“Yeah. What happened?”
Mom reached for the drink again. There was a noticeable trembling in her hand. “I went to the mini-mart for smokes. On the way home, I ran into Neddie. The Tides was open. I thought I’d have a quick drink. I needed one to … you know … but when I looked up again it was too late.” She took a drag off her cigarette, looked at Lauren through the gray haze. “You look bad. Maybe you should sit. You want an aspirin? I’ll get you one.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry, Lauren,” she said softly.
For once, Lauren heard real regret in her mother’s voice. “It’s okay.” She bent down and started picking up pizza boxes and empty cigarette packs from the floor. “It looks like you and Jake had quite a party last night.” When Lauren looked up, her mother was crying. It warmed her heart, that simple proof of emotion.
Lauren went to her, knelt beside the sofa. “I’m okay, Mom. You don’t have to cry.”
“He’s going to leave me.”
“What?”
“My whole life is nothing. And I’m getting old.” Mom put out her cigarette and lit up another.
This hurt more than the slap. Even now, on this terrible day, her mother’s thoughts were on herself. Lauren swallowed hard, moved away. Very slowly she went back to picking up the apartment. She had to hold back tears with every breath. “I didn’t go through with it,” she said quietly.
Her mother looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in blurred mascara. “What?” It took her a minute to figure out the meaning of Lauren’s words. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding.” Lauren tried to be strong, but it felt as if she were crumbling. The pain in her heart was swift and sharp. As much as she knew it was crazy—impossible—she wanted her mother to open her arms right now, to hold her as she never had, and say, It’s okay, honey. “I couldn’t do it. I’m the one who needs to pay for my mistake, not …” She looked down at her stomach.
“Baby,” her mother said coldly. “You can’t even say the word.”
Lauren took a step forward. She was biting her lower lip and wringing her hands. “I’m scared, Mom. I thought—”
“You should be scared. Look at me. Look at this.” She stood up and made a sweeping gesture with her hands as she crossed the room. “Is this the life you want? Did you study like a fool for this? You’ll lose out on college this year—you know that, right? And if you don’t go now, you’ll never go.” She grabbed Lauren by the shoulders and shook her. “You’ll be me. After all your hard work. Is that what you want? Is it?”
Lauren pulled free, stumbled back. “No,” she said in a small voice.
Mom sighed heavily. “If you couldn’t make it through an abortion, how in God’s name do you think you can handle adoption? Or worse yet, motherhood? Go back to the clinic tomorrow. This time I’ll go with you. Give yourself a chance in life.” The anger seemed to slide out of her then. She pushed the hair from Lauren’s eyes, tucked a strand behind her ear. It was perhaps the gentlest her mother had ever been.
The tenderness was worse than being yelled at. “I can’t.”
Mom stared at her through eyes that were glazed with tears. “You break my heart.”
“Don’t say that.”
“What else can I say? You’ve made your decision. Fine. I tried.” She bent down and grabbed her purse. “I need a drink.”
“Don’t go. Please.”
Mom headed for the door. Halfway there, she turned back around.
Lauren stood there, crying. She knew the desperate plea to stay was in her eyes.
Mom almost started to cry again. “I’m sorry.” Then she left.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, Lauren woke to the sound of music bleeding through the walls. It was the Bruce Springsteen CD.
She came upright slowly, rubbing her swollen, gritty eyes.
Mom’s party had obviously turned into an all-nighter. It wasn’t surprising, she supposed. When your seventeen-year-old daughter got herself knocked up, there was nothing to do but party.
With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, where she took a long, hot shower. When she was finished, she stood on the frayed scrap of a towel that served as their bathmat and studied her naked body in the mirror.
Her breasts were definitely bigger. Maybe her nipples were, too; she couldn’t be sure about that, her nipples never having been high on her to-notice list.
She turned sideways.
Her stomach was as flat as ever. There was no sign there of the new life that grew within.
She wrapped a towel around her and returned to her bedroom. After making her bed, she dressed in her school uniform—red crew neck sweater, plaid skirt, white tights, and black loafers. Then she turned off her bedroom light and walked down the hallway.
In the living room she stopped. Frowned.