All These Impossible Things
Kennie had always been happy as a follower—a good thing, because she had always been a follower. She had grown so used to following that when the topic of abortion came up, Kennie almost agreed without considering what she wanted.
There was, of course, the fact that Liz was right. God, her parents would disown her. She would never go to college. All of Meridian—half of which went to her church and would think of her during every single sermon about fornication—would give her dirty looks for the rest of her miserable, collegeless, homeless, parentless, unequivocally suckish life.
After Liz dropped her off, Kennie went inside, cried so hard that she puked, and somehow made herself believe that it was morning sickness, never mind that she was only about six weeks in. She took a shower and then suddenly it was all very real to her, this pregnancy. When the purple positive sign first appeared on the test, her heart had fallen out of her chest, but she had told herself that it was a hoax and ignored it. When her period never came, she finally told Liz and Julia, and now, Kennie put her hands on her stomach and believed for the first time that there could be a person inside her.
So sometime between shampooing and conditioning, she stopped being stupid and started falling in love.
It was kind of amazing, that there was something inside her, alive, breathing in and out—metaphorically, of course—and growing with each moment. It was very precious to her, suddenly, life. She had never valued it as much as she did then.
She wanted to keep the baby.
Kennie had always loved babies.
She had never taken care of anything before. Her parents were the definition of overprotective, and where they did not interfere, her brother did. Kennie had grown up so safe and sheltered and spoiled that she had learned little during her life except how to lie—a necessary skill if she wanted to have the barest semblance of privacy. In her heart, Kennie was younger than Liz or Julia, and she didn’t like it.
In the shower that night, Kennie cried harder than she had ever cried before. She cried until the shower was icy rain all around her, because she wanted impossible things.
After her mother pounded on the bathroom door, demanding what was taking so long, Kennie came out, got dressed, and stayed up all night.
She sat in the darkness and tried to sort out her options. She put her hands on her stomach and hugged the growing life inside her, and tried to find a path wide enough for both of them.
She had $639.34 left in her savings account from her summer job at McCrap’s. That might cover a month in one of those really disgusting apartments by the highway. Of course, her parents had guardianship over her bank account, and they’d probably lock her out of it.
She could call her brother, but he was halfway across the country now, and it didn’t seem likely that he would help her. Never mind how many babies his girlfriends had probably aborted—he would side with their parents.
Maybe she could stay with Liz or Julia. But she’d still be in Meridian and people would still find out. Of course, she wouldn’t even have to stay with Liz or Julia unless her parents kicked her out, and her parents wouldn’t kick her out unless they knew she was pregnant, and if they found out, they’d tell the entire town anyway. She was going in circles.
Around three o’clock, she ran out of tears and decided to stop thinking about what to do.
Instead she thought about the baby.
My baby, she thought.
She didn’t care about the gender. An hour later, she had names picked out for both, perfect names. She wanted to buy baby clothes. She wanted a car seat. She wanted a future that she could build all by herself.
But when she curled up beneath the covers and listened to her breath bouncing off her blankets, she began crying again because she knew she couldn’t do it, not really, not ever.
She couldn’t.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Thirteen Minutes Before Liz Emerson Crashed Her Car
Liz fumbled to get her phone out of her back pocket. The car swerved a bit, and her breath caught. A strange thing rose in her chest; she didn’t know if it was fear or anticipation, but then it burst and she was hollow again.
She unlocked her phone and opened Facebook, and scrolled through her pictures until she found the one she was searching for. It was from the summer before eighth grade, and the three of them stood with the state fair in the background. Julia was wearing a pair of sunglasses she had just bought from the vendor behind them, and Kennie was holding a dish of deep-fried pickles.