It Was Us

by Cruise, Anna

  “Okay. Ten. Or five. Whatever.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “What's up? You said you had a question. An urgent question, if I remember correctly.”

  “I do.” I trudged down the massive set of stairs that led to one of the larger parking lots at Mesa. The steps always brought back memories of my first few months with West.

  “Uh. Okay. Well, I'm here now. On the phone. Waiting to dispense my infinite wisdom.”

  It had been a week since the night in West's apartment. A week since I'd found out I was pregnant. West and I hadn't talked about it again—mostly because he'd turned around three days later for another out-of-town series. When he'd come home, I'd gone over once and he'd tried to talk to me about it but I'd told him I wasn't ready. Surprisingly, he'd let it go. But I knew better. As much as I was tempted to shove it under the rug and hope the situation would disappear, I knew my boyfriend. And I knew he was anxious to talk, to make a decision. West Montgomery was not the kind of person to sit around and wait.

  “Hang on,” I said.

  I hurried down a row of parked cars and stopped in front of mine. I opened the door, tossed my bag on to the passenger seat and started the car. The radio blasted and I turned it down low, then adjusted the AC so the air blew cool.

  “I've got seven minutes until my next class starts,” she warned.

  “Since when are you ever on time?”

  “Uh, since I got a D on my last exam.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Big ouch.”

  I sat there for a minute, contemplating what I wanted to say. Over the last week, I'd started to text or call my best friend more than a dozen times, the news on the tip of my fingers, on the tip of my tongue. But there was always something that made me change my mind. It wasn't that I couldn't tell Tana. I knew I could—I could tell her anything. I just wasn't sure if I could handle what she was going to say in response.

  “Five minutes...”

  I sighed. “Okay. Look, something's happening.”

  “Something?” Her voice was immediately filled with concern. “Like what? Is everything okay with your mom?”

  “Yeah, yeah. She's fine.”

  “Okay. So it must be West.”

  “Sort of.”

  It was her turn to sigh. “Oh my God. Spill now or it's gonna have to wait. I have to get to statistics on time.

  It wasn't the kind of news I could just say. But I didn't have a choice.

  “I'm pregnant.”

  There was silence. Then, “What?”

  “I'm pregnant, Tana.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Tell me everything,” she demanded.

  “Well, West and I had sex—”

  “I know that part,” she interrupted. “I mean, how the hell did this happen?”

  I glanced at the clock on my dash. It was 3:59 and I knew she needed to get to class. “It's kind of a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  “You just said you had to get to class.”

  “Yeah, well, you just told me you're pregnant. Statistics can wait.”

  I smiled. This was the person I needed to talk to. My best friend, the one who would set absolutely everything aside for me. I knew West would, too, but having a girlfriend to talk things over with, to share my fears and concerns, was something I needed more than anything at that moment.

  I adjusted the air conditioning again and then told her about what had happened. About missing a pill when I'd been sick. Being five days late. Taking the test a week ago in West's apartment, the test that had confirmed my fears.

  “Wow.” She was quiet for a minute. “So how far along are you? Do you know?”

  “Almost six weeks, I think?”

  “And you're feeling okay?”

  “Eh. I guess.” Physically, I was alright. My stomach had been queasy a couple of times and I was constantly tired but I'd refused to blame either on the pregnancy, choosing to believe that the constant worrying was making me feel that way.

  “Do you know what you're going to do?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “What does West say?”

  “We haven't really talked about it.”

  “What?” Tana's tone was indignant. “He doesn't know??”

  “No, no,” I said quickly. “He knows. We just...we just haven't really talked about everything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because...” My voice trailed off. It was the moment I'd been dreading.

  “Abigail.” I could picture my best friend's face, her eyebrows drawn together, her lips in a disapproving line. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” And that was exactly the problem.

  “Clearly.” She sighed and I knew she was shaking her head in exasperation. “You can't go into avoidance mode. This isn't your psycho sister you're trying to steer clear of. This is reality. Like, there is a baby growing inside of you. Right this minute.”

  “Stop.”

  “Okay. A fetus. Let's call it that. Or an embryo or whatever the hell it is at six weeks. Regardless of what we call it, this is something you have to take care of. One way or the other. It isn't going away.”

  “I know, Tana. I know.” My voice cracked a little and I felt the stupid tears begin to blossom.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice softening. “I'm not mad at you and I'm not gonna yell. But I know you. I know you just want to look the other way and hope this all disappears. And it ain't happening, Abby. You have to deal with this. You have to decide what you want to do.”

  “I know.” I felt like I was on auto-repeat.

  “I can come home this weekend.”

  “No.”

  “I'm serious. If you need me, I'll come. Hell, I'll leave now. It's Thursday—I only have one class tomorrow.”

  “No, no. Stay in school.”

  “You sound like a campaign slogan.”

  I somehow managed to laugh through the tears. “Whatever. I mean it. I just...I just wanted to tell you. So you would know.”

  “Well, that's not really letting me share my wisdom, now is it?”

  “No, I guess it isn't.”

  “Hmm. I don't know that my superior intelligence can help here, anyway,” she said.

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because,” she said. “This isn't something wisdom or intelligence can answer.”

  “It isn't?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because no one thinks about babies or becoming a parent with any type of intelligence. If they did, the human race would have died off a hell of a long time ago.”

  “You really are going to be Mother of the Year when the time comes, aren't you?” I said.

  It was her turn to laugh. “Ha. No. Look, my point is this. Your decision here is an awful lot like choosing who you fall in love with. Other people are gonna have opinions and are going to try to tell you what to do. But, guess what? They're not you.”

  She had a point.

  “The only person who can make this decision is you. And whatever you decide? It's gonna be the right decision, Abby. Just remember that.”

  FOURTEEN

  WEST

  Abby was waiting for me by my truck. She leaned up against the side, her phone in her hands, her fingers tapping away. Her hair was pulled back and earrings dangled from her ears, swaying just a little in the breeze. She had sunglasses on, a dark brown pair that covered almost half of her face. I sidled up to her and she looked up, surprised.

  “That was fast,” she said, lifting the glasses and setting them on top of her head.

  I frowned. “We went into extra innings.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I was watching, remember?” She'd come to the stadium to watch the game. “I just meant you getting ready. Or cleaning up or whatever.”

  “I can shower fast sometimes,” I said, smiling.

  “Since when?”

 
I threw my bag in the back of the cab. “Since my totally hot girlfriend was waiting for me outside.”

  A smile flickered across her face. “Whatever.”

  I reached for her and kissed her. “I missed you.”

  “I saw you yesterday.”

  “I know. But I still miss you.”

  I pulled her close, hugging her to my chest. There was something about the way she fit against me, like her body was perfectly made for mine, that made my breath catch in my throat a little. She nestled next to me for a minute, not speaking. I wanted to ask her a million questions but I bit my tongue and said nothing. I knew the last couple of weeks had been hard on her and the last thing I wanted to do was badger her to death, demanding answers. But I wasn't a complete idiot. Time wasn't standing still and she and I had to make some decisions. Soon.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “I'm fine.”

  “Yeah?”

  She lifted her head and looked at me. “Yeah.”

  I ran my hand down her arm. “Not sick or anything?”

  Abby shrugged. “A little, I guess.”

  “Seven weeks, right?”

  “Something like that.” Her tone was dismissive, like I was asking her about how much she'd paid for gas.

  “Abby.”

  Her eyes returned to mine. “What?”

  “We have to talk.”

  “I know. That's why I'm here.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I...I know we have to make some decisions. About this.” She didn't say pregnancy and she didn't say baby. And I didn't blame her.

  “And you're...ready?” I knew I sounded hesitant, and I knew I didn't sound like myself. But I felt like I'd been walking on eggshells with her ever since she'd told me.

  “No. But I sort of don't have a choice.” She chewed on her bottom lip, her teeth scraping against her pinkish lipstick, over and over.

  “You have choices, Abby.”

  “Well, my choice would be to not have to deal with this.” She looked at me expectantly. “Is that one of my choices?”

  “No,” I said. “But I wish it was. For you.”

  She sighed. “I know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a bitch.”

  “You're not being a bitch,” I told her.

  “What do you want, West?”

  “What?”

  She stepped away from me and folded her arms across her chest. “You heard me. What do you want?”

  “I want for you to be happy,” I said automatically.

  She shook her head, her ponytail bouncing back and forth. “No. I mean, what do you want me to do about this?” She motioned her hand toward her stomach.

  I was quiet for a minute as I thought about what to say. I didn't know what I wanted her to do. Not because I hadn't thought about it—if I were being honest with myself, I'd admit it was the one thing that consumed my thoughts, the one thing I always came back to after games were over and papers and tests were done. But I didn't feel like what she was up against or what we were facing—and the possible solutions—were my decisions to make. The last thing I wanted to do was to pressure her or persuade her into doing something she wasn't comfortable doing.

  “Let's go somewhere and talk,” I said. “Someplace where we can sit. Where I can hold your hand.”

  Her expression softened just a little. “You wanna hold my hand?”

  “Of course,” I said. “And kiss you. And do a million other things to you.”

  She smiled and I felt the familiar hitch in my chest, that little something that told me no matter how much I thought I'd hit the plateau when it came to my feelings for her, I was dead wrong.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  I glanced at my watch. It was after six and I hadn't eaten since noon.

  “I'm starving,” I said. “How about Rubio's? Does that sound okay?”

  She thought for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Picturing the food doesn't make me want to hurl.”

  I grinned. “Well, then, how could we not go?” I planted a quick kiss on her lips before releasing her, then watched her as she walked a few cars down to her own parked car.

  “I'll meet you there,” she called.

  “Sounds good.”

  And it did. Not because I was starving and wanting to knock back a dozen fish tacos. But because we would finally be doing the one thing we'd been putting off for weeks.

  Deciding.

  FIFTEEN

  ABBY

  I followed West back into Pacific Beach, fighting the last of the rush hour traffic as we made our way down Balboa Avenue. I loved all of San Diego but coming back into PB always felt like coming home. I waited in the left lane to turn on to Mission Bay Drive, the radio playing an old Offspring song. The light turned and I drove a block before turning into Rubio's, the tiny yellow and blue Mexican food joint that was tucked alongside a massive car dealership. It was a small dive of a place, with limited outside seating and even fewer tables inside, but they served the best fish tacos on the planet.

  West parked his truck in the tiny parking lot behind the restaurant and I followed suit. He waited for me and we walked toward the entrance together.

  “You hungry?” he asked as he held the door open for me.

  I nodded. I was. I'd been ravenous for the past few days. The problem was, nothing ever sounded good. But Rubio's smelled good. The aroma of fried batter, the corn tortillas, the hint of cilantro. My mouth watered.

  The guy in front of us finished ordering and West spoke. “Five fish tacos. Two diet Cokes.” The girl behind the counter rang him up and he handed her a twenty.

  “Inside or outside?” he asked, handing me my drink.

  I looked through the window, at the tables shaded by thatch umbrellas. We'd have to talk loud over the traffic but I didn't want to be inside.

  “Out.”

  He nodded and pushed the door open for me and the traffic blared as we stepped into the outdoor seating area. Two older guys occupied one of the tables, shoving tacos into their mouths. Another table housed a group of tween girls, delicately picking at the chips in front of them while sucking on the straws in their cups. A couple of them eyed West appreciatively. I didn't blame them.

  “So,” he said, sitting down on the bench. “Let's talk.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. West was great but he was still a guy. No tact. No easing into anything. He didn't want to beat around any bush, didn't want to work up to a conversation. He just wanted to go, full-steam ahead.

  “Well,” I said slowly, playing with my straw. “I've been thinking. A lot.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I know we have...options.” I took a long drink and the bubbles in the diet Coke made my nose tingle.

  “We do,” he agreed.

  Our number was called over the loudspeaker and West hopped up to grab our food. He returned a minute later, carrying a tray loaded with wrapped fish tacos. He set down two in front of me but I didn't make any move to touch them.

  He unwrapped one of his and took a big bite. “Where were we?”

  “Options.”

  He nodded. “Right. Options.”

  He waited and I didn't say anything.

  “Were you gonna tell me them or do I need to guess?”

  I felt the heat in my cheeks and I frowned. “Of course I'm going to tell you.”

  He took another bite and chased it down with a mouthful of soda.

  “Okay,” I began. “So I think I speak for both of us when I say I don't think we're ready to be parents.” I watched for a reaction from him but his expression remained neutral. “I mean, we're both in school. You've got baseball. I'm working.”

  “Right.”

  “And even though...” My voice trailed off. I took a deep breath and started again. “Even though I love you and I want to be with you—for forever—I don't think we're ready to settle down.”

  I couldn't bring myself to say 'get married.' Not
because we hadn't talked about it—we had—but because it just felt weird, talking about it in such a practical manner. When we talked about the future, it was like discussing a fairy tale, our own little happily ever after. We saw an intimate wedding on the beach, finding a little house or condo that was just ours, living a life that was our own version of perfection. There was an order to the dream, a beautiful, blissful idea of the way things were going to happen. I didn't want to have the realistic conversation, the one where we talked about an unplanned baby and should we or should we not get married and how we were going to tell our parents.

  “Okay,” he said. He crumpled up the wrapped and opened another taco. “So where does that leave us?”

  “I don't know,” I admitted. I took another drink. West's eyes were on me as he worked his way through his food, chewing thoughtfully.

  “It sounds like we only have one option, then,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “What?”

  He grabbed his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. “Well, you just said you're not ready to settle down. And you said you're not read to have a baby.”

  “I didn't say that.”

  “Yeah, you did.” I started to respond, then stopped. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. His eyes softened a little. “You can say it, Abs. It's not a dirty word.”

  “What isn't?”

  “Abortion.”

  “I know,” I said, but inwardly I shuddered.

  “A lot of people have them,” he said. “Because a lot of people are just like you. They're not ready.”

  “I'm not a lot of people,” I said stubbornly. “I'm me.”

  He nodded. “I know, sweetheart. But our situation isn't unique. And if getting an abortion is the best way to handle this, I'm in. I'll support you.”

  “So, you don't want it?” I asked.

  His eyes widened slightly and he shook his head. “I never said that.”

  “Don't want what?” a voice behind me asked.

  I whirled around. My twin sister, Annika, was standing there, a white Rubio's bag in one hand, a pair of car keys in the other.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

  She frowned. “Uh, getting dinner.” She held up the bag.

  “I didn't know you were home,” I said.