Nineteen
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Liv and I sit on the bench in our home uniforms, watching our team get creamed by Cathedral High School.
“This is beyond punishment,” she mutters. “This is torture.”
“Brutal,” I agree.
At first I thought that not being able to play was the worst possible thing—second to the fact that right now we are losing six to one. Third to the fact that our teammates have yet to forgive us for our trespasses.
But I realize I’m wrong.
The worst part is that my mom is alone in the bleachers.
Seeing her sitting there, blowing into her hands to stay warm, I feel a wave of sadness come over me. Sadness, of all things. Here she is, without Jonathan, focused exclusively on me—just what I wanted, right?
Well, as it turns out, no. This morning, before Liv and I left for school, I walked into my mom’s bedroom to say good-bye and she was still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I sat down next to her, and she said, “Jonathan and I are taking a break.” I didn’t say anything, just looked at her. “It was my decision,” she said.
“Is it because of—” I started to ask.
But she cut me off. “This has nothing to do with Paul. . . . Or, well, it has very little to do with Paul. . . . Mostly, it has to do with how fast everything’s been happening.”
“It has been fast,” I agreed.
“And how needy Jonathan is. He wants . . . a lot from me, emotionally. . . . At first it was flattering, but . . . well, I’m not sure I’m ready to give it to him. . . . So we’re taking some time apart. To think things through.”
“Oh,” I said. “Uh-huh.” Then, “OK.”
I let her think I was glad about it. The truth is, though, I was a little shocked. I thought she was into him. And I can say for a fact—based on Jonathan’s and my Virtual Boogie/ Slurpee excursion yesterday—that he’s still into her.
I don’t really get how “taking a break” is any different from “breaking up,” but one thing I do know: I don’t like seeing my mom sitting alone in the bleachers.
006
In the car after the game, she says, “Do you want to tell me why you didn’t play today?”
“Not really,” I say.
“Are you hurt?”
I shake my head.
“Josie. . . . Are you in trouble?”
I hesitate. Then say, “You won’t like it.”
“I’ll like it a lot less if you don’t tell me.”
So I do. I tell her what happened yesterday, about blowing off practice, about Coach suspending us.
And then, once the confession gates have opened, I tell her about Liv.
My mom’s eyes never leave my face. I watch her mouth open as she takes a breath. “Liv thought she was pregnant?”
“Yes,” I say. Then, “But you can’t say anything to her, Mom. I’m sure she’ll tell you herself at some point, but—”
“I won’t.”
“I’m only telling you because it’s . . . relevant.”
She raises her eyebrows.
“You and Paul. The whole mess . . . Liv thinks I can’t understand what you went through because I haven’t been there.”
My mom nods. “Ah.”
“But maybe I can understand, sort of. The way things are with me and Matt . . . maybe I do get it—”
“Wait,” she says. “Back up. The last I heard about you and Matt was the kiss at the party . . . and something about a cheerleader . . .”
“Oh my God,” I say. “You are so behind.”
“Well . . . catch me up.”
So I do. I tell her all about dinner at Matt’s house and meeting his family and how we can talk on the phone for hours. I tell her about the fight we had the other night and how good it felt to make up this morning. I tell her that I’ve never felt this way before, about anyone, ever.
My mom nods, smiling a little. “I’m happy for you.” Then her face gets serious. “Josie. If the two of you are . . .”
“We’re not.”
“If you’re having—”
“We’re not having sex, Mom. We’re taking it slow.”
She breathes out, a long, steady stream. “OK. . . . But if you ever decide—”
I hold up my hand to stop her. “I know. Condoms. Spermicide. The Pill. The diaphragm. The cervical cap. . . .”
She nods, nods, nods.
“I’m not a complete idiot, OK?”
The minute the words come out of my mouth I’m sorry. My regret makes me want to puke.
“Mom. I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know,” she says quietly. There’s a long pause, and then, “I never told anyone this before, but I’m going to tell you now.” She glances over at me, and her face is wide open, in a way I’ve never seen before. “OK?”
I nod. I want her to tell me. I need her to.
“I changed my mind on the bus, on my way to the clinic. I was by myself because Paul had already moved . . . and, well, he wouldn’t have gone with me anyway. He’d made that clear. And I . . . couldn’t bring myself to tell my parents yet.
“Anyway, the bus stopped and this woman got on. She was wearing one of those baby-carrier thingies. I forget what they’re called . . . it doesn’t matter. . . . She sat down next to me and she, you know, peeled back the cloth to lift the baby out. At first, I couldn’t look at it. I made myself look away, out the window, at the backpack in my lap, anywhere but at that baby. But then the mom turns to me and she says, ‘I think he likes you.’ So I looked. I looked at that baby and he was just . . . gazing up at me, with one of those gummy little grins. And . . . I don’t know what happened. The kid wasn’t even cute. He had a huge head. And a ridiculous amount of hair, parted on the side. He looked like a miniature investment banker. Like Donald Trump. But I swear to God, Josie, I changed my mind right there. In that instant.”
“You decided to keep me.”
“I decided to keep you.”
“Even though I might have come out looking like Donald Trump.”
“Even then.”
“Huh,” I say. I smile a little, picturing myself with a strawberry-blonde comb-over. Would Riggs still go out with me?
My mom continues, her voice calm and quiet. Her hands are clasped in her lap. “When I got home I did two things. I wrote to Paul to tell him I was keeping the baby, and I told my parents I was pregnant. . . . They were pretty shocked, obviously. My mom cried. My dad . . . he was a bit more pragmatic. He wanted to know if I’d seen an obstetrician yet. If I’d started taking vitamins . . . prenatals, you know, to keep the baby healthy. He wanted me to think about adoption.... .”
I raise my eyebrows.
My mom looks straight at me. “I told him no way. I said I was keeping this baby, no matter what. Whatever it took, I was keeping you.”
I nod, swallowing the lump that has suddenly appeared at the base of my throat.
She hesitates, then keeps going. “That was before Sully told me what he told me. He didn’t just say Paul had a new girlfriend, Josie. He gave specifics. Like how gorgeous she was. Things they’d done together. How crazy Paul was about her. . . . And I believed him. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. I thought about sending Paul another letter, but every time I sat down to write it, I’d remind myself that he hadn’t written me back after the first one. He hadn’t called. Why should I put myself out there again? There was a pride thing . . . and a devastation thing. You can’t imagine how devastated I was.”
Yes, I can,I think. If Riggs ever did that to me . . .
“I could barely get out of bed in the morning. . . . My parents . . . well, they just took over. . . . They pulled me out of school . . . bought the house in Elmherst. They wanted me to have a fresh start, after you were born. A clean slate. They weren’t . . .” She hesitates, staring down at her hands, which are still clutched in her lap. “I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about what they did, keeping Paul away from me, and . . . I don’t think they were bad people for doing it. They didn’t want me to get hurt, any more than I already was. They did everything they could to ensure that.”
There’s a catch in my mom’s voice, and for a second I think she might cry, but then she turns to me and says, almost fiercely, “And I would do the same thing for you. Whatever it took.”
“Steal my boyfriend’s letters?” I ask wryly.
She shakes her head. “No—”
“I’m kidding, Mom. I know what you’re saying.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She sighs. “Good.”
We sit in silence for a minute. Then she says quietly, “I didn’t mean for things to end up this way, Josie.”
“I know.”
“There’s so much I could have done differently. . . . Things I should have done differently. For you. Like trying to find Paul—”
“Mom. It’s OK.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I was scared. And . . . selfish. I didn’t want . . . every time I thought about finding him, or him finding us . . . I was afraid that if he came back into our life . . .”
“What?”
“I might lose you.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing—like I would ever, in a million years, choose Paul Tucci over her. I think about Mel’s parents, and Schuyler’s—how ever since they split up they’ve been fighting over who gets to keep the kids. But that’s different. That’s divorce.
“Mom,” I say. “Come on.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. Paul’s family had money. After your grandparents died, I was just . . . a single mom with a GED, working in a bookstore. The Tuccis could have . . . if they’d gotten a lawyer . . . I just couldn’t risk losing you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, Mom,” I say. Then, “I’m sorry too.”
“What? This isn’t your fault. You didn’t have anything to do with—”
“Not about Paul. Just . . . I know I’ve been kind of a jerk to you lately. And Jonathan . . . But I did try to redeem myself yesterday. I took him to the Pizza Palace to play video games.”
“You did?” She looks surprised.
“And I bought him a Slurpee. His first Slurpee ever, I might add. . . . It really helped to assuage my guilt.”
Now she smiles. “I was hoping the guilt gene would skip a generation.”
“No such luck.”
“Well,” she says. “I’m sorry about that, too.”
She starts to say something else, then changes her mind and turns the key in the ignition, revving the engine.
It is the quietest drive, after all that talking. The strangest, quietest thing. My mom and I don’t even turn on the radio. We just drive home together, side by side, thought bubbles floating over both our heads.