by Naomi Kramer
On Tuesday afternoon I almost don't go. It's a stupid idea, I've realised. Mrs Jansen is nice and all, and she'll try, but how the heck is she going to understand this stuff? This is a woman whose baddest moment was probably telling a lie to her mother about who drank the last of the milk. I'm just going to freak her out, and she'll try to hide it, and I'll know anyway and end up feeling worse. But as I'm walking out of school, Lisa walks past and sneers at me, and somehow I end up on the Jansen's doorstep, ringing the doorbell.
“Maisy! You came!” Mrs Jansen says after flinging open the door.
“Hi,” I say, trying to smile.
“Bad day?”
“Moderate,” I say.
She smiles, ushers me into the lounge, then bustles around the kitchen boiling the kettle and cutting cake.
“Coffee, tea or milo?” she calls.
“Got any decaf?” I call back.
“Sure do!” she says, and bustles some more.
Soon we're sitting down with full, hot cups and a slice of cake each.
“So how's school going?” she says, frowning, “it can't be easy for you right now?”
Whoops, straight into it, huh?
“It kinda sucks,” I admit, “it's like everyone's weirded out by me, except the ones that just hate me. You know?”
To my surprise, she nods.
“It's hard being the blackest sheep in the paddock,” she says and sighs. “Believe it or not...”
I blink. Surely she doesn't know that feeling?
“I got caught sleeping with my boyfriend... and the mother of the girl that found us out stood up in church and denounced me in front of everyone. I thought I'd die, I was so ashamed.”
Well, colour me shocked.
She grins at me.
“Thought I was a perfect little Christian, didn't you?”
I nod.
“There you go, see - we've all got our dark secrets, Maisy, no-one's anywhere near as perfect as they look from the outside.”
Huh.
****
Pregnancy is shit.
Get this - the pregnancy sickness comes back in the form of feeling crap every time I smell one of my favourite foods. Mum orders pizza as a treat, and as soon as she opens the box I run off to the loo and chuck up. Chocolate, twisties, coffee, cheesecake - all now barfworthy. Sausages grilling? Puke. Get the idea? Actual food is fine, if I can avoid smelling it.
Then there's the pain. The Sex Ed teacher never mentioned back pain, not to mention 24/7 period pains - oh, sorry, stretching pains. It's not that bad, but it's all the time. And my bitch of a PE teacher insists that “exercise is good for pregnant mums!” and makes me run up and down the sidelines while everyone else plays dangerous contact sports like netball. And it all hurts. Oh, and my boobs hurt, and the PE teacher helpfully tells me that I really should get fitted for a new bra. Geez, is this what pregnancy drives you to? Discussing your boobs with people that you'd prefer were complete strangers?
On the bright side, I'm meeting fortnightly with Mrs Jansen, and we chat, and I start ironing some stuff out. She's not like counsellor-dude, with his fake sympathy and his creepy stare, she's just - there. And she tells me about her life, and how she was a teen hellraiser who had me beat. Drinking, smoking, and of course the sex she already mentioned.
“I was a minister's kid, see?” she explains to me. “It's de rigeur for minister's kids to get a good Christian upbringing, a good Christian education, and then go off the rails and go nuts. I got a great education in keeping up appearances, though.”
I frown, thinking.
“So is that what you do now? You're always so nice, and caring - do you really feel like that all the time?”
She shakes her head and smiles.
“I guess it is an act, in a way,” she says slowly, “but it's different, I think - because now I'm trying to make the inside match the outside, see?”
I frown.
“When I was a kid, I put on a show to convince people I was better than I am, right? Now I try to treat people the way Jesus would want me to treat them, even if I don't feel like it.”
“So it comes down to motivation?”
“I think so.”
See, that makes sense. Maybe I should've talked to her when I was in a spin about gays and God and hell. But no, I tentatively bring it up and she starts spouting the exact same crap Mum did. Oh well, everyone's got their weak points, I guess. Unless they're both just... right.
Chapter 19: Fat
After yet another crap day of school, I decide I really need to get out and do something vaguely fun. I could go to the bookstore and be tsked at by fat oldies who don't remember sex, or I can go down to the garage and indulge myself a bit.
“Hey, you are getting FAT, girl!” Gav yells from the garage office.
Geez, no points for guessing why he doesn't have a girlfriend. Even the other guys in the garage - not noted for their tact, diplomacy or SNAG factor - cringe at that one.
“Gav, you're all charm,” I yell back, and head across to his latest baby. She's looking fantastic now - all her mechanical bits reconditioned or replaced, every panel beaten smooth and ready for the final coat of paint. At the moment she's an unattractive dull gun-metal grey, but I can see the potential in my mind's eye. Bright red, Gav said, with chrome touches and black mag wheels. I stroke the undercoat and sigh, wishing she was mine.
“Ya know, dude, that stuff's not too good for the baby, I bet,” Gav says, walking up behind me.
“Huh... crap, you're probably right,” I say, sighing. Damn, I can't have any fun, can I?
“Hey, cheer up!” he says, seeing the look on my face. “Tell you what - how about a vid night? You, me, and a monster bucket of KFC?”
Hrmmm.
“Can I bring the vids?”
He grimaces.
“Only one chick flick?” he asks.
Seems fair.
“Deal - if you bring the dinner!”
He sighs.
“Geez, you drive a hard bargain!”
I laugh.
“Twit!”
****
Halfway through the first vid, and I'm feeling a little antsy. There's plenty of food still, but I'm not hungry, so it's lost its distraction ability. The movie's good, but not absorbing. So I keep noticing the way Gav smells, and the muscles in the shoulder I'm leaning on, and did I mention how he smells? Damn, if you'd told me a year ago that I'd be turned on by a guy's smell, I'd've laughed in your face. But he smells like soap and fresh male sweat and a hint of motor oil. And you know how I feel about cars, right?
I bite my lip and tell myself to get it together. Geez, the first time I'm alone with a guy since Mark's big revelation, and I want to jump the guy? What is it with me and male friends, all of a sudden? Maybe I should turn gay too. At least most of my mates would be safe from me.
I sneak a look at Gav's face. He's engrossed in the movie, so I take a few seconds to check him out. Nice jawline, big nose, bit of stubble, and lips that aren't too full, aren't too thin. He turns, realises I'm looking at him, and blushes.
“What, I have food on my chin?”
“Nah, just thinking you're not a bad looker, is all.” When in doubt, tell the truth, that's my motto. And hey, it's worked just great for me so far.
Gav frowns, then grins. I can almost see the cogs turning in his brain, slowly deciding whether to recategorise me from 'dude' to 'chickybabe' or not.
Crap. Watch the darn movie already, Maisy. Like you're not in enough trouble as it is?
We've finished the first movie and into the second when the cogs finish turning.
“Maisy?”
“Yeah?”
“You're not really fat.”
Geez, he's really not into tact.
“Oh really? You were just trying to compliment me or something?”
“I think the preggers thing's kinda sexy.”
Huh?
Gav turns to face me, then slowly leans in to kiss me, like
he's giving me a chance to back out of the whole deal. His lips hit mine and there's no 'click' factor like with Mark, but hey, look how well that turned out? And I'm noticing that Gav can really kiss. He's good. I relax, slide an arm around his neck, and go with the flow.
The flow, as it turns out, feels pretty damn good. Gav's obviously done this before, and knows what he's doing. He's kissing my neck and has a hand up my top teasing one of my nipples, and I'm just lying back and enjoying the beautiful horny feelings, when Mark walks in the door.
I jump sky-high and almost scream. What finishes up coming out is some weird strangled squeak.
“Huh?” says Gav, then looks up. “Oh. Umm... hi Mark?”
Mark is bright red. He stares for a few seconds more, then runs out and slams the door behind him.
“Huh...” says Gav, pulling his hand out from under my top and sitting up, “that guy really knows how to kill a mood, doesn't he?”
“Sure does,” I say, and sit up. Oh well, there's always the movie, I guess. I'm extinguished better than a bucket of ice would've done. Damn.
“Should I go after him?” I ask, sighing.
“He did look kind of upset,” says Gav, looking a little upset himself, “maybe he needs some chill time?”
So I go after him, of course.
****
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You! You... snogging that bloody mechanic!”
Huh? Gay boy's possessive? What the?
“Mark - you decided you're gay and dumped my arse, remember?”
“I didn't - who cares?”
“So... why're you jealous?”
“I'm not jealous!” he almost yells.
God, give me patience.
“Right,” I say, “you're not jealous, you're just furious at finding your ex snogging another man?”
“He's a dick!”
“You like him, Mark.”
“You're pregnant! What do you think you're doing, mucking around like this?”
“Oh, sex would hurt the baby?”
“It's just - wrong!”
“How?”
“You - I -”
And he runs away. Well, thank God for that. I'm not sure I could've coped with any more of that razor-sharp logic.
Chapter 20: Better
Life gets better. Gav gives me a kinda calm, just by being around and not being angsty or moody or tormented. He knows what he wants out of life - cars - and he's happy with that. Excitement? Intellectual debate? Not a skerrick. But I'm a pregnant chick on the edge of losing the plot, and I don't give a damn for those right now.
****
Mark calls one evening, and asks me to meet him at the cafe. I sigh - I'm still feeling fragile and not in the mood for more drama. But at the same time, I miss him like hell. We were so close for ages, and then he was just distant, and even when I was majorly pissed I was feeling like a fat chick who's given up chocolate. So I say yes, of course. Maybe he's gotten over the tormented-soul crap.
I walk into the cafe, and it's like I've stepped back a few months, except it's Mark and that guy sitting in the cafe, and I'm the one waving and coming over to chat. Whoa, hold up a sec - I'm meeting Mark here, what's the other dude doing here? Does he live in the cafe or something?
Mark stands up to give me a hug, and re-introduces me to the guy - Andrew, from his gay guys' coffee club. I'm obviously braindead today, because I'm halfway through my coffee and chitchat about life before I work it out.
“Are you two together?” I ask, trying not to sound like we're sitting in an interrogation cell, but more like I might pop open a bottle of bubbly and yell Congratulations! Except I fail miserably, and sound more like I'm feeling - gutted and blindsided.
They look at each other, and that's all I needed, it's flamingly obvious. These guys are gooey-eyed over each other, and trying to act disinterested.
“Yes,” Mark says, and sighs, “I'm sorry, Maisy, I was trying to work out some way to tell you, explain what was going on, but...”
I shake my head.
“No, look, you and I had... an understanding, right? You don't have to treat me like a psycho ex, you don't. I'm -”
I break off because I'm confused as hell. I want to say I'm happy for him. I am, because apart from the misery about me on his face, I suspect he's happy and unconflicted for the first time since I met him. But everything I've been taught for the last 16 years says that he's entering into a really bad, really sinful situation and I should be confronting him and telling him how incredibly wrong it is. They're just looking at me quietly, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Stuff it. Might as well go with the Maisy standard of blurting out the blunt truth.
“I'm confused, guys, I'm sorry... I'm happy for you, and I'm envious because I don't have what I think you two do, and I'm freaked that my baby's father is gay, and I'm weirded out because I still think maybe gay relationships are sinful, and... you didn't need to hear any of that, did you?”
That last bit because Andrew in particular is looking stunned at my outpouring of crap. But suddenly he grins and shakes his head.
“Oh my god, an honest soul! Mark -” he says, turning to Mark, “no wonder you love the girl, she's beautiful!”
Uh... huh. I tell him I'm conflicted and think he might be going to hell, and he thinks I'm wonderful. What sort of reaction does he usually get, if that seems good? Hey, Mark loves me? Huh? Then why the avoidance for the last few months? Ohhh... the relationship's not new, is it?
“It was nice to meet you again, Andrew,” I say, and stand up, “I really should get going, guys, I have homework to do.”
“OK,” says Mark, looking uncomfortable again, “thanks for coming... ummm... can I come over soon?”
“Sure - you can hear all about the baby!” I say, and can't help but laugh as he turns red.
****
So, it's all happily-ever-after, right? I end up with Gav, Mark marries Andrew, and we skip off over the horizon into the sunset. Yeah, right. Cos I'm the perfect candidate for a happy ending, right?
Nope, Andrew dumps Mark, and of course Mark comes to cry on my shoulder. I don't know what to say. This whole gay relationship thing gave me the heebies even when they were happy and in love. Now Mark's miserable and I'm not sure whether to say, “There, there, honey, you'll meet another guy!” or “See, that's what you get for breaking God's rules, ya moron.” So I don't say anything, which is probably the coward's way out. Probably? I can feel myself going yellow.
Then he kisses me.
And I lose the plot completely.
“You - fucking arsehole!” I yell, and kick him in the shin.
He looks confused. Geez, for an intelligent guy he can be a complete moron at times.
Chapter 21: Love
I lie on my bed, listening to When Doves Cry. Suddenly I get that song. I used to hear it and think, how do people in love do that kind of stuff to each other? If you love someone, you don't treat them like crap, do you? And if someone's treating you like crap, they obviously don't love you. Nice and neat, huh? Except when you fall in love with someone, it's like suddenly they're part of you, and everyone who's eaten too much junk food or cut themselves knows that hurting yourself is a lot more common - and pleasurable - than you'd think. Love is all about pain, the pain of being with someone and inside someone but never really getting them.
Ha - listen to me. I've never even been in love. Or have I? I look at how I've been reacting to Mark and his boyfriend and his breakup, and it finally occurs to me to wonder whether I'm really the good friend I thought I was. Stuff it. This is all way too hard. Time for a block of chocolate and a soppy chick flick.
****
Maybe I need a road trip, I muse as I watch Thelma and Louise barreling across the state in their stolen car. I'm sure Gav will take me if I ask nicely. And it'll save me from yet more weird scenes with Mark. That boy is doing my head in, and surely not all of it is my fault.
“Hey, honey,” Mum says a
s she walks in the door, “Chocolate for dinner?”
I wrinkle my nose as I remember the lecture from the midwife - and from the GP, and from Mum, and from the school counsellor - about eating lots of nutrients for the baby. I feel a huge stab of guilt all of a sudden. The poor kid's probably thinking I'm trying to poison him.
“Yup,” I answer meekly, “I'll make a fruit salad, k?”
She nods and, thank God, avoids the lecture. I've heard it so many times I probably repeat it in my sleep.
****
“Maisy?”
I turn around to find Gav behind me. Funny, we never really socialise at school. Different year, different friends - well, he has friends, and they're all oiks.
“Hey, Gav!” I say, and give him a hug.
He hugs back stiffly, and I get my first inkling that maybe something's wrong.
“Umm, Mais - can I come over tonight?” he asks, not quite meeting my eyes.
Huh. Looks like I'm about to be dumped. Oh well, I am the fat hypocritical preggers chick, what did I expect?
“Sure - 'bout 7?” I say, thinking that it'll give me time to have dinner and be over the chuckies.
“Cool,” he says, looking like it's anything but, and races away.
****
“MAISY!”
I look up from a deep-thinking daze to see Mrs Hunter glaring at me. Oh, great. Just what I needed. She's the one teacher who doesn't believe in going easy on a pregnant chick - if anything, she's coming down on me even harder, the pain. Probably thinks I'm a nasty little slut now, as well as the usual smart-arse.
“If you don't care to pay attention, Maisy, you may leave. NOW!”
I look around at the glazed stares and yawns, and wonder how me not paying attention is so important. Oh, whatever. I get my gear together, hoist my bag onto my shoulder, and stalk out without saying a word. That's probably smart-arse too, in her eyes.
I close the classroom door behind me, unload my bag and sit down on the concrete, back against the brick wall. It's a cool day, but the sun's shining right on my patch of concrete, so I close my eyes and try to chill. It'd be easy if it wasn't for Gav and his weirdness.
****
“Anything wrong?” Mum asks during dinner.
“Nah, I'm fine,” I say, toying with the last two peas on my plate.
“It's just...”
Man, I love when people deconstruct my every gesture.