Pregnant at 17

by Christine Conradt

  “I want this baby. I need this baby. I’d never force you to be a part of its life. I won’t tell anyone that you’re the father.” There! She solved all his problems. She’d keep the paternity of the baby secret. “I have nothing! Except my dad who’s never around. I don’t have a career . . . or an education . . . but I have a baby growing inside of me. A real baby. With a heartbeat and little feet. Do you know what that makes me? It makes me a mom. It makes me important to someone!” The words came out with such force, Chelsea surprised herself. “There is no way in hell I’m giving this baby up. No abortion. No adoption. It stays with me!”

  He just stared at her. She could tell he wasn’t expecting her to take a stand. Then, suddenly, Jeff stood up, grabbed the envelope and smacked it down on the table in front of her. Chelsea jumped, shocked by the sudden display of aggression.

  “Don’t be stupid! Take the fucking money! You’re young! You can have ten more kids down the line if you want. You will never have ten thousand dollars cash again!”

  Chelsea couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d never seen this side of him before—the side that thinks he can buy off people whenever he wants. If he was trying to intimidate her, she wasn’t going to let it work. Grabbing the envelope, she whisked past Jeff and marched out the front door. As he came out after her, she threw the envelope into the night sky and the money scattered across the scrubby patch of grass that made up her front yard.

  “I don’t want your money!” she yelled. “I’m keeping this baby and if you don’t want to be a part of its life, get out!” Chelsea didn’t normally air her dirty laundry in front of the neighbors, but she was so angry, she didn’t care. She wanted Jeff gone. He started to frantically collect the twenty-dollar bills that the breeze had carried down the sidewalk as Chelsea entered the trailer and slammed the door.

  So I guess Chelsea received some interesting news at the pregnancy clinic, Lauren mused as she sat in her brother’s truck observing the attractive man in his business suit scrambling to pick up the cascading cash. Although she was parked almost a block away, she had heard everything through her open window.

  What a break! The hours of boring surveillance had finally paid off. This was better than a soap opera; the pregnant teen taking a stand against her rich older boyfriend who wants her to get rid of her baby. Dramatic! He certainly looks rich, Lauren thought. Those threads he had on cost a pretty penny and from the looks of it, there was quite a bit of money in that envelope. The brand-new shiny Mercedes, completely out of place in this neighborhood, sealed the deal for Lauren. Greg’s going to die when he hears about this, she thought as she watched the man hurl the envelope onto the passenger seat and get into his car.

  Lauren reveled in playing detective. This was the kind of discovery that would make Greg proud. After all, it had been almost two weeks since he’d asked her to tail Chelsea and find out as much as she could about her, and this was the first interesting thing that she’d witnessed. She needed to gather information about Daddy Warbucks. The more she knew about him, the more she knew about Chelsea.

  The Mercedes’s taillights finally came on and Lauren started her engine. The man’s car drove off down the street, on its way to a better part of town. Lauren stayed close behind. If there was a way to get back at Chelsea, perhaps her baby daddy was the key. And to know more about him, she’d need his name. And to get that, she’d need to follow him all the way home.

  The unexpected confrontation with Jeff left Chelsea rattled. Jeff didn’t love her or want to be with her. That was clear. Her heart ached thinking about it. She loved him—at least she thought she did. After what just happened, she wasn’t so sure. But her relationship with Jeff was nothing compared to the doubt Jeff had planted in her mind about her ability to raise a kid.

  The parenting class and visit with Dr. Shollenbrook had made Chelsea believe that she really could be a good mother at her age, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if Jeff was right. She didn’t have a job that would allow her to afford everything a baby needed, and the fact that Jeff wasn’t willing to be involved in any way, or even admit the child was his, infuriated her. At the very least, the baby needed him financially. She’d really thought that Jeff would eventually come around and be as excited about the pregnancy as she was. Now she couldn’t even name him on the birth certificate. My child isn’t going to know who his father is. The thought tied her stomach in knots. He deserves to have a dad to look up to, to play with, to love. Maybe she hadn’t had the best father in the world, but she’d never doubted how much he loved her. And the memories she had with him—reading her bedtime stories and taking her to the county fair—she treasured them. Her child would never have an opportunity to know what that was like. Was she making the wrong decision? Should she give this baby up? The thought terrified her.

  No, she thought. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Deep down, there was one thing she was now sure of. She would be a good mother. And there was one thing she now knew that she hadn’t before—Jeff was a liar. He’d lied about loving her and wanting to be with her. And she wasn’t going to trust anything he said ever again. I’m not going to let him intimidate me into doing what’s best for him. She needed to do what was best for her and the baby. If Jeff really loved her, he’d want the same.

  Chelsea pulled a battered, dust-laden box from the top shelf of her father’s closet and sat down on the floor. She opened the flaps and peered into the box, hit by the smell of mildew. Pulling out some old drawings she made in elementary school, Chelsea found what she was looking for: her old baby things.

  She removed a pair of yellowing booties and some infant clothes, but kept digging until she saw the baby book her mother made. Delicately lifting it from the box, Chelsea opened the fragile cover to see a lock of her red hair taped to the first page. Under it, in German, her mother had written The lock of hair Chelsea was born with. Tears began to stream down Chelsea’s cheeks and she didn’t bother to try to hold them in. As she slowly turned the page, she saw a photo of her mother holding her on the day she was born. Her mother, tucked into her hospital bed, wearing a light blue hospital gown, smiled brightly at the camera, baby Chelsea in her arms.

  “I need you so much right now, Mom,” Chelsea whispered longingly at the photo. “I need you so much.”

  Chelsea tried hard to conjure up her earliest memory of her mother, but it was the last day they had together that came to mind. The small room with green walls and yellow curtains that billowed as the March breeze drifted in.

  “Are you cold, Mom?” Chelsea had asked, perched on the edge of a chair pulled up to her mother’s hospice bed. Her mother barely moved as she shook her head. The woman lying there only vaguely resembled the cheery, bubbly spitfire of a woman she’d known. Her bright red hair had mostly fallen out and her eyes looked dull and hollow. When Chelsea held her mother’s hand, it felt weak and cold, and she was afraid if she squeezed too hard, she might break it.

  “When I get better . . .” her mother had said in a raspy voice, “we’ll fly that kite you made. Daddy can drive us up to Fairmount Park. And we can see the cherry blossoms.” The words came out uneven and Chelsea knew it took all her mother’s energy to talk. Her mother said it as if she believed she’d somehow beat the cancer that had taken over nearly every organ in her body. At the time, Chelsea, only seven years old, nodded, holding on to hope that her mother would eventually get better and they would indeed fly the flimsy blue-and-orange kite she’d made with tissue paper and tongue depressors above the pink blooms of the cherry blossom trees.

  “I love you, Mama,” Chelsea had said, and rested her head on her mother’s pillow.

  “Ich liebe dich auch, schnucki,” she said back, which Chelsea knew meant “I love you too, sweetie.” Her voice was almost inaudible. “Go home with Daddy now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chelsea had kissed her mother on the cheek and gathered up her backpack and the school books she’d brought to read to her sick mother. As she walke
d out the door to find her father who had gone to talk to a nurse, she took one last look at her mother. All she could see was her bony shoulder in a flannel nightgown jutting up over the blankets, and the side of her mother’s pale face.

  The next day, when her father picked her up from school Chelsea asked, “Are we going to see Mom? I made her this.” Chelsea held up a picture she’d drawn of a butterfly. “I even wrote the word for butterfly in German. Did I spell it right?” Schmetterling. Her father nodded even though he hadn’t looked at it.

  “No, we’re going home,” he said, and her stomach dropped. Even at that tender age, she knew her mother hadn’t recovered enough to be sent home.

  “Why?” she asked anyway, already knowing the answer.

  “Because your mom’s not at the hospice house anymore. The angels came last night and took her to heaven.” Just like that, she was gone.

  The ring of Chelsea’s cell phone brought her back to the present, forcing her to let go of her mother like she’d done so many times before. Chelsea looked down at the phone. It was Adam. Her heart skipped.

  “Hello?” she answered, worried that he’d hear the sadness in her voice and begin to think that all she ever does is cry.

  “I’m a dick,” Adam said lightly. Chelsea couldn’t help but smile a little. She had no clue what he was referring to, but he sounded remorseful. She was just glad to hear his husky voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I gave you a hard time about being with that douchebag and . . . I had no right to do that. It actually meant a lot that you opened up to me about all that.” She could hear him swallow on the other end and knew he was eating. It made her feel like things with Adam were back to normal. She pictured him sitting in the back room of Mikey’s store scooping cereal out of a bowl with a plastic spoon.

  “You were right. He doesn’t care about me or the baby and he doesn’t want to be with me. I’m a complete idiot for even getting involved with him.” She decided not to mention that Jeff had tried to buy her off with ten grand.

  “He lied to you. You didn’t know.”

  “I just don’t want this baby to be a bad thing. I want it to be something beautiful, because it is.” It felt so natural to talk to Adam. The words came out exactly the way she wanted them to.

  “I don’t doubt that if anyone could give a child love, it’s you.”

  “I feel so alone. I wish my dad was here,” Chelsea said, not even realizing she’d said it. Adam’s faith in her made her feel like she could admit this to him, though.

  “Can I come over and cheer you up?” Adam asked. Without thinking, Chelsea brought her fingertip to her lip. Every part of her wanted Adam there but she suddenly felt nervous.

  “Um, yeah, okay,” she said, and began to tuck the items on the floor back into the box.

  “Are you sure? If you’d rather be alone, that’s cool too.” He was giving her an out, but Chelsea pushed her nerves aside. She wasn’t sure why seeing Adam again caused this strange anxiety. It wasn’t bad, it was just weird. Maybe it was because she’d told him so much. Now she felt vulnerable. And yet, the idea of him sitting next to her, smiling, made her calm. She definitely needed that.

  “Yes, I want you to come over.”

  “Great,” he said. “See you in a little bit.”

  Chelsea ended the call and got to her feet. She went into the bathroom to check her appearance. I look terrible, she concluded, studying her red, puffy eyes. She’d cried so much in the past couple of days, it seemed like her eyes might stay that way permanently. Squirting face wash into her hand, she smeared it all over her face and worked it into a lather. Then she turned on the warm water and rinsed it all off. That’s better, she thought. At least she could put on some makeup to hide the dark circles and the smattering of acne on her jaw line. I never get zits. It must be from the pregnancy. If she did her hair just right, she could kind of cover them. At least enough that Adam might not notice.

  An hour later, Adam was sitting across from her at the kitchen table, his jacket slung over the chair, his hair still damp from a shower. It fell over his ears in short black ringlets. An assortment of Chinese takeout boxes were spread between them. Chelsea, feeling more presentable in black mascara and shimmery lip gloss, nabbed up a chunk of sweet and sour pork and popped it into her mouth. Her mood was much lighter now.

  “I’m not trying that one. Ever,” she said, poking at the box full of braised chicken feet.

  “It’s good.” Adam laughed, his eyes sparkling. “You eat chicken legs, don’t you? What’s wrong with the feet?” Chelsea dug one out with her chopsticks and made it slowly scratch Adam’s forearm with its hooked toenail.

  “What is this? A toenail? A claw? What do chickens have?”

  He laughed and pulled his thick arm away, wiping off the trail of syrupy sauce with his napkin.

  “They have feet, so it must be a toenail. To have a claw, it needs to have a paw. Hey that rhymed.” He smiled proudly.

  “The doctor specifically told me not to eat this.” Chelsea waved the foot from side to side. “She said it would screw up the baby.”

  “She did not!” Adam laughed even harder. It was a deep, infectious laugh that he’d had since he was a kid. “Come on, Chelsea. Be brave!” Chelsea grinned and brought the foot to her mouth dramatically as if she might eat it. She could see Adam was impressed. Closing her eyes, she took a bite of the chicken foot, mulled it around in her mouth, and spit it back into her hand.

  “Holy crap, that’s disgusting!” she blurted out as Adam laughed hysterically. “I did it, though. Don’t ever call me a chicken!”

  He laughed as she wiped her mouth in an attempt to get rid of the taste, before tucking back into his food. Chelsea could sense the moment turning serious when Adam glanced up at her and lightly bit his bottom lip. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel tingly.

  “You are one of the bravest people I know,” he said, locking eyes with her. She had a hard time looking away. “I mean it. What you did for my grandpa when you testified back then . . . I know you were scared but you did it anyway. And I’ll never forget that.”

  “Thanks,” Chelsea said quietly, reminded that Greg Foster was getting out. It had only been three days since Mikey told her the news about Greg’s parole but it seemed like months. She thought back to the day she had climbed up on the stand in that huge courtroom downtown and testified. She had been so terrified and anxious, but she’d mustered the courage to climb into the witness stand, believing he’d go away for a long time. “It doesn’t matter, though, right? He’ll be back on the streets next week.”

  “It does matter, though.” Adam leaned closer. Chelsea could feel his leg press against hers under the table. “The fact you did that, you made a stand for Grandpa, is what kept him going.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “When he found out he was going to have to use a cane for the rest of his life, he got really . . . I don’t know, despondent.” Adam’s features darkened. “Didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to go out and do anything . . . we were all super worried about him. But when you told him you’d testify, it changed all that. It was like he had to get better so that you wouldn’t be doing that for nothing. Does that make sense?” It was the first time Chelsea had heard that about Mikey. She had no idea that she had given him hope. She just wanted to see someone who hurt a person she cared about behind bars.

  “You’ll get through this too,” Adam assured her, and placed his hand on hers. She felt her cheeks grow hot, her gaze lost in his. “You don’t need some successful business-troll like Jeff to help you, either. You’re a tough little thing.”

  “Do you really think so?” She needed to hear him say it again. Not just anyone, but him. She knew Adam would never tell her something that wasn’t true.

  “Yes. I know so.” A moment passed between them like she’d never felt before. Not with Jeff, or any other guy. For a brief second, it felt like they were the on
ly two people on earth. She wanted him to lean in and kiss her. She wanted to feel the touch of his lips against hers. She wanted to taste him. He must not want to, she thought as Adam suddenly looked away, his face crimson. He spotted a deck of cards on the side table and picked them up. Chelsea exhaled, long and slow, trying to play off the disappointment she felt.

  “Know how to play Ninety-nine?” he asked, his voice tense. She’d never even heard of the game.

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  Nine

  Tit for Tat

  “What’d you find out?” Greg plopped down across from Lauren. He looks good, Lauren thought. Better than the last time she’d come to visit. He’d lost a little weight, but he seemed more muscular, even under his faded orange jumpsuit. He certainly looked better than a lot of the inmates seated at other tables in the room, speaking softly to their visitors.

  “A bunch of stuff,” she gushed, barely able to contain her excitement. “But here’s the kicker. Yesterday, she went to a pregnancy clinic, so she’s knocked up.”

  “Really?” her brother murmured, intrigued.

  “Wait. It gets better. When she got home last night, she had a huge fight with some rich guy who has a Mercedes. I think he’s the father and was trying to buy her off to get an abortion. She threw an envelope at him that had a shitload of money in it.”

  “You saw the money?” Greg leaned in.

  “Uh, yeah. It flew all over. He was scrambling to pick it all back up without getting his nice suit dirty.” Lauren laughed, picturing it in her mind. Greg smiled.

  “You did good, little sis.” Lauren beamed, happy that she’d proven herself. “I’m thinking possibilities right now.”

  “I just want revenge. Look how much you’ve suffered . . . how much Mom has suffered because of her.” They’d barely been holding on to begin with. Ever since their father left, Greg had been the one to keep the family together. Their mother wasn’t good at taking care of herself, or anyone else for that matter, and Greg was the one who handled everything from finances to protecting Lauren from the creepers who lived in their neighborhood.