Gingerbread

by Rachel Cohn

  I shuddered at the thought and said, "Ya know, maybe now is a good time to go to the Gap?" Because fondling identi-clothes in the Gap was surely a good way to bypass lisBETH's detour down Too Weird Street.

  This is America, so of course there was a Gap store within blocks. Do you know that creepy feeling of being watched? That's the feeling I was having while lisBETH and

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  I were going through the racks of capri pants at the front of the store. Then lisBETH sidled up to me and said, "Don't look now but there's a very hunky young guy standing outside the window who can't take his eyes off of you."

  Figure on lisBETH to have the word "hunky" in her vocab. Well, of course I had to look!

  And how much do I wish I hadn't. Standing on the other side of the windows at the Gap was Justin.

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  Thirty-four

  Once our eyes locked, there was no turning back. Now he wasn't looking through the window at someone he thought might be me. It was me. Lucky me.

  He came inside. He seemed smaller than I remembered, although he was still beautiful, in that way that young actors are in movies about rebel boys who are on the brink of manhood and are probably going to die tragic, senseless deaths. He had the kind of deep eyes you could get lost in, chiseled cheeks, and full, sensual, extremely kissable lips.

  "Wow," he said. "You look great."

  What, you mean I look happy, and content, and not all tortured and panicked? I was speechless. When I didn't say anything back, Justin checked out my b-ball shirt and said, "I didn't know you were a Knicks fan."

  LisBETH said, "You know each other?" Her voice was very pleased. Not only was Justin gorgeous, he was wearing a lacrosse shirt from like the snootiest prep school in all of Connecticut.

  He introduced himself to her. She said, "Oh, I know that name. Your family lives in Greenwich, right?"

  Justin smiled in that smug way. "Yeah," he said. "But I'm hanging out at our apartment in the city for the weekend." He turned to me. "How are you? How have you been? Did you ever get the phone messages I left with your housekeeper with the weird Celine Dion accent?"

  I mumble-shrugged. "Mmm."

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  He asked, "What are you doing here?"

  There was a petite, pretty girl with long, straight blonde hair held back by a headband who was casting nervous glances at us from the other side of the window. You just knew she was wearing a pleated skirt and cutesy lace-up shoes with ankle socks and probably Love's Baby Soft perfume.

  "Is that your girlfriend?" I said, pointing to her.

  He didn't answer, which meant yes. He said only, "I've thought about you a lot."

  Point score for lisBETH. She must have realized this was an awkward scene with bad history so she discreetly stepped aside to browse the button fly jeans.

  There was only one thing I had to say to Justin. "You let me go there all alone."

  And worse, I thought, I continued to sleep with you after that. And I probably would have continued to even longer if the headmaster hadn't found us, expelled us, and returned me home, where I would find out about true love, about kindness and good people.

  Justin's hollow beautiful eyes looked away, then back at me. "Cyd, when I called you, the thing I wanted to say was..." He stopped cold, paused, then said, "I can't believe you're standing here. I thought you moved back to Frisco."

  "Nobody calls it Frisco."

  "Um, okay..."

  "What did you want to say?"

  He could not look me in the eyes but he did say it. "Sorry," he mumbled.

  I swear my heart was palpitating so fast I thought it

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  would spontaneously zoom out of my throat and land with a giant red splotch onto a pile of precisely folded white cotton ribbed tees.

  Maybe he said it, but I wasn't going to congratulate or thank him for his admission that he was the asshole of the century. I just called out to lisBETH, "I'm ready to go," and bless her, she fell right into line, no questions. We left without so much as a good-bye to Justin.

  I did flip him the bird behind my back as we walked out the door.

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  Thirty-five

  LisBETH: "Want to talk about it?"

  Me: "No."

  LisBETH: "What was that all about?"

  Me: "Nothing. He's just some guy."

  LisBETH: "If you need to talk..."

  Me: "I'm okay. Thanks."

  Thinking, just keep moving, don't think, just walk, don't think.

  I was not okay. I begged out of our shopping adventure, saying I was tired from the humidity and wanted a nap.

  When I got back to my room at the Real Dad Corporate Suites, I shut the heavy drapes and snuggled into bed with Gingerbread, lying on my side in a crunched position, getting lost in the quiet hum of the air conditioner.

  Frank had gone to New Jersey for the day for a golf tournament his company was sponsoring, not like I would have turned to him for fatherly wisdom. LisBETH was great, actually. She didn't pry, she just said, "I'll be at home if you need somebody." I think she almost wanted me to unload on her, to give her something juicy to dwell on, but I just couldn't. I didn't even call Danny. I guess there is such a thing as getting to know your biological family and making connections with them, but when it comes down to it, a couple weeks of knowing one another does not trusted confidantes make, at least not at times like these.

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  Perhaps the only time in my life I have ever felt more alone was that day I had the cab come and take me home from the clinic. Justin couldn't be torn away from his lacrosse game with our school's biggest rival. He also couldn't be bothered to come up with the money to help, so I don't know why I was surprised or disappointed.

  It had been almost a year since the shit went down. It had started last September, when we returned to boarding school after a summer apart and we could not get our hands off each other. The first time back together we could not even wait long enough to use protection--we didn't care. And the next morning, I knew: trouble. I just felt it. By the beginning of October, I could not deny the changes in my body: sudden cleavage, morning nausea, deepening sense of panic and hysteria that I could share with no one.

  I had liked being Justin's girlfriend. I did not want this trouble. I wouldn't say I fooled myself that we were in love--even then, I understood the diff between love and lust, even if the love part I'd yet to experience--but I liked that when I was with Justin, I was Somebody. I was not the weird girl with the unsmiling face and strange mannerisms. I was a pretty girl who people chose on teams and sat with at lunch, the girl hanging on to the varsity jacket of practically the most popular guy at school. I was admired. I could have done without the drugs and alcohol, but those were part of the Justin package, a price I was willing to pay. Believe it, I was the girl I would pass by on the street now and go, "Yuck."

  When I told him, the first thing he said was, "But you know I'm planning to, like, go to Princeton. My dad'll kill me over this." Not, "How are you doing?" Not, "How are we going to take care of this situation?" It was all about him.

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  The one thing he did do for me was arrange for this girl who was eighteen to lend me her birth certificate. I gave him a picture of me and he got a fake ID made with her name on it. So technically the record states that a certain Allison Fromme, two months past her eighteenth birthday, was the girl who showed up alone at the clinic with a birth certificate and picture ID to back it up and did not need any kind of parental consent to have an unwanted baby torn from her body.

  Afterward, the lady at the clinic said, "Is there somebody here to take you home?" and I pointed to a car waiting at the curb outside, which I knew was waiting for a girl who had gone at the same time as me. I said, "There's my ride," and I would have run out, but the cramping in my stomach made it hard even to walk. So I kind of hobbled to the 7-Eleven across the street and called a cab to take me back to school. And may I just say, that was not the first time that cabdriver
had picked up a girl from that 7-Eleven and driven her back to that fancy boarding school. You could just tell by the way he kept looking at my pale face in the mirror and asking, 'Are you gonna be all right?"

  That was the only time I cried, in the back of this stranger's cab, when I realized that the cabdriver was more concerned about me than Justin was.

  It's funny to think that Nancy sent me to boarding school thinking that would straighten me out, that I would meet the right people and start to appreciate everything I had been given. And in the end, what had straightened me out and given me hope and life again was going home.

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  Thirty-six

  I think I lay in bed, comatose, for hours. I lost track of time trying to squash down the pain of memories, trying to think about nothing. I finally fell asleep around eight in the evening, and when I awoke at eight the next morning, for all of my twelve hours of sleep, I felt not at all rested. I had tossed and turned the whole night.

  Frank came into my room and said, "You doing all right, kiddo?" He held out the telephone to me with his hand over the speaker part. He mouthed the words, "Your mother." I think he was trying to be Mister Cool, giving me the option of shaking my head in case I wanted him to tell her I was still asleep. Somehow, though, the thought of talking to Nancy was not annoying; it was almost comforting.

  I took the phone and drowsily said "hi" into it.

  I would have thought Nancy would be the drowsy one--it was five in the morning her time. But no, she was all perky morning sunshine. "Guess what!"

  I did not say, "That's what!" I said, "Hmm?" So much for our "space."

  She said, "I'm here in New York! We flew in last night. We're staying at the Plaza Hotel. Daddy had to come on business for a couple days and I figured I would come too and we could maybe do some shopping together for school clothes for the new school year!"

  I think we both knew the shopping for school clothes excuse was a flimsy one to cover up the fact that she simply

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  was incapable of giving me three whole weeks on my own, but I found it curious that, after the previous day's events, I was a little happy to hear Nancy's excited voice. The funny thing was, after dealing with the Justin stuff in the company of people who were my blood but actually felt more like strangers, I kinda missed her.

  She said she could have a car waiting downstairs for me in an hour if I could be ready. I said I'd take the subway and meet her in two.

  When I got there, she answered the door and threw a giant bear hug around my stiff body. "Hi, sweetie!" she squealed. I don't know how she manages to turn on and turn off like she does. She has the amazing capability to forget all about fights at the drop of a hat, as if Alcatraz and her forbidding me to see Shrimp could be undone just like that, as if, after two and a half weeks in New York and one giant hug, we were at a zero balance, with everything swell and nothing having ever gone wrong to lead us to this point.

  Still, I admit, I was glad to see her. And was she ever dressed the part. She was wearing sleek, narrow, white three-quarters pants with a silk navy sleeveless top and white mule sandals over her pale-painted toes, looking lovely and happy to show off her skinny aerobicized body in tasteful, flesh-revealing summer clothing, which you cannot do in the San Francisco summer cold.

  "Where's Dad?" I asked. Ash and Josh had stayed in San Fran with Leila and Fernando, which meant they would probably actually behave for a few days, eat normal meals, and go to bed on time.

  "He's downstairs in the lounge having a business

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  meeting. He'll be back up soon to take us to lunch. He can't wait to see you."

  We sat down on the plush frilly sofa. "So," she said, "What do you think about Frank?"

  I shrugged. "Eh. He's okay." If Nancy felt a moment of triumph, her face did not show it.

  She said, "When I talked to him this morning, he said his daughter told him you two ran into Justin yesterday."

  My heart rate whizzed back up. I nodded but didn't say anything back.

  "He said she thought you were pretty upset afterward."

  I felt my body go completely cold and still. That was the only way I would be able to keep it together.

  Nancy nudged a little further, as only a mom can do. "Want to talk about it?"

  If she hadn't leaned over to smooth my hair back, I might not have fallen apart like I did. But somehow that soft and tender touch from the one person in the world who can make you feel safe and loved, no matter what your differences, set off the tears. I did not outright bawl; no, it was worse; a flood of tears streamed down my face, out of control.

  Nancy pulled me to her, surprised. "Honey! I didn't realize it was that bad." She placed my head on her shoulder and stroked my hair. "Tell me, Cyd Charisse. Tell me what happened. What's wrong?"

  I couldn't hold it back. I sputtered, "He let me go alone."

  "Go where?"

  My mouth moved faster than my judgment. "The clinic."

  There, I said it. If she was going to punish me or torture

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  me with another sentence in Alcatraz, so be it.

  Instead, she pulled me away a little so she could look me squarely in the eye. Her face was as pale as mine.

  She said, "Do you mean what I think you mean?" I nodded. Now it was her eyes that welled with tears. I recoiled a little, thinking she was going to start one of her screaming fits, but instead she grabbed me back to her and kind of rocked me back and forth. We were both crying.

  "That little schmuck," she whispered.

  After our tears ran their course, we sat together in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the moment, wondering about the consequences of my little secret being out in the open.

  When we separated, we were both calm, all cried out. I tell you, I felt better than I had felt in a long time, relieved, lighter, even though I knew she was about to give it to me.

  Nancy moved to sit on the ottoman opposite the sofa so she was facing me. Our knees were touching, and she took my hands in hers. She said, "You should have told me. I could have helped you."

  "Really?" I said, disbelieving.

  "You know, Cyd Charisse, we have our problems. That's normal for a mother and daughter, especially at your age. But no matter what, you are my child, and I am here to help you, to protect you."

  "You're not mad?"

  "Oh, I'm mad, make no mistake!" She was, too. Her pale face had turned all red and splotchy from the tears and the anger, and her perfect makeup was now streaked on her face. "We'll be dealing with that when you return home and we take a trip to the gynecologist and a family

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  counselor together to talk about these issues. But what's done is done. I can't undo it. I can tell you this. I'm horrified you got into that situation to begin with, but I want you to understand that when it comes to your health and your body, you can never, ever be scared to ask for my help. It's too important. I will always help you and I will always support you."

  This was about the last reaction I would have expected from Nancy. Even the thought of having to go to therapy with her did not undo the fact of how cool and understanding she was about the whole deal.

  Something clicked. I asked her, "You didn't get any help when you were pregnant with me, did you? Is that why we like hardly ever see your parents in Minnesota or talk to them?"

  "Yes," she said. "That has a lot to do with it."

  I said, "Did you consider having an abortion when you found out you were pregnant with me?"

  I do admire about Nancy that she always tells it straight. She said, "Yes. I even got so far as the abortion clinic. Twice."

  "Did Frank go with?"

  "Yes."

  "How come you didn't?"

  "When it came down to it, I just couldn't do it. I knew your father was never going to marry me, knew he was making false promises, I knew he would support me financially, but only in quiet. I knew there was no way I could make it work. But I just couldn't do it.
Believe me, I agonized."

  "What changed your mind?"

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  "You might find this shocking, but I had planned to give you up for adoption."

  This was shocking. For all that I have not always been the happiest camper in our family, I cannot imagine being part of any other.

  "How come you didn't? What changed your mind?"

  Nancy said, "My dear, did you ever wonder why you were named for a movie star?"

  "Not really," I said. "It's just my name. I thought you named me after that lady because she was your idol."

  "She was. But there's another reason. I was all set to give you up for adoption. The papers had been signed, the parents chosen. But I had insisted that I get to name you. I chose the name Cyd Charisse because I wanted to be able to find you, later, and I wanted you to have a name so distinct there could be no mistaking you when I found you. But then, after the birth, they gave you to me to hold, and I couldn't let go. I just couldn't. I knew that whatever it took, I would find a way for us to be together, to be a family."

  Just when I thought my tears had run their course, I found a fresh set streaming down my cheeks. I said, "Mom, we don't always get along, but I'm glad you're my mom. I wouldn't want anybody else but you."

  She took my hand and rubbed it along her smooth cheek. "That means more to me than anything you could say," she said.

  Later, when Sid-dad came back to the hotel room, he found me lying on the sofa, with my head in Nancy's lap. She was stroking my hair and massaging my scalp as I rested. Sid-dad took one look at us then looked up at the room number to make sure he was in the right room.

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  "Well, aren't you two a sight for sore eyes!" he said.

  "Aren't you!" I said. I leapt up to give him a hug. "Little hellion," I added.