The Day We Met

by Dusti Bowling

  “Stop it!” I screamed, finally finding my voice.

  Brittany jumped back in surprise. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “What’s the matter with you? This is not some infection I can just take antibiotics for and get it over with!” The anger that had been festering inside me over the last month burst wide open. “Please leave.”

  “Lenna— ”

  “Get out!” I screamed.

  Brittany stormed out of the bathroom, but before she had finished storming out of my house, she shouted, “Don’t forget you owe me seven dollars, you slut!”

  Chapter 4

  I had to tell my parents. They would understand. Wouldn’t they? Probably not. No, they would understand. After all, they had been sixteen at one time too. But they hadn’t been having sex at that time. Or maybe they had. Or maybe they had both been virgins when they got married, just like they had always told me. Or maybe they were lying—in my best interest, of course—so as not to influence me to make bad decisions. I guess that hadn’t worked out so well for them.

  I held over a hundred of these back-and-forth conversations in my head during the twenty-four hours leading up to the biggest confession of my life. It was enough to drive a person crazy, especially an already-on-the-brink-of-insanity, hormonal, nauseated, pregnant teenager.

  I decided I would just write them a letter. No, I changed my mind. That would be the cowardly thing to do. Email? No, that was worse. Text? I didn’t have a cell phone. Morse code? If only. I had no choice but to tell them in person. And when they asked about the father, what would I tell them? That was the most shameful part; the father wasn’t someone I loved or even liked. I couldn’t stand him. He wasn’t a good guy, the type of guy my parents would embrace. He was a jerk. His best quality was his looks, and from what I could tell, that was his only good quality. They would be as disgusted with me as I was with myself.

  I readied myself for the conversation by pacing my room all day, talking to myself in the mirror, and lying on the bed while I smothered my face with the old flower pillow my grandma gave me on my eighth birthday. The one thing I should have been doing, the thing I should have been doing for a long time, was praying, but for some reason I kept choosing to face everything alone. To suffer alone. To make bad choices alone.

  My parents had gone shopping for new Christmas lights, giving me plenty of time to torture myself until they returned. I knew they would spend hours debating whether colored lights were too tacky or clear lights were too boring. If I was really lucky, they would bring home lights shaped like candy canes and stars—tacky was never really an issue in the end.

  Just as I was about to go through another round of screaming into my pillow, I heard car doors slam. I got up and peeked through my window blinds just in time to see my dad hauling a giant plastic manger out of the back of the truck. I assumed a plastic baby Jesus, Mary, and perhaps some wise men were in there somewhere.

  Just as my dad managed to get the manger completely out, he slipped on the ice. He was able to catch himself on the side of the truck before totally going down, but lost his grip on the manger, sending it down the driveway, rolling and bouncing, probably getting dented all over. I could see baby Jesus already inside it, going for a ride. I couldn’t help but giggle as my dad slipped clumsily down the driveway after it.

  I knew it was time now. The longer I waited, the harder it would be and the worse I would feel. I went downstairs. I heard my mom come in through the kitchen door, laughing.

  “Hey!” she said as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Hey.” I smiled. “I saw dad drop the manger. I hope it isn’t ruined.”

  “Oh, it’s fine.” She laughed and dropped about nine plastic bags onto the table.

  “What kind of lights did you get?” I rummaged through the bags.

  “Some colorful and some clear. We couldn’t decide, so we got both. And some of those icicle lights too.”

  “It looks like you cleared out the store.” I pulled a strand of mini Chinese lanterns out of a bag. “You’re going all out this year.”

  “Aren’t those great? It will be like a Chinese Christmas around here.”

  “I don’t think the Chinese celebrate Christmas.” I absentmindedly untwisted the lanterns.

  “Are you kidding me?” my mom cried out, startling me. “Almost everything we bought today was made in China!”

  I smiled at her and continued untwisting the lanterns.

  Just then, my dad entered the house, limping. “Everything’s okay. I rescued the manger,” he said like he had just rescued the President from an assassination attempt.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?” my mom asked, frowning and putting her hands on her hips in an accusing manner. He had obviously misbehaved by possibly injuring himself during his heroic rescue mission.

  “Oh nothing.” He stretched his leg out. “Just pulled a muscle, I think.”

  My mom rolled her eyes. “You are such an old man. Can’t even walk down the driveway without pulling a muscle.”

  I couldn’t get up the nerve to tell them right then in the middle of their playful banter, and I still didn’t know what I would say when I finally did get up the nerve. I decided to wait until after we’d eaten dinner—they would probably be less cranky if their blood sugar was stable.

  Dinner was quiet—at least on my part it was. My mom must have asked me ten times why I was being so quiet, making it difficult for me to quietly concentrate on what I wanted to say to them after dinner.

  I helped my mom clean the kitchen afterward, and just as she finished wiping down the countertops, I stood in front of her shaking and told her I needed to talk to her and dad.

  She looked at me. “Okay, go get your dad.”

  I walked into the den. He was already at his computer—he always worked on the weekends. “Dad,” I said too low for him to hear. I cleared my throat. “Dad.”

  He looked up from his work. “Yeah?”

  “I need to talk to you and mom.”

  “Oh.” He looked back at his monitor. “Can you give me a few minutes?”

  It had taken so much nerve just to tell them I needed to talk to them, I couldn’t bear the thought of having to do it again later. “No, I can’t,” I said as tears formed in my eyes. “I need to talk to you right now.”

  “What’s wrong?” He gave me his full attention now.

  “Please,” I pleaded. “Just come into the living room with me.”

  He followed me into the living room, where my mom already sat, upright and at attention. My dad sat down beside her, and they looked at each other. She shrugged. They turned their attention to me. I had the floor.

  I didn’t sit down. I felt like I needed to be standing to tell them this. I guess it was like a survival instinct or something. So I just stood there. And stood there.

  “So, what is it?” my dad asked.

  My mom poked him. “Ben, let her have a minute. It’s obviously something really important.” She turned her attention back to me. “Is it something bad or something good?”

  I cleared my throat. “Something bad.”

  “Very bad or just a little bad?” my dad asked.

  “Very bad.”

  “Like, really super huge very bad or just a little very bad?” my dad asked, and my mom rolled her eyes at him. “What?” He threw his hands in the air. “I’m just trying to get an idea of how many antacids I’m going to have to take tonight.”

  “Sweetie.” My mom stood up and put her arms around me. “Whatever it is, you can tell us. We love you no matter what.” She hugged me to her. I cried in her arms until her shoulder was wet and my dad looked like he was about to nod off.

  “Okay,” I said and sat down on the couch beside them. “Okay, I’ll just say it then. I’ll just say it!” I repeated with more gusto.

  “Alrighty then!” my dad responded with just as much gusto.

  Then, I just said it: “I’m pregnant.”

  So I could actually see
the color drain from both of their faces at the same time, as though someone had stuck a massive leach on top of each of their heads and it just totally sucked all the blood out. And they just sat there, staring at me, white-faced, mouths open, eyes looking like they were getting ready to roll back in the sockets.

  “That’s impossible!” my mom declared finally, leaping off the couch to her feet. “You’re not even having sex!” She pointed her finger down at me. It was more a command than a statement of fact.

  “Naomi, I think this means she is having sex,” my dad said, never taking his deeply troubled eyes off me.

  “I’m so sorry.” I returned my dad’s stare. “It was a huge mistake.”

  “Oh, really?” my mom asked, her arms now folded in an angry stance. “So how long have you been sexually active?”

  I shook my head vigorously. “I’m not sexually active.”

  Now, my mom is the sweetest, most loving person I know, but she has a brutal temper; I was already bracing myself for the onslaught. “What are you telling us?” she asked, pretending to be perplexed, scratching her chin. “This is a virgin birth? Are we going to be buying giant, plastic, light-up Lennas to put in the front yard for now on?”

  “Naomi,” my dad said, sounding weary. “Please calm down. Maybe we should just let her explain what happened because right now, I feel completely in the dark.” His voice cracked.

  “I’m sorry, dad,” I said again. I felt like this was all I was capable of saying anymore. “I made a huge mistake.”

  “You said that already, Lenna,” my mom snapped at me. “No need to keep stating the obvious.” She slumped back down on the couch. “Help us, Lord. What are we going to do?”

  My dad ignored my mom’s histrionics and pleas for help. He kept his focus on me. “How long have you been having sex?” he asked.

  “I only had sex once.” I hoped they would believe me, but I had lied so much over the last few months. I was the girl who cried wolf. There really was a wolf, I swear. And I had sex with him.

  “How do we know that’s true? I’m not even sure we know who you are right now!” my mom exclaimed.

  “Because it is true!” I cried. “I swear, I only had sex one time. I can’t believe this is happening to me because of one time!”

  “Lenna,” my dad said, the only one managing to maintain his composure in this discussion. “You have to understand why your mom might not believe you. And the fact that you feel the need to swear to your word like that to make people believe you... We should just be able to trust you.”

  “I know.” I stared down at my hands. “I’m so ashamed of myself. I have lied in the past. But I’m telling the truth now. When I went to that Halloween party with Brittany, I lied. There were no parents there. And I lied a couple of times before that about where I was going. Instead of going to the mall, I went to a party at Luke Marshall’s house. I also lied about going to youth group one night. I haven’t gone since the beginning of the school year.” It was such a relief to expose myself, to get all the lies out like they had been poison in my system and I had finally found the antidote.

  My mom shook her head and cried as she listened to my confession. “Whatever happened to my little girl?”

  “I’m sorry, mom. I just made a mistake.”

  “Who’s the father?” my dad asked. “Is he someone we know?”

  “No, you don’t know him.” I looked hesitantly at my parents. “And he doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”

  “What’s his name?” my dad asked.

  “Aidan Bettner.”

  “Aidan Bettner…” my dad repeated. “Doesn’t he play for the basketball team?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He plays for all the teams.”

  “He’s a senior, right?” my dad asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “We have to tell him,” my mom blurted out. “He and his parents have to know.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you first. I just found out yesterday myself.” I studied their faces. I couldn’t stand the disappointment I saw in them. “I want you to know,” I tried to hold it together, “I’m still your same daughter. I’m still Lenna. I just got caught up in something. I just got… lost. I really liked Aidan, and I thought he liked me too. I was wrong.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “He didn’t like me at all.”

  “Did he force himself on you?” my dad asked, the blood rushing back into his face as disappointment turned to anger. “If he hurt you—”

  “No, dad,” I said, trying to push those thoughts out of his head as fast as I could. “I mean, no, he didn’t force himself on me.”

  My dad calmed down. “Thank God.”

  My mom got up, left the living room, and came back ten seconds later with the phone in her hand. “What’s his number?”

  Chapter 5

  I was embarrassed I didn’t know the father of my baby’s telephone number; we had to look it up in the school directory. My dad called Aidan’s house. We all agreed he was the most level-headed at the moment.

  I hid on the stairway landing as I listened to the telephone conversation that eventually led us to where we were now: sitting in my living room—again—with Aidan and both his parents, all looking at me like I was the devil.

  “How do we even know Aidan is the father?” Aidan’s jewelry-bedecked mother asked, twisting a giant gold bracelet around her wrist until red marks marred her skin.

  “Lenna was a virgin when she had sex with your son,” my mom said, evidently offended at the comment but trying hard to remain calm. “And she hasn’t had sex with anyone since.”

  “How do we know that’s true?” Aidan’s mom asked, and I thought her wrist may actually start bleeding at any time.

  “Because she told us and we believe her,” my dad said. I smiled at him, and he reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. “She’s not a liar. And she doesn’t sleep around. She’s a good girl.”

  “And Aidan is a good boy,” Aidan’s dad retorted, and the room erupted into a torrent of accusations and name-calling. All through the cacophony of angry parents, I glared at Aidan, but he wouldn’t make eye-contact with me.

  “Why doesn’t she just get an abortion?” Aidan’s mom shouted through the commotion, silencing the room. Everyone looked at her. “Come on. You know that’s what everyone’s thinking but doesn’t want to say.” She glanced nervously at my parents’ angry faces, probably seeking out some kind of confirmation to alleviate her distress.

  “That most certainly is not what everyone is thinking,” my mom finally responded, and the room erupted into another round of fighting.

  “I’m not getting an abortion,” I finally said, but no one heard me over the noise. “I’m not getting an abortion!” I said much louder this time, and everyone stopped to stare at me. Even Aidan. “That’s not even an option.”

  “My son’s not going to give up his bright future just because he made a stupid mistake!” Aidan’s dad spoke directly to me. “He’s already been awarded several basketball scholarships, and you—”

  “Watch your mouth when you’re talking to my daughter, Mr. Bettner.” My dad’s stern voice cut Mr. Bettner off before he could say whatever nasty thing he was about to.

  “Well, perhaps there’s nothing to worry about anyway,” Aidan’s mom said. Everyone looked at her questioningly. She pushed a strand of bright blond hair away from her eyes and cleared her throat. “I mean, it is early in the pregnancy. Things can happen and—”

  “What a disgusting thing to say,” my mom interrupted. “It’s as though you’re wishing for something to happen.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?” Aidan’s mom defended herself in a loud voice.

  “I’d like to talk to Aidan alone, if that’s okay?” I cut in. I didn’t direct my question at anyone specifically. Nothing was actually being accomplished here. I thought maybe getting Aidan alone would help me figure out what his real intentions were.

  He walked with me outside to the fr
ont porch and into the cold December night air. We sat down on the bench my dad still hadn’t put away for the winter. I shivered.

  If I were a season, I would be winter.

  I hadn’t thought to put on a jacket, and he didn’t offer me his, not that I expected it.

  “What do you want from me, Lenna?” Aidan blurted out. “If it is my baby, I’m not ready to be a full-time daddy to anyone, so you can just put that thought out of your mind.”

  I stared at him, but he stared out at the darkness. “You know I was a virgin, Aidan. It’s your baby and you know it.”

  “So what do you expect me to do about it?”

  I sniffed and wiped my already running nose. “Nothing. I expect nothing from you.”

  “This whole thing could just go way if you would just get an abortion.”

  “I knew you would want that. But this is a baby, not just a thing. You can forget about it because it’s not going to happen. Ever.” I stared at him intently.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Are you punishing me?”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t about you. It’s about a baby.”

  “You’re so angry because I didn’t want to be your boyfriend. That’s what this is about. Well, I’m sorry I didn’t make a lifelong commitment to you just because we had sex. Why don’t you grow up?”

  “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to grow up. I want to take responsibility for this.”

  “Why do you have to take me down with you?” Aidan shouted. “Geez Lenna, it’s not like I raped you. You happily had sex with me.”

  “No, you didn’t rape me,” I agreed. “I would never accuse you of that. I did voluntarily have sex with you. But not happily. Please don’t ever say happily.”

  “Oh, okay. So if you really didn’t want to, then why did you do it?”

  “Peer pressure,” I snorted, aware of the cliché. But that didn’t make it any less true.