NOVEMBER USUALLY LIKED BEING DOWN- town. The tall buildings, the moist breezes from Fountain Square, the thick, rich smells from the German and Chinese and Italian restaurants, all seemed to add a heightened sense of excitement to every trip. Sometimes she’d spend a whole day at the main public library, browsing for books, doing research for some school report, stopping at lunch to get a bagel sandwich from Busken Bakery. But today she was filled only with dread.
She and her mother walked up the stone steps to the wide glass entrance doors of the building. Their meeting was on the seventieth floor. November glanced up at the structure, tiny windows going up one side of it like eyes with no face.
“Who do you think works in all those offices, Mom?” she asked.
“People who make the business world function, I imagine,” her mother replied. “Auditors and accountants and advertisers…”
“And that’s just the ones that start with the letter A,” November said, shaking her head. She was much too nervous to laugh.
“Most of these office folks just try to do their job well and go home to their families in the evening, I guess. Lots of them work in tiny little cubicles without even a window to see the sunshine.”
“I’d hate to have a job like that. How depressing!” said November.
“Thoreau said, ‘The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,’” Mrs. Nelson commented as they entered the granite-tiled lobby and searched for the name of the law firm on the directory in front of them.
“Hey, I recognize that quote!” November said, pleased with herself. “It was on the American Lit final that Mrs. Brisby gave us. We read Walden last year.”
“Did you get the question right?” her mother asked.
“I must have,” November told her. “It’s rare when school stuff actually shows up in real life—except maybe like on Jeopardy!”
Her mother smiled. “It happens every day, baby girl. You’re just too young to notice. How do you think I do my taxes or measure for wallpaper or figure out how much to tip the waitress?”
“Math, I guess.” November wished the elevator would hurry up. She hated it when her mother went into “teacher mode.” “I hate math, though. I want to work with people—like maybe be like one of those social workers who helped the people after the hurricane in New Orleans.”
“That’s a great career goal, November. But it requires a college education, you know. Probably some math as well,” she added.
November’s shoulders slumped as the elevator doors finally separated. She knew where her mother was heading. Neither of them said anything as they rode up to the seventieth floor. Not that this surprised November—she and her mom had been avoiding talking about this meeting—something so important—for a week! It was weird, she thought. Before she got pregnant, she and her mom could talk about anything—even sex. But now they were on pins and needles around each other. The elevator deposited them into a tastefully decorated lobby, done in tones of beige and pink.
“I can venture a guess at how much this lawyer’s fees are,” Mrs. Nelson commented.
As they walked down the hall toward where the lawyer’s offices were located, November couldn’t stop herself from grabbing her mother’s arm. “What should I tell them, Mom? What’s the right thing to do?”
Mrs. Nelson dropped her purse and pulled her daughter into a hug. “Do what’s right for that child, November. That’s all I can tell you,” she whispered in her ear.
November drew away, disappointed. Although she knew better, she still wished her mother could wave a magic wand and make everything all better. She wondered if she’d ever have the power or the knowledge needed to wave a wand for a little kid in trouble. Probably not, she thought glumly.
They were greeted at the door by a secretary dressed in the same tones of tan as the wall and the carpet of the offices. It was as if she dressed specifically to be color-coordinated with the place, November thought. “Please come in,” the woman said with a smile. “They’re waiting for you in the first conference room on the left.”
November hesitated. “Where is your restroom?” she asked quickly, looking around with an anxious face.
“It’s the first door on your right,” the secretary said in a voice that was modulated so pleasantly that it sounded artificial.
November took as long as she could in the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her jeans had given up trying to find a waistline and had settled in that space just below her ever-expanding belly. She didn’t like the tight T-shirts mothers-to-be seemed to be sporting these days, so she wore a short-sleeved white blouse that fit loosely and comfortably.
Still, she thought she looked like one of those mirror images from the fun house at the amusement park. She put on a little lipstick. I’m bloated, my face has grown a whole village full of pimples, and my arms look like sausages. Plus, my back is killing me!
Unable to stall any longer, she washed her hands and emerged from the bathroom. The perfect secretary escorted her to the conference room. Sitting around a highly buffed mahogany table were Josh’s parents, her mother, and a man she figured had to be the lawyer.
“Hi, November,” Mrs. Prescott said softly. November was startled at how much better Josh’s mom looked than she had that night at the store. Her hair was freshly curled and shining, and her face looked somehow fuller. She smiled, but November didn’t return the gesture. She glanced at Mr. Prescott, who was clasping his wife’s hand. He too looked different, yet still intense. He offered November his other hand, but she pretended not to notice and took a seat at the other end of the table.
The lawyer, who was grinning at her like a hunter sizing up his prey, had blond hair—actually, it was an unusual shade of beige—and he wore tan slacks with an off-white, thick-cabled sweater tied around his shoulders over a softly tailored pale yellow shirt. Not only did he match his office, November thought, he looked like something out of one of those slick fashion magazines that advertise to men who had lots of money. The man’s teeth were perfect, his eyes were deep blue, and as he shook her hand with a powerful handshake, November knew without looking that his fingernails were covered with clear polish. She hated him immediately.
“Welcome, November!” the lawyer said a little too loudly. “I’m Henderson Grant. I think you know everyone else. I’ve just been chatting with your mom here, getting to know her a little. You know she’s your biggest fan!”
November looked at her mother as if she had joined the Confederate army. Mrs. Nelson gave her daughter a big smile of encouragement, but November narrowed her eyes. I know you want me to make this decision by myself, Mom, but it’s kinda cold of you to be grinnin’ in the face of the enemy. Whose side are you on, anyway?
“Would you like something to drink? A cola? Perhaps some fresh fruit juice? We’d better eat healthy for that little one!” Mr. Grant said in a booming voice.
This perfect-faced, perfume-smellin’ phony is gonna make me gag. He sounds like all the announcers I’ve ever heard on the home shopping channel, rolled into one greasy salesman.
“Who is we?” November finally asked, her voice a croak in the silence. “Who else has to eat healthy for that ‘little one,’ as you call it?”
The lawyer, not really answering her and using what November knew had to be his most soothing voice, responded, “I suppose you’ve brought us to the reason why we’re here today—the health and future happiness of Joshua Prescott’s child.”
Oh no he didn’t! she thought, anger coursing through her. “Excuse me? This baby is my child as well.” November glanced at her mother and was glad to see that she was suddenly sitting at attention too.
“Of course, dear,” Mr. Grant said. “But I represent the Prescott family, and our purpose here today is to see if we can come to a determination that will please everyone. Did you bring a legal representative to advise you?”
November looked again at her mother, this time with alarm. Maybe we didn’t treat this mess as seriously as we should’ve. Say something, Mom! she thought desperately.
“No, we didn’t,” Mrs. Nelson replied. “Not at this time. We have come today simply to listen to your proposals. If we find we need formal representation, we will pursue it at a later date.”
“I see. Thank you. That will be fine.” The lawyer scribbled something on a legal pad. He seemed to be pleased.
November looked over at Josh’s parents. His mom’s gained a little weight—she needed that, November thought. And she’s got her hair and nails done too. New hookup as well—DKNY—nice stuff. Dag! She’s almost glowing! Josh’s father, looking fit and trim, smiled warmly at her, but November still couldn’t quite smile back. With that gray at his temples and that leather jacket, he looks dignified, and I gotta admit, downright responsible. Looks like they’ve been to that Extreme Makeover TV show.
And me? I look like…like a scared sixteen-year-old pregnant girl. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have rights! Where do they come off with this stuff?
So she asked outright, “Do you plan to try to take my baby?” She stared directly at Mr. and Mrs. Prescott but found she was trembling.
“Of course not, but we would like to make you an offer, November,” Mrs. Prescott said gently. “We’d like to adopt the baby and raise it as our own.”
November’s thoughts churned. Her first reaction was to scream, “No way!” Then she immediately wondered what would happen if she agreed to this ridiculous proposal. Would I get to see it? Would they let me? And, a moment later, Would I want to?
“You wouldn’t have to be burdened with this unplanned responsibility for the rest of your life,” Josh’s father added.
He’s right! I’d be free! Her heartbeat quickened. But then she immediately felt overwhelmed by guilt. She gulped. How can I turn against the baby like this? What kind of mother even thinks about giving her baby away?
“We’d make it worth your while.” The lawyer inserted himself into the conversation. “You’d be financially set for years to come.”
November knew they had recently come into a lot of cash—Josh had told her how his mom had inherited it from her grandfather. How was she supposed to fight all this?
Henderson Grant cleared his throat. “Your mother tells us you’ve been accepted to the Cornell Summer Academic Program. What a stunning achievement! Please allow me to offer my congratulations.”
November, furious at her mother, shot her a look of pure hatred. How dare she tell these people my business! Mrs. Nelson looked away.
The lawyer, his voice smooth and convincing, continued, “Not only would you receive a generous settlement check when the baby is born, but all your college expenses would be paid as well—tuition, books, dorm, everything—for the full four years.”
These folks are off the hook! I can’t believe what they’re doing! They’re practically offering to buy my baby! November didn’t know if she felt insulted or excited about all the possibilities they were dumping in her lap. Her thoughts swirled at a dizzying speed. I could go to Cornell for the summer after all! she thought guiltily. Mom wouldn’t have to get a second job. I could concentrate on books instead of bills. Then she realized what she was considering, and she slumped once more in despair.
Mrs. Nelson gasped and looked at her daughter but gave no indication of what she was thinking. November felt like one of those unfortunate animals on the nature channel who sits and waits for the stronger, fiercer animals to come and devour it.
I’m way out of my league here. And I think they know that.
“Of course we’ll do a DNA test to establish paternity—just a formality, I assure you—then the formal adoption papers will be filed.” The lawyer gave November another of those magazine-model paper smiles.
November jumped up. Now wait just a minute! They can’t just dis me like that! “You think this is somebody else’s baby?” she asked angrily. “You think I slept around with every boy in Douglass High School?” She headed for the door.
“Don’t be upset, dear,” the lawyer said, comforting her and directing her back to her chair. She jerked her arm away. “These things are simply legal formalities. Of course we know the baby belongs to Josh. That’s why we’re here.”
November sat down warily. “What if I turn down your offer?” she asked harshly.
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, now, does it?” Mr. Grant said soothingly. “You have limited financial resources, you’re only sixteen, and you have nothing to offer this child. The Prescotts already know how to bring up a baby. They have a comfortable home and can give the child everything it deserves or desires.”
November grew increasingly dismayed. Everything he says is true, she thought.
“He’d have his own room,” Mrs. Prescott added, her voice pleading. “A puppy. A bicycle. A backyard swimming pool.”
Josh never had a puppy or a pool, November recalled.
“If it’s a girl, she could take piano lessons and ballet lessons and go to Paris to study if she wants,” Mr. Prescott added.
Give me a break! Paris?
November glared at her mother, who, although looking drained, said nothing. You’re not helping here, Mom. I feel like I’m drowning!
Her mother remained silent, so November finally stated the obvious. “You didn’t tell me what would happen if I turned down your offer.”
The lawyer sat down on the edge of the gleaming table, close to November. He dropped the fake smile and the soothing voice. He looked directly at her and said pointedly, “Well, there are all sorts of legal parameters we could use—unfit mother, perhaps—and we’d hate to have to sue for custody, but we would.” He paused. “And we would win.”
He is straight-up serious, November realized. She twisted around to her mother, who clearly had finally had it. Mrs. Nelson stood up, lifted her chin, and said with a quiet fury, “How dare you speak to my daughter like that? She is no more unfit than you are! Don’t you dare threaten her!”
Way to go, Mom! ’Bout time! November gave her mother a small smile of thanks. But this slimy dude doesn’t seem to be fazed. He’s looking at Mom like she was a fingernail clipping.
“I don’t threaten, ma’am. I succeed.” The lawyer got up, flicked a speck off his slacks, and went back to his seat.
Mrs. Nelson looked as if she were going to protest more, then she pressed her lips closed. The room was silent except for the piped-in classical music that November had not noticed before. Everyone’s eyes were on her.
November refused to look at any of them. She leaned back in the cushioned chair and placed her hands over her belly. She looked down past her scuffed shoes to the thick, off-white carpet on the floor.
Oh, Lord, what shall I do? she prayed. It seems like they’re asking me to sell my baby! Can that be right? Maybe the right thing to do is what’s best for the child, like Mom says. I didn’t really love Josh. I don’t really want a baby. I could go away to college after graduation, she thought wistfully. Maybe this is my chance to make everything right. The Prescotts sure do need something to make them happy again. She felt like she was on one of those amusement park rides that turn you upside down and sideways.
November raised her head and looked at the people around that table. The room was ripe with expectation. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She gulped. “There’s no need to drag this out all summer. I’ve made my decision,” she began. “I have chosen to—” Then she suddenly stopped. She lifted her hands off her lap as if they’d been stung, and looked down at her belly with wonder. “Oh my God! The baby kicked me. That’s the first time I felt it move!”