across my face.
I wish I could spend all day in art class, but the bell doesn’t care. After it rings, Nathan and I file into the hallway, which is swarming with skaters, posers, stoners, brains, and jocks. Everybody’s got someone to be and a group of people to be it with, but sometimes I’m not in the mood for it, you know. Sometimes it all feels foreign and phony. Like a big waste.
The difference is today I’m just glad I’ve got somewhere to be and I look over at Nathan, ex-jock and present everything, and say, “You want to watch the game at my house on Saturday?” The Leafs are playing the Boston Bruins and Nathan still watches the games. You can be an ex-hockey player, but I don’t know if it’s possible to be an ex-fan.
“You asking Keelor too?” He stops in the middle of the hallway.
Like I said before, Nathan always knows. “Like old times,” I tell him. Not that I think it’ll change anything between the three of us, but I guess I need it—even if it’s just for a few hours.
“Sounds good, but I’m still grounded,” Nathan says, arching his eyebrows. “Why don’t you guys come by my place instead? Sound cool?”
It could be. I could even be looking forward to it except that it’s a day closer to Monday and there’s not a person in the world who can help me pull that day off.
Mom drives me over to Sports 2 Go on Saturday morning. My driving test is nine days away, but I’m exhausted. I slept for seven hours, but I could climb back in bed and do another seven no problem. A coma’s exactly what I need right now, but what I have is Mom in the driver’s seat, telling me that we’ll have a lot more money if she gets this job. She’s so psyched about the thing that we get to the mall in record time. I’m worried that she might spontaneously combust before Monday if she doesn’t calm down.
I Know It's Over Page 21