by Cruise, Anna
Something flashed through her eyes that I couldn't read, but she went somewhere else for a moment and I wondered what she was thinking. But then she was back, her eyes focusing on me.
“I know,” she said. “I will.” Then she shook her head, irritated with herself. “We will.”
TWENTY-THREE
ABBY
“You're still here,” I said, surprised to see my dad at the office. “I figured you went home.”
I'd left West's because I still had work to finish at the office. And because I needed to think about what he'd said. He was right. We needed to make a decision. He'd made me think of Annika and how she'd waited so long the first time. I didn't want to be in that same position. We had to decide and live with the fallout, whatever that ended up being.
My dad sighed and leaned back in his chair. He removed his reading glasses and set them on the desk. Both of my parents had started wearing them within the last couple of years and it still freaked me out a little. They were like these visual reminders of their mortality. “Just wanted to finish up a couple more things.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“And I'm sorry I jumped all over you earlier today,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I was upset and taking it out on you. So I'm sorry.”
I sat down in the chair across his desk. “It's okay.”
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head. “We've got enough going on. I don't need to make it worse by chewing out my daughter for something that isn't a big deal.”
“It's okay, Dad.” I hesitated, debating whether or not I should bring it up. “Mom told me,” I finally said. “About the bloodwork.”
He took a deep breath. “Yep.”
“She was doing her thing,” I said. “Acting like it wasn't any big deal yet and that it would be fine.” I paused. “What do you think?”
His eyes were studying the ceiling. “I think I hate cancer.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“And I think this is what we get for being conservative with her treatment,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He sighed again and his eyes drifted from the office ceiling to me. “We had a choice with the first go-round. Treatment, I mean. We chose the least invasive method available.” His mouth tightened into a fine line. “We knew the risk in doing that. Now we're having to deal with it.”
“But the doctors said there was a good chance the treatment would work,” I said.
He shrugged. “Sure. But they were also very clear. There was a chance that it wouldn't work.” He paused. “So, here we are.”
“Mom talked about a mastectomy,” I said. “That she's considering it. That would be a good thing, right?”
“I honestly don't know,” he said, the lines deepening around his eyes. “If the cancer is back and contained there, yes. It would be a good thing. But if we screwed up and it's spread outside the area...” His voice trailed off.
Something that felt like a small block of ice settled into my stomach. I didn't like discussing my mother this way. It wasn't comfortable and it wasn't pleasant. And it wasn't imaginable. It didn't seem fair that we'd all taken a breath and relaxed when the initial treatment seemed to send the cancer into remission. The fact that it was possibly back was cruel, like Lucy showing Charlie Brown the football and then pulling it away.
My dad laid his hands on his desk. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be all doom and gloom. We need to be positive. For your mom and for us.”
I nodded but I wondered how easy that was going to actually be. Because I didn't see anything to be positive about.
“Anyway,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “How are you?”
Pregnant. Considering an abortion. Or having a baby out of wedlock. Thanks for asking.
“I'm alright,” I lied. “Just tired and a little stressed out.”
“Because of your mom?”
“Just...everything.”
“Things with West are alright?” he asked. “I need to get over and see a game.”
“Fine,” I said, quickly, not wanting to lie to him any more than I already had.
He nodded and I could tell that he wasn't really listening to me, which was okay. His mind was elsewhere and so was mine.
I stood. “I'm gonna go get some work done.”
“Okay,” he said. “I've got a bit more to do and then I'm gonna head home. I'll let you know when I go to leave.”
I went back to my desk and collapsed into the chair, the entire day sitting on my shoulders like two massive anvils. I was tired, confused, and on the verge of tears. Again. It felt like I hadn't a normal day in months. I just needed a day to breathe, to clear my head, to smile.
But I didn't see that day coming any time soon.
TWENTY-FOUR
WEST
“That page must be really interesting,” Griffin said.
He was sitting at the table, eating his way through a massive burrito. I was on the couch, my European history textbook on my lap.
“Why's that?” I asked.
“You haven't turned it in about fifteen minutes.”
“Maybe I'm memorizing something.”
He held the burrito to his mouth. “Or maybe you're full of shit.”
“Or that.” I closed the book and set it on the floor. I stretched out my legs on the couch, put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. “Too much shit right now.”
“The whole possibility of a West Junior entering the world thing?” he asked.
I showed him my middle finger.
He chuckled, took a big bite of the burrito and washed it down with a drink of whatever was in the cup next to the food. “Sorry. Just trying to add a little levity.”
“Not the right time.”
“Sorry. No decision yet?”
I shook my head. “None. And her mom's sick again.”
“The cancer shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Ugh. Not cool.”
It really wasn't. It was bad enough that we were in the midst of having to deal with the pregnancy, but getting that news tossed on top of it seemed like we'd pissed off whatever gods ruled the universe. I felt like we were due for a break, but weren't getting it.
“Is it bad?” Griffin asked, polishing off the burrito and balling up the foil wrapper.
“Don't know yet.”
He shot the make-shift ball into the trashcan near the kitchen counter. “And why no decision yet?”
“Because it's not like picking a restaurant for dinner.”
“I get that. But either you guys want to be parents or you don't. That's a pretty clear cut line, isn't it?”
“You'd think.”
“And sorry,” he said. “Not having been in the same spot, I don't want to assume shit and be wrong. But there's no gray area. You're either in or you're out.”
I nodded. “I agree. But it's harder to pick a side when you actually have to pick a side.”
He shrugged, then nodded, conceding that I had a point. Maybe.
“What would you do?” I asked.
He made a face. “I'm not sure I'm qualified to play pretend with this.”
“Why not?”
He kicked out one of the chairs at the table and set his feet on it. “Because I've never been where you're at.”
“On the couch?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Levity and all that shit,” I said.
“Right,” he said, his features relaxing a little. “No. What I mean is that I've never been in a relationship like you're in with Abby. I don't know what it's like to be with the person you say you're gonna be with for the rest of your life. That changes things. A lot.”
“So pretend,” I said. “Just pretend.”
He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, stared at me, then shrugged. “Okay. I'll pretend. I would not be ready to have a baby. Period.”
“Even if you were in a relationship and you knew you were gonna spend the re
st of your life with her?”
“Especially then,” he said. “Because I'd be afraid that having a baby before I was ready might just fuck the whole thing up. And I'd be thinking that there would be more chances.”
I wasn't sure I agreed with him. We were learning very quickly with Abby's mom that you sometimes ran out of chances, that you couldn't pretend that you always had time. But I knew what he was saying about having a baby before you were ready. Abby and I might've been certain about one another, but there were plenty of other things I could point to that weren't so certain.
Finishing school.
Jobs.
Baseball.
Money.
Fucking life in general.
“And, dude, if you're honestly thinking about playing pro ball...” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“...I can't imagine what that would be like. Because Abby would be left to do it all on her own while you're riding shitty buses across America, hoping to get called up to the next rung on the ladder.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not that I don't think you can't get there. I think you can. But doing it with another mouth to feed and another body to worry about? That's a hell of a lot different than if it's just you and Abby.”
He was right, of course, and I'd thought about that a lot. But I also had thought about how less important baseball had become since Abby learned she was pregnant. It was a grind. I wasn't having fun. I was worn out. And, yeah, my mind was elsewhere. But maybe it was something else, too.
Maybe a pro career wasn't what I wanted. It sounded glamorous and it had been the only thing I'd focused on since I was a kid. But as I'd gotten older and particularly since I'd met Abby, my priorities seemed to be changing. I didn't want to be apart from her—and being a professional athlete was going to mean huge chunks of time away. And whatever family we ended up having.
I'd gotten a taste of coaching and teaching by working at the academy. I was good at it, I liked it and it kept me connected to the game. It didn't offer the luxuries that a professional career might offer me, but it could give me something pro ball wouldn't ever be able to offer.
Abby. All the time.
“I'm not trying to be insensitive,” Griffin said. “I'm really not. And you know whatever you decide, I'll be there for you, dude. I just don't want you guys to do something because it's what everyone else wants.” He paused. “You need to make sure that whatever you guys do, you're doing it because it's what you want.”
I thought about Abby's words, about it possibly being her mom's only chance to be a grandmother. That was a powerful pull, no doubt. But I wasn't sure it was enough. Griffin was right. Whatever we decided, it couldn't be for anyone else.
It had to be for us.
TWENTY-FIVE
ABBY
I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan going round and round when Annika walked in without knocking.
“What are you doing?” she asked, brushing through her wet hair.
I didn't look at her. “Wondering why you don't knock.”
Her footsteps retreated and I shot a quick glance in her direction. But she didn't leave. She walked back to the door, rapped twice on it, then repeated, “What are you doing?”
I rolled my eyes. She was the last person I wanted to see or talk to. “Resting.”
She sat down on the edge of my bed and pushed my feet to the side, making room for herself. She wore sweats and a white tank top and I wondered how she'd been able to maintain a perfect tan with a full load of classes and all of her supposed sorority responsibilities.
“Ah, sleeping for two.”
I ignored her comment and pushed myself up. I leaned back against the pillows and headboard, studying her. “Did you take a shower here?”
“Yeah.”
“Don't you have your own room at the sorority house?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. But I didn't want to drive back.”
I thought for a moment. “Because of Mom?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I guess.”
“I have a bad feeling,” I admitted, voicing what I'd been thinking all day.
“That's because your hormones are all screwed up,” she said, pointing at my stomach. “You're thinking for two.”
“Jesus. Stop.”
She shrugged again and went back to running the brush through her hair. She'd cut a couple of inches off of it, added a few more layers, but it still felt like I was looking in the mirror as I watched her.
“What did she say to you?” I asked.
“The same she probably did to you,” she said. Her voice pitched a little higher, a sing-song quality to it. “Everything will be just fine and we aren't going to worry until there's something to worry about.” She shook her head in frustration and her voice returned to normal. “Just once, maybe we could all deal in reality.”
“What does that mean?”
She pulled the brush through her hair one more time, then dropped it on the bed. “It means that maybe everything isn't gonna be okay. It means that maybe the goddamn cancer is back.” Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “It means that maybe we all need to fucking prepare for something different than a happy ending.”
I swallowed against the lump of fear and panic that was lodged in my throat. I knew she was right. But just thinking about that kind of ending caused me to struggle to breathe.
She wiped viciously at the tears in her eyes, staring at her fingers, almost like she was pissed at herself for daring to cry. “Anyway. Happy, happy, joy, joy. I couldn't listen to it anymore, so I took a shower and came in here. I'm too tired to drive back to campus.”
I felt a tiny twinge of regret for being so pissed that she'd marched into my room. I probably would have done the same thing.
“And,” she said, her voice turning brisk, no-nonsense. “I wanted to know if you're going to take care of it.”
I knew what “it” meant. I sighed. “I don't know,” I mumbled.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why not?”
“Because I don't know,” I repeated stubbornly, folding my arms across my chest.
“You're not seriously thinking about having it, are you?”
I didn't respond, just stared at the folds in the comforter.
“Why the hell would you want a baby right now?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. When I didn't respond, she shook her head. “What the hell are you gonna do with it when you have class? Or when you wanna sleep with West?”
“Annika, I have no idea,” I said, exasperated. “I really don't. But I'm not ready to just...not have it.”
She leaned forward. “It's called an abortion. It's not a dirty word. You don't have to talk around it.”
I frowned at her. “We may look alike, but that doesn't mean we think alike.”
She grinned. “You'd be better off if you did think more like me.”
I sat up, irritated by her stupid smile. “Okay, smartass. Answer me this. Let's say the cancer is back and Mom doesn't have a lot of time left. What if this is her one and only chance to be a grandmother?” I saw her eyes widen and the smile disappear. “Maybe this is happening right now for a reason other than just because I was stupid.”
She started to say something, then closed her mouth, averting her eyes. She turned back to look at me, opened her mouth again, then closed it again.
“Speechless?” I asked. “Really? First time for everything, I guess.”
She pushed her hair back and cleared her throat. “Actually, that's a good point.”
“What? That there's a first time for everything?”
“No.” Her voice was soft. “That this could be her only chance.”
The lump that had taken up residence in my throat slid down into my gut.
“Not that you should have the little diaper rat because of that,” she said. “But still. I hadn't thought of that.”
I laid my hand across my stomach, more to stem the nervousness and anxiety than anything else. But my thoughts instantl
y turned to what was inside of me. I couldn't feel anything but I knew there was something in there, something West and I had made. The lump of fear turned into something else. Because I didn't honestly know if I could go without ever seeing it.
We sat in silence, both of us lost in thought. I stole a quick glance at my still-flat stomach. Annika and West were both missing one of the things I'd tried to articulate about chances. Yes, I was thinking about my mom. But I was also thinking about me. What if I never got pregnant again? What if this was my one chance to have a baby? With my mom, we were all seeing it up close and personal. Nothing was promised. We weren't immortal. We didn't always get the time we thought we had. We didn't always get the opportunities we took for granted
Having the baby wasn't just about her.
It was about me, too.
Annika stood and grabbed her brush. “I'm going to bed.”
“Okay.”
She walked to the door, put her hand on the knob, then turned around. She wore a satisfied smile and I waited for the parting shot she always seemed to take. “I work cheap.”
I squinted at her. “What?”
“If you have the goddamn baby and need a babysitter.” She opened the door. “I work cheap.”
TWENTY-SIX
WEST
“I think I made up my mind,” Abby said.
We were sitting on my couch, the morning after my horrific practice. I'd had a hard time sleeping, thinking about Abby and parenting and baseball and her mother and everything in between. I'd stared at the ceiling for most of the night. When she texted me early and asked if she could come over, I was grateful for the reason to get up.
And now she was telling me she'd made a decision.
“I mean, unless you thought any more about it,” she said quickly.
My arm was behind her on the sofa and my fingers were playing with her hair. “I've thought about it, Abs. I'm not sure I've really thought about anything else. But, no. I didn't come to a so-called decision one way or the other.”