We pull up to Planned Parenthood, and Lindy tells us to keep our eyes forward. I’m scared to be here, but Mili wouldn’t take no for an answer. Trying to get into the building reminds me of one of the video games Victor plays, where a riot slowly builds into chaos. Mili glares at the people holding signs with Dr. Seuss quotes like “A person’s a person, no matter how small,” and more creative slogans like “Give women love instead of abortions,” and some people have posters with graphic pictures of dead, bloody fetuses. Lindy tells someone to “back the hell off” when they try to hand her a flyer. Natalie holds my hand.
Inside is a different level of the game. The first thing I notice is how quiet it is, how beige. The women behind the desk are fully covered in glass, but I tell myself it’s not a hospital, I tell myself to breathe. We sit down while Lindy brings back paperwork from the counter. “You don’t need medical, and I’ll sign for you, so leave that part blank.”
I realize I’ve never filled out one of these forms before. Mami always does it for me. It seems simple enough, but my hand shakes until Miliani takes the clipboard from me and fills it out herself. She marks everything, including my anxiety and minus my social security, which Lindy says isn’t required right now. Miliani even knows the possible date of conception.
While we wait, Natalie reads a few brochures about birth control, and Miliani examines the basket labeled FREE CONDOMS. Lindy keeps her eyes closed most of the time. A nurse calls my name, and Natalie and Miliani both stand to follow. I look at Lindy, but she says, “Go ahead, kid. This is your thing.” The nurse explains that only one person can go back with me anyway, and Mili bites her lip before sitting back down.
The nurse does all the stuff they do at my doctor’s office, but when she weighs me she has no reference to say You’ve gained another three pounds, Inez, or, You’re still growing in the ninetieth percentile for your age. She gives me a cup to pee in, then leads us to a room with a bed that has stirrups. I’ve seen women get Pap smears in movies, but these look scarier in person.
“It’ll be okay,” Nat reassures me, but looks horrified herself.
The doctor is nice. She’s a tall lady with thick eyebrows and stick-straight hair. She introduces herself, but I don’t retain it. “The in-office pregnancy test came back positive,” she says, and I feel like saying, Duh, but I don’t. “I’m going to give you a physical exam to see how everything is looking down there. Do you want your friend to step out of the room?”
“She can stay if she doesn’t mind seeing my goods.”
Natalie laughs. “Nothing new there.”
The doctor smiles, helps me lift my feet onto the stirrups, and tells me to slide down. I wonder if the hair on my inner thighs is long. She tells me to relax my legs and walks me through it: the stickiness of the lube, the cold of the speculum, the pressure. It hurts more than I thought it would when she inserts it and opens me up. I breathe deep, and Natalie grabs my hand and squeezes. The doctor asks if I want STD swabs done today, and I don’t want to say no but I hate saying yes. She uses a giant Q-tip to swab my insides and then takes the speculum out to trade with her two fingers for a pelvic exam. I sit up when it’s over, and Nat helps adjust the blanket over me like she knows I somehow feel more exposed now.
“Everything looks okay. Based on your last period, you’re around six weeks. We can do an ultrasound today.” She writes in her chart. “Are you planning to proceed with the pregnancy?”
Her tone gives off business-venture vibes, which makes me feel comfortable to say, “I’m not sure.” But I think of Aaron, glance at Nat, and ask, “How long do I have to decide?”
“I’d say you have a couple of weeks to think it over. That way, we have time to schedule it if you decide on an abortion. Does that sound all right?” I tell her it does, even though two weeks sounds like too little time to make a decision that will change my life no matter what. The doctor finishes jotting notes, then looks up at me. “The ultrasound tech will keep the machine turned, in case you don’t want to see, but do let her know if you would.”
There should be a warning before these appointments: You’re going to have a lot of stuff stuck up your vag. The ultrasound probe pain isn’t as sharp as the speculum’s, but the technician has to shift the probe in different directions, in crazy-ass angles, in order to see my ovaries. She keeps the screen turned, as promised, but Natalie cranes her neck to see. They both look concentrated. Natalie has the occasional frown, and I’m not sure if it’s because something is wrong or because she’s perplexed. It’s probably the latter, but I begin counting the ceiling tiles and grasping the obsidian crystal in my palm until I can’t help but ask to see too.
The tech turns the screen to me, points to a blob, and shows me where the head is. When she turns up the sound on the machine, my thrumming pulse is drowned out by the beating of the fetus’s heart. She prints a few pictures and asks if I’d like one. I think about it but tell her no. Where would I hide the pictures from Mami even if I did want them?
The tech smiles politely and tucks the pictures in my chart.
I can tell Mili has questions she’s trying not to throw at me. I eye Lindy as she whips out her wallet up at the counter and ask Mili, “How much do you think this visit costs?”
“My auntie says they use a sliding scale sometimes.”
“How am I going to pay her back?”
She furrows her brows. “I don’t think she’s worried about that right now.”
“Hey.” Natalie rubs my leg. “You wanna talk about what happened?”
I tug on my shirtsleeve. “It looks … It looks like something already, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” Natalie’s smile is small but still a smile. “A little like an alien, though.”
“Wish I was there,” Mili says, leaning back in her chair. I feel bad because I know it must be different now that Jasmine’s not here to balance our group out. But Mili turns toward Nat and says, “Tell me everything.”
Natalie slaps the brochure she’s holding against her thigh. “The tech clocked the heartbeat at one hundred forty bpm. Didn’t it sound so damn fast, Inez?”
I can’t match her enthusiasm, so I nod and let them talk about it—while I imagine we’re back on the beach, playing in the water, floating and feeling free.
On the way out, I grip the obsidian, bracing myself for the protestors, but they seem strangely less aggressive than earlier. As if they’re weakened and decaying zombies in this level of the game. When we get in the car, someone stumbles over their feet with a flyer they were trying to shove under Lindy’s windshield wiper. I watch people sway from the safety of the car, wondering if it’s the heat making them seem tired or if it’s something else. But as we pull out of the parking lot, Natalie says, “I swear I see shadows weaving through the crowd,” and even though Mili agrees and Lindy looks back, I don’t see anything.
On the road, I ask Lindy how much I’d have to come up with if I wanted to terminate. Miliani stares at me from the front seat, and Natalie scooches closer to me. Lindy pulls in front of Natalie’s house. “They said it’ll be five hundred dollars.”
Natalie sucks in air. “Jesus, that’s a whole lotta money.”
“Yeah,” I say. My stomach turns. “Yeah. Thank you for asking, Lindy. For everything.”
The car is quiet until Nat picks her bags off the floor and kisses my cheek. “Love you.”
When we’re on my street and I’m out of the car, Lindy rolls down her window. “Inez, I did this one thing, but if you decide motherhood isn’t for you, you’ll have to find someone else to sign off on it.” I open my mouth, and she shakes her head. “It’s not because I think you shouldn’t have an abortion. Every person has a right to do whatever they feel is best for themselves. But it doesn’t feel like my place. You’re not my kid.”
What do I even say to that? She’s right. “I appreciate today.”
Miliani mouths, “Call me,” before Lindy drives away.
Mami’s sitting by the stove on a stool with the house phone against her ear and using her shirt to wipe her tears. She gives a deep, dramatic sigh and passes the phone to me. Papi’s voice sounds strained too. Mami hasn’t wanted to speak to him since the lawyer told her to prepare for a longer wait to apply for the visa. Papi asks me how I’m doing, but I can tell he wants to talk to her. When he tells me he misses me, tears spring to my eyes. I wonder if I’d feel differently about this pregnancy if Papi was here. I think he’d be easier on me than Mami and support whatever decision I make.
When we hang up, I wish Mami would’ve told him goodbye.
“Are you ever going to forgive Papi?”
Her shoulders stiffen. “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s not his fault. I’m not mad at him.”
“So why don’t you want to talk to him?”
“I do. More than anything. But I can’t,” Mami says, and she starts sobbing freely. “Mija, eat your dinner and do the dishes, please.”
While watching her leave, I realize I was wrong for thinking she was punishing Papi. Maybe the reason Mami can’t talk to him is because she’s sad thinking of having to live without him, and she doesn’t know how to say it. Talking to Papi forces her to face her loneliness, her disappointment, and sometimes that’s scarier than acting like it’s not happening at all.
She’s living in an indefinite limbo, and I know that’s hard.
Maybe Mami and I are more alike than I thought.
My plate of food goes in the garbage and gets covered with napkins so Mami won’t notice. I don’t want food right now; my stomach won’t handle it well. While doing the dishes, I see a blob on a screen with a heart beating twice as fast as my own.
When Mami is snoring at night, I walk by Victor’s room and watch him plug in the PlayStation. He untangles and clicks things in place so quick he could probably do it blindfolded. He sits as close to the TV as possible and says, “Will you shut my door, please?”
I walk in, close the door behind me and sit on the floor beside him. “Can I play too?”
Victor doesn’t groan like a typical younger brother might. He does look at me like I’m joking before passing me a controller, though. I forget which buttons are which as soon as we start playing, but Victor doesn’t mind showing me again. Once I get the hang of it, I’m jumping over barrels and running fast and scoring points. Victor seems happy I’m here.
We play for two hours straight, but I have to pee. It makes me think of how little time I’ll have for these types of things if I have a baby. Will I have any time for my brother? Will he love me like he does right now? Will the responsibility of petitioning for Papi in the future fall on him? I ruffle his hair and tell him I’m going to bed. He says good night, but when my hand is on his door, I turn around.
“Why did you tell Mami?”
Victor pauses the game. His shoulders slump. “I don’t know.”
I walk back over to him, tears in my throat that I wish would go away. “Why wouldn’t you come to me first and say it was bothering you?”
Victor looks up at me. “You’re always so busy with your friends and the weird stuff you do. You don’t talk to me anymore.”
The weird stuff. Does he know about the magic? “Oh, Victor. I’m not too busy for you.”
“You are. And I see the way you look at Mami when it’s time to say our prayers. I thought maybe you stopped believing in God.”
“Of course not, Victor. Of course I still believe in God. I’m … I don’t know. I’m getting older.” I can’t tell him it seems that magic and the version of God I was taught clash so much it’s hard for me to fully believe in the Bible. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God. “I know it doesn’t make much sense to you right now,” I say. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, either, but I promise I still believe in God, and I promise I’m here for you.”
He flips the controller over in his hand. “I’m sorry, Inez.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say, because I am, even though I never meant to hurt him. I sit back down and take the controller from his hand. “One more game?”
He smiles and presses START and we play until my bladder feels like it’s about to burst. But it’s worth it to see the way he looks at me before I leave for the night.