Forever Bound

by Deanna Roy

  We had a lot of late parties, and unexpected overnights in LA with my pills in San Diego. The blood drained out of me as I thought about just how often it had happened, and if that might have meant I missed too many.

  “How many can you miss and still be safe?” I asked.

  Dr. Alpern looked up over the paper tented on my knees. “Generally a missed pill here and there isn’t disastrous,” he said, “although it does put you at risk.”

  My heart started thumping. “What if you were sort of sketchy about taking it over a long period?”

  He paused, concentrating on the task of sticking random things in me for a minute. Then he withdrew and rolled back. “I’d say it’s time for a different form of birth control.”

  I sat up. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “There’s IUDs, patches, and the ring,” he said.

  “I’ll look them up,” I said. “I’ll decide before I do the annual exam.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” he said. “Do you think you could be pregnant?”

  “No, no way,” I said. But I felt a niggle of doubt. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  “When was your last period?”

  “A couple weeks ago, but it’s not late or anything. I haven’t—” I swallowed over the lump of fear in my throat. “I mean, I’ve only had the one time in like four months.”

  He patted my shoulder. “I’m sure you’re fine, then. Just watch for that period since things are a little uncertain.”

  I refused to even be concerned. I’m sure I was better than I thought I was with the pill. And I had taken it that morning of the party, I was sure of it. And every day since. Except maybe the morning of the viral video.

  Shit.

  “When will I hear about the test?” I asked.

  “Two days,” he said. “We’ll give you a call.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Dr. Alpern left and I bunched the paper sheet up in a ball. At least this part was over. Hopefully I would be all clear and could forget about Chance and this whole crazy weekend.

  Chapter 24: Jenny

  The break between the winter and spring quarters approached and I tried to decide how to spend it. My dad in Florida hoped I would fly out, but I really felt it was too late to get a plane ticket. It would be stupidly expensive and probably take off at some hideous hour when a party should end, not when you have to get up. Six a.m. or whatever.

  For some stupid reason, once my pictures dropped out of social media, I missed the shock and awe of popping on and seeing myself all over my feed. There was probably a diagnosis for this sort of behavior, but I didn’t care. The thing about being the center of your own world was that you could decide if you had gone too over the top.

  I had, and now it was over.

  I met Corabelle in the quad on the last day of class before the break. I was feeling fine since my screenings had been all clear. I’d dodged a bullet. It had been two weeks since my collision with Chance, and I was totally over it.

  So I kept telling myself.

  I lay back on the grass diamonds, my head on my backpack. The weather was superfine, and I had switched to cute little bare-shouldered shortie rompers and four-inch wedge sandals.

  I was ready for another man. Maybe, just maybe, I’d actually date this one a little.

  Maybe.

  Corabelle had her head stuck in a book. She had one last final to go. I’d taken it easy this quarter, and other than World Lit, I had nothing to study for. With only one last term to go, I should sail into graduation in June without too much trouble.

  “What are you and Gavin doing during the break?” I asked.

  Corabelle looked up. “I think we’re going to stay in Mexico for part of it.”

  “With the baby mama?” Corabelle’s husband had a baby with a woman from Tijuana. The little boy was four now.

  “No, just hanging out. We try to remember Manuel is from there, and to be comfortable with the culture.”

  “You are doing so much better than I would,” I said.

  Corabelle shrugged and flipped a page. “You deal with what life hands you sometimes.”

  “At least he’s cute,” I said.

  A pair of seriously hot undergrads with their shirts slung over their shoulders caught my attention.

  “Having trouble choosing?” Corabelle asked.

  “No need to have just one,” I said. “There’s time to spare these days.” I peered over my sunglasses at the boys, but they were engrossed in conversation and didn’t even notice me. Drat.

  And it was true. With Frankie out of my life, I had too little to do. My classes were easy. I was working barely ten hours a week as the manager started rotating me back into the schedule at Cool Beans.

  “You going to see your dad?” Corabelle asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s so awkward going there, and he’ll be up for graduation in a couple months anyway.”

  She nodded. “You should probably pick up some shifts at Cool Beans anyway, if you really want to keep the job. People will be grateful.”

  I shielded my eyes from the sun with an arm over my face. “Uggh, don’t remind me about our grunt job.”

  Corabelle pushed at me with her foot. “You should have planned ahead for when Frankie ended the contract.”

  “I know,” I said. “It was just so sudden.”

  “You didn’t have any idea he was dating someone?”

  “I don’t know, I guess,” I said. He had seemed happier there at the end. Didn’t matter. That life was past. Frankie’s movie premiere was in two weeks, and I didn’t even have tickets in the cheap seats.

  Now I was really depressed.

  Corabelle stood. “I have to get to this final. Let me know when you’re around next week. I’ll only be gone a couple of days.”

  I lifted my arm. “Will do.” The sun was starting to get to me. I sat up as Corabelle shoved her arms through the straps of her backpack.

  Immediately I felt hot and sick, a blast of nausea rising through me like a tidal wave.

  I rolled to one side, panting a little, trying to manage the sudden shock to my system.

  Corabelle knelt beside me. “You okay, Jenny?”

  I couldn’t answer. I pressed my hand to my mouth. I would not throw up in the quad. No way, no how.

  I breathed in and out, wondering when I got so sensitive to the sun. I felt overheated, like I’d been frying myself with baby oil on the beach.

  “You look really pale,” Corabelle said. “Did you eat something bad?”

  Maybe that was it. The cheese sandwich. The more I thought about it, the hot cheese curdling in my belly as I sat out in the glaring light of high noon, the more certain I felt that this was it.

  I calmed down, and this brought the misery down a notch. I managed to sit up. “I think it was the cheese,” I said.

  Corabelle nodded. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I could help you to your car.”

  I waved her off. “I’ll be fine.” To prove it, I got to my feet. “I’m done anyway. I was just hanging with you.”

  “Text me when you get home,” she said, concern creasing her brow.

  “I will.”

  She walked with me until she had to peel off toward her class. I continued on, feeling a little better with each step, until I got to my car. I opened the door and let the stuffy air out before I got in. Then I blasted air-conditioning on my face.

  That was better. I had no idea what had just happened, but it seemed to be over.

  Time to start my vacation.

  Chapter 25: Chance

  I was staring up at one of the wonders of the modern world, and I just wasn’t feeling it.

  Times Square buzzed with people. Giant screens flickered with color and light, advertising soft drinks and Broadway shows and trendy clothes.

  Ahead, the red steps were covered with tourists taking a rest. It was spring break for a lot of people, and New York was crazy since the weather was appa
rently good for this time of year.

  I’d been busking for days in the city, sometimes on street corners, other times in the subway. I had a bit of a cushion from Portland, which was good, since the outdoor gigs weren’t nearly as lucrative and everything in this town cost a fortune. I’d been living on vendor hot dogs.

  Maybe I looked wrong for the part. So many of the street musicians here were edgy. They had a certain style that got attention.

  I probably looked like a country boy farmhand who’d just left his mama.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I felt lost. I was world-weary. When I’d first arrived in the city, I’d loved it. Lights all the time. I could just wander, get caught up in the movement and sound. But now I wanted to sit a spell, talk to somebody. Everyone here had a place to go.

  I turned off the square and walked for blocks until the city quieted down. Here, cars lined the curbs bumper to bumper. Delivery trucks blocked the road, taking boxes down into basements via little caged lifts. If there was anything green or leafed out, it was in a pot or a planter.

  I headed toward Central Park, which always helped. I could sit on a bench by the pond, or watch kids run along the walks, and feel better. Of course, I had to fight the realization that what made it better wasn’t the trees and grass and water. It was the families. In the park, people didn’t hustle in high-end clothes or tourist garb. They talked and laughed and meandered a bit.

  The sun was out, so I unzipped my jacket and sat on a bench by the famous arch, picturing all the movie scenes I’d seen set there. I pulled out the crappy pay-by-the-minute phone I’d picked up after I sold my real one and dialed Charlie. She should just be getting off.

  “Hey, Chance,” she said, her voice as abrupt as always. She didn’t really like me, but she had sympathy, and that would have to be good enough.

  “Hello, Charlie,” I said. “Everything still okay over there?”

  “Sure. Hannah’s the same as always. Your mother is still visiting every day after work. Your aunt Gertie was here and seemed in a huff over something.”

  “Aunt Gertie is always in a huff over something.”

  Charlie laughed. “Nobody could take that woman in hand once your Gram died.”

  “Nope,” I said, relaxing with the talk of people and things that I knew, even if I’d left them behind for good reason. “And no man ever caught her either.”

  “Imagine if she’d had kids,” Charlie said.

  “Oh, let’s not,” I said.

  “You doing okay now that all the talk has died down about that girl in LA?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah. I’m anonymous here. Nobody knows that even happened.” A beetle headed toward my boot and I watched its slow progress across the sidewalk.

  “It’ll be a while before they stop talking about it here,” Charlie said. “You ever call that girl?”

  “No reason to call her,” I said. “Over and done.”

  “I’d like to give her a piece of my mind,” Charlie said.

  I smiled, amused. Charlie might profess to hate me, but she had my back. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what she was to me now. Growing up, she was the older girl who disapproved of everything I stood for. After the accident, when my sister ended up in her care, I realized she was the only person I really trusted.

  “You going to come home eventually?” Charlie asked. “You got to face all of this one of these days.”

  “Nothing to face,” I said. “You know I can’t go there without seeing Hannah. And you know I can’t see Hannah without wanting to…” I trailed off. We were rehashing old stuff we couldn’t do anything about.

  “I know,” she said. “But Hannah will turn eighteen in a couple months. Is that when you’re planning to head back?”

  I sighed. The beetle was caught on a rock. “Won’t do any good. Mother will get power of attorney and they’d take her wishes over mine anyway.”

  “You can fight her if you want, Chance. You should start now if you’re going to.” Charlie’s voice had a strident tone.

  I couldn’t summon the urgency to argue or the passion to agree. Distance had taken its toll. All I had left was the dull ache of regret. “Maybe Mom’s right about just letting it be.”

  The phone went silent for a moment. The beetle got over its rock, only to turn around and get caught on it again. Foolish creature.

  “Something changed you in LA, didn’t it?” Charlie asked. “Was it that girl? I thought she was just a fling.”

  “She was,” I insisted. But I could still close my eyes and smell the sea. The sand crunched under my feet. I cleared my throat. “It’s no big thing.”

  “Well, all right,” she said. “I’ll let you know if I see anything on our side, legally. If your mom starts paperwork.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  The line clicked. I held the phone against my ear another moment, then shut it off.

  The beetle started heading for me again. I watched its progress, wondering what I’d do if it started crawling up my leg. But when it got close, it turned and went another direction, as if I had some sort of force field around me, deflecting it.

  Maybe I did.

  I stood up. This country boy was all wrong for New York. I was glad to have seen it, but it was time to move on. I had a feeling I’d get a better reception in Virginia. So I’d head there next.

  Still a lot of country to see, and a lot of forgetting to do.

  Chapter 26: Jenny

  I was so screwed.

  I lined up the pair of pregnancy tests on the counter. I hadn’t summoned the courage to unwrap them yet. But after three days of nausea that came and went, and a couple trips to the toilet that had actually been productive in that department, I had a bad, bad feeling.

  My boobs hurt to touch. I knew these symptoms. All I needed to complete the stereotype was a craving for pickles and ice cream.

  Except I hated pickles.

  I sat on the toilet lid, staring at the tests. All I had to do was pee on them to know for sure. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had some little bug. My period was due. That was probably what the boob thing was about.

  But deep down, I knew. I had known since Dr. Alpern said I should have been out of pills. My carelessness was going to cost me. I should have gotten my act together before striking out on a boy quest.

  The white wrappers shined under the bathroom lights. I was torn between getting it over with and never taking one at all. Maybe I wasn’t up for facing facts.

  But I should know. I should stop taking the pill, if it was true. Figure out what I was supposed to do. Take vitamins or something.

  I’d been holed up since the first time I threw up. It was the second day of break, and Corabelle was in Mexico and Tina was working. I had to go in to Cool Beans in about an hour to work a shift. That was going to be awesome.

  I twirled the stick in a circle, like it was the center of spin the bottle. Stop here, baby. Stop there, no baby.

  If only.

  “Fine,” I said to the sticks. I tore the wrapper off one and pulled off the cap. Now what?

  I dug the instructions out of the box.

  Hold the end into the stream of urine for fifteen seconds.

  Fifteen? Did I even pee that long?

  I could also stick it in a cup of pee, but that seemed gross. I shoved my shortie pajama bottoms to the floor and tugged on my green flowered underwear.

  Panty dropping. I had a feeling this was NOT what they meant.

  I stuck the stick between my legs, but this made me not have to go. I sat there, swearing at my parts, insisting they cooperate. Still nothing.

  I reached over for the faucet, turning on the tap. “Sorry,” I said to the flow, and all of drought-ridden California, and the Water Board.

  Finally, a stream of pee came out of me. I held the stick, counting slowly, but the dang thing was saturated. I yanked it out and stuck the cap back on.

  Shoot. I should have read the res
t of the directions.

  Lay the test on a flat surface and wait fifteen seconds.

  Another fifteen. Had they done experiments to find the ideal time frame or was it just a random number? I pictured the marketing guys talking about it. “Hey, Joe, make sure they leave it long enough. Put in some crazy time frame so they won’t stop too early.”

  I braced myself on my elbows, watching the little window. The moisture began cutting across, setting off a red line. Was that it? A positive already? My chest tightened and I snatched at the instructions.

  No, it was just the control line. Two lines meant pregnant.

  I stared at the empty spot, willing it to stay blank. But it appeared, just a faint hint at first, like a mirage, then gaining color. Before it could fully develop, I picked up the stick and flung it across the room.

  This could not be happening.

  I pushed away from the counter and began pacing the entire apartment. Hall, bedroom, living, dining, kitchen, dining, living, hall, bedroom. Back and forth, again and again, as if maybe when I found another unexpected room, I could pass through a door into a life where this wasn’t happening.

  A baby. A BABY!

  I could barely take care of myself!

  I paced, again and again, front and back. The hour to leave for Cool Beans came and went. I got a phone call, but I ignored it. A coffee shop job wasn’t going to support a baby anyway.

  A baby!

  Even though I knew the tabloids no longer cared about me, I could see the headlines anyway.

  Movie tart pregnant with singer’s love child!

  Director devastated, destroys film negatives.

  Ha, whatever. It was all digital.

  Writing headlines always cheered me up. I sat on the sofa, picturing the spread. Me, with a Photoshopped belly. Frankie pictured in an oval, the words “SHOCKED AND ANGRY” angled over his head.

  Then something of the actresses. “Vanessa determined to win back the hunky crooner.” They’d have some old image of her looking pissed off.