The Day We Met

by Dusti Bowling

  I looked at my mom, who had an absolute look of terror on her face. “Mom?”

  She looked at me, immediately changing her expression. “It’s okay, honey.” She smiled. “A cleft palate is not a big deal. I knew a boy in school who had a cleft lip that had been repaired. He just had a scar.” She pointed to her upper lip. “Just a tiny scar.”

  “But what about the extra finger?” I asked, my insides a twisted mess. My mom shook her head. She obviously couldn’t think of anything to say about that.

  I looked back at the sonographer, who was busy putting her equipment away. I could tell there were other things on the ultrasound she didn’t want to tell us about.

  “So the heart looked okay, though? Right?” I asked. “You never did tell us about the heart.”

  She wouldn’t look at me anymore. “I’m sure the radiologist will put it all in his report,” she assured me. “I’m really not supposed to make any sort of diagnosis. I just take the pictures.” She left the room, and as soon as she was gone, I broke down crying.

  ~ ~ ~

  I cried all the way home despite Heather’s attempts at comforting me in the backseat. I knew I was being completely melodramatic. After all, we didn’t have any real information at all—the sonographer had only said she thought the baby had a cleft palate. And I was sure an extra finger wasn’t fatal or anything like that. Other than that, she hadn’t told us anything at all. I would have liked to punch her in the face for putting me in this state.

  “I’m sure the baby’s heart is fine.” Heather attempted to soothe me. “She didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. Actually, I don’t think they’re supposed to interpret the images at all. The radiologist does that.” She stroked my head. “And when he does, you’ll find out your baby is just fine. Maybe it might need a minor surgery of the mouth. And she might have been wrong about the hand. It was so tiny, I could hardly see it. And anyway, that’s no big deal.”

  “I know.” I continued my sobbing. “But what if it’s a big deal to the adoptive parents?”

  “Then we’ll just pick different ones,” my mom said.

  Heather continued stroking my head and shhhing me until we reached my house. As soon as we were in the door, my mom headed to her room—presumably to call my dad and tell him all the gory details—and Heather walked with me up to my room.

  I lay down on my bed, and Heather lifted the covers over me. “Thanks.” I snuggled the covers up to my chin.

  “I’m going to go so you can get some rest.” She patted my head. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.” She ran out of my room and was back about thirty seconds later, breathing heavily. “Here.” She handed me an envelope. “Just open it when you feel like it.” She kissed the top of my head and left.

  As soon as she was gone, I tore the envelope open and pulled out the card inside. Happy Valentine’s Day was printed on the front surrounded by pink and red hearts. Heather had written on the inside that she hoped I had a wonderful day. I closed it and buried my head back in my pillow.

  A minute later, my mom knocked on my door and opened it without waiting for a response from me. “Lenna,” she said hesitantly.

  “I’m okay.” I didn’t feel like talking.

  “Do you want to go to the movies later?”

  I sat up. “What?” I wondered whether I had heard her correctly.

  “It’s just that, I don’t want the whole day to be ruined. We can still have a nice time together.”

  “It’s just another day.” I lay back down. “Valentine’s Day doesn’t hold any special meaning for me at all.”

  She stood in the doorway for a long time before finally saying, “Okay.” She shut the door, leaving me to spend Valentine’s Day alone with my depression.

  When I told her Valentine’s Day didn’t hold any special meaning for me, I hadn’t exactly been telling the truth. The truth was I didn’t want it to hold any special meaning for me because if it did, that would make me even more pitiful and lonely, spending another night lying in bed when everyone else was out at dinner, movies, parties. Instead, I was left to fret alone about the baby I never should have been carrying. Sure, my mom was there with me, but she wasn’t who I wanted just then.

  I longed to see Will, and not just because of some stupid, meaningless holiday. I wished we could finish our conversation that had ended so badly that afternoon. I wanted to ask him how he felt and whether he thought he could ever care for me again after what I had done. I still cared for him.

  As I lay there and thought about Will, the feelings of isolation and loneliness became overwhelming. I tried to think about something else, but my mind always went back to him. I started thinking about last Valentine’s Day and all the ones before it we had spent together. I figured it to be a total of twelve Valentine’s Days—if I counted today—the first one having been in Kindergarten.

  I still had all the different cards and gifts he had given me stuffed somewhere in my closet—everything from a flimsy, pink stuffed puppy to a bouquet of artificial roses. Last year he had given me real flowers, so those wouldn’t be in the closet. When he had given them to me, I had viewed the gift as one a boy might give his mom. After all, I was his oldest friend. Now I wasn’t so sure that was how he had meant them.

  And that was when I realized Will never, ever, had a girlfriend. I mean, it wasn’t like he was ugly. I thought about his light brown hair and how it was always somewhat messy but soft. I could picture his hazel eyes and perfect skin. Actually, he was cute. Why had I not realized this before? I guess it was because I had seen him every day of my life for about twelve years. After a while, he just looked to me like I imagined a brother might look. But he didn’t act brotherly toward me. Not at all. And now we had had nearly six months of separation, which seemed to be bringing some clarity to things for me.

  I rolled over onto my side, grunting and pulling the covers over myself. Had he been hoping all along that one day I would be his girlfriend? Had he been waiting all this time for me? If that were the case, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what a disappointment I was to him right now. I bet he wished I had been out of his life a long time ago.

  I contemplated calling him right then and telling him everything that had just run through my mind. I knew he wouldn’t answer the phone, though. I loathed Caller ID. I could go over to his house and knock on his window, but I would seem like a crazy stalker—a crazy, pregnant stalker. How creepy.

  And then I found myself thinking about what I had gotten him for Valentine’s Day last year. The answer wouldn’t come to me, and I knew exactly why—because I had gotten him nothing. As soon as those silly Valentine’s Day cards all the kids handed out in elementary school had become childish, I had never gotten him anything again. This was the first year he finally returned the sentiment.

  Chapter 11

  “Dr. Levin called,” my mom told me, and I felt my heart stop. She stared at me like she was waiting for me to start breathing again. I finally took a deep breath and waited for her to drop the bomb.

  “He wants us to come in today,” she said.

  I immediately started shaking. “That means there’s something wrong.”

  “No, it doesn’t. It just means he wants us to come in today.”

  I looked at the clock—it was already three-thirty. “When?”

  “Right now.”

  “Okay.” I dropped my backpack on the table—I had just walked in the door from school. Welcome home, Lenna.

  I tried to distract myself during the car ride over there, and I knew my mom was doing the same. She kept rambling on about this ridiculous candle party she was invited to.

  “Who wants to spend a whole evening looking at candle catalogues?” she asked rhetorically. “And who wants to spend thirty dollars on a stupid candle anyway?” She shrugged and shook her head as though truly bewildered.

  “I don’t know, mom,” was my only reply. I didn’t know who would want to spend thirty dollars on a candle. Certainly n
ot me—not when there was something wrong with my baby.

  Stop it, I scolded myself, trying to remember to think of something else. There was no point in dwelling on it when we didn’t know anything for certain.

  By the time we had finally pulled into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, my mom had convinced herself she should go to the candle party. And I had convinced myself of the worst.

  After entering the waiting area, my mom told the receptionist we were to be seen immediately, even though we didn’t have an appointment, like we were VIPs or something. Amazingly, we only waited five minutes before they called us back. I wasn’t sure whether to take this as a bad sign or a good sign. Bad—something was seriously wrong and they had to tell us right away. Good—nothing was wrong and they wanted to alleviate all of our fears right away. I just couldn’t decide no matter how much I pondered it.

  The nurse took us straight to Dr. Levin’s private office, where he had given me all of the information about my pregnancy during my first visit. We sat down in the same chairs at the front of his desk. Again, I tried to deduce whether this meant something was wrong. Why hadn’t we just gone into a regular room?

  The nurse left us, and Dr. Levin appeared a moment later. “Lenna,” he said. “Mrs. James.” He moved behind his desk to sit down.

  My mom nodded her hello. “Why are we here?” she asked before his butt was even in the seat.

  He took a deep breath.

  Oh, this is bad, I thought. It’s very bad.

  “Lenna,” he began. “There were some things on your ultrasound—”

  “Like what?” I asked, but Dr. Levin just stared at me. “Like what?” I repeated.

  “I can’t say for sure right now. Probably nothing—”

  “What do you mean?” I interrupted him again. “The tech said it looked like my baby had extra fingers and a cleft palate.”

  The doctor smiled. “We’re not completely sure of anything right now.”

  “When will you be sure?” My heart raced and I felt like I was starting to sweat, but my nervousness would not deter me from trying to find out what the heck was wrong with the baby inside of me.

  “Lenna, just take a deep breath and relax,” he said. I despised him for talking to me in such a condescending way. “I don’t want you getting yourself all worked up when we don’t know anything for certain just yet.”

  If I wanted to get worked up, I would get worked up. “It’s a little late for that,” I said. “Please just tell us the truth.”

  “The truth is I would like to do a level two ultrasound. Then we will have a better idea of what is going on.” He rubbed his forehead. “And I’d like to do an amniocentesis.”

  “You mean the test that checks for Down syndrome?” my mom asked, her eyes wide and full of fear.

  “Yes,” he said. “But I don’t think your baby has Down syndrome. We’ll be able to check for other chromosomal disorders as well.”

  “What do you think my baby has?” I gripped the front of his desk.

  “I thought she was too young for things like this,” my mom said.

  The doctor sat back in his chair and sighed. “Because of her age, the possibility of her baby having a chromosomal disorder is very low but not impossible.” He looked at me. “I just want to check everything right now so that we can give the baby the best care possible. We’ll be able to rule out anything serious. You understand, don’t you, Lenna?”

  My head whirled. My knuckles were white from gripping the desk. I didn’t have any choice. “Of course.”

  “Good,” he said, as though anything in this situation were truly good.

  ~ ~ ~

  I went home that night, my abdomen cramping and my brain nearly imploding from the horror of the four inch needle that had been stuck into me. The doctor told me to lie down for the rest of the night. I assured him that would be no trouble—no trouble at all. Lying down was becoming my favorite pastime.

  The stinking doctor made me wait nearly two more weeks before going in for my second ultrasound. He tried to explain to me how sensitivity would be higher after eighteen weeks or whatever, but all I heard was blah, blah, blah, I’m a big jerk. Apparently, it was also going to take a couple of weeks for the results of my amniocentesis to come back. Things were going to slug along no matter what I wanted.

  I lay in bed that night, wondering what the tests would reveal about my baby, whether my baby would no longer be deemed adoptable if the tests revealed something serious. Wondering whether I might have a nervous breakdown at any moment. I thought there was a good chance.

  Chapter 12

  The day of my second ultrasound finally arrived, and I was filled with a mixture of relief and dread—relief that this was all almost over and dread at what we might discover. My mom was much more cheery after having met with the doctor—she didn’t see any reason to worry when we still didn’t have any solid evidence that anything was wrong with the baby. I wished I could agree with her, but something within me kept screaming that something was wrong. And the scream was getting louder every day.

  The sonographer who did my second ultrasound barely talked to me through the whole thing. Every time I asked him a question, he just smiled and said, “Your doctor will explain everything to you after he and the radiologist evaluate the films,” like he had rehearsed it a thousand times. It was fortunate the ultrasound ended when it did because I was this close to pummeling him.

  “Would you like to go out for lunch?” my mom asked me on the way home from the hospital.

  “No,” I sighed.

  “Would you like to go do something fun to take your mind off of things?”

  “No.”

  I could see her struggling to find something else to badger me with. “Would you like…” she trailed off, no doubt considering anything she could to get me out of this funk. “Would you like to go shopping?”

  “No thanks.”

  She finally gave up and was quiet the rest of the way home.

  My dad was waiting for us as we walked through the door. “So?” he asked. “What did they say?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Absolutely nothing.” I moved toward the stairs. I paused before I reached them and looked back at my dad. “What are you doing home today?”

  He looked bewildered. “I thought maybe we would do something nice today considering—”

  “No thanks,” I said and ran up the stairs to my room. The last thing I wanted was a day full of my parents trying to pretend like nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.

  I lay in bed, staring out my window at the grayness of winter, wondering when I would be able to feel my baby moving. My mom had told me some women can feel it as early as thirteen weeks. Now I was nineteen weeks and still nothing. Did this mean something? Something terrible? But the sonographer had seen a beating heart on the ultrasound—whatever kind of heart it may be, at least it was beating.

  “Lenna.” A voice interrupted my reverie.

  I looked up at the voice to find Heather standing in my doorway. “Hi,” I said and started crying.

  “Oh, Lenna.” She moved to my bed and threw herself on top of me. “Don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it,” I said stubbornly. “I’m hormonal.”

  She giggled. “I’m sorry.” She put a hand over her mouth. “I don’t think it’s funny at all. It’s just the way you said it.”

  I cried harder. “I just want everyone to leave me alone!”

  Heather sighed. “Not today.”

  “Why not?” I pushed away from her. “Today is as good a day as any, and I just want to be alone,” I said, aware I sounded like a child throwing a tantrum.

  She gave me the same bewildered look my dad had given me. “I’m under strict orders to kidnap you.”

  “Oh, no,” I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You just want to lay in bed, crying all day?”

  Caught. I gave her a mean look. “So what if I do?”

  “Nope
.” She shook her head. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll see,” she said in a sing-song voice.

  “Oh is it top secret?” I asked sarcastically.

  “Very.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Going to the mall is top secret?” I asked, frowning at her as we walked through a department store.

  She laughed. “I had to find some way to arouse your curiosity.”

  “Oh, you aroused something, but I wouldn’t call it curiosity.” I glared at her.

  “There is one thing you may be interested to know.” She gave me a sly smile, one eyebrow raised.

  “I’m on the edge of my seat,” I said in a monotone voice. “Oh please tell me before I burst.”

  “Ta-da!” She flashed a credit card at me.

  “You’re finally old enough to get a credit card.”

  “And you’re going to help me make my first purchase.”

  I looked at the old lady clothes lining the walkway of the department store. “Not here, I hope.”

  She shook her head. “Oh no, not here. Waist-banded pants aren’t really my style. You on the other hand…” She reached over and snapped the band of my sweat pants.

  I slapped her hand away. “It’s not like I have a choice. It’s not the result of a corrupt sense of style.”

  “I don’t know,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “I think you’ve just been looking for an excuse to wear waistbands for quite some time now.”

  “So that explains everything,” I said as we finally made our way out of the department store and into the main area of the mall. “All this time, I’ve been wondering how in the world I could let this happen, and all this time the answer was right there in front of me—waistbands!”

  “Waistbands and poofy shirts,” Heather added.

  I cringed. “What store do you want to hit first?”

  Heather motioned us toward the clothing store that used to be my favorite. I sulked as we entered it, knowing I wouldn’t be able to buy anything for two reasons: one, I wouldn’t fit in anything. And two, I didn’t have any money.