Chapter 14
Have you ever licked the floor of the men’s room at Yankee Stadium? Neither have I. But now I know just what it tastes like.
Yep—we’re hung over. It’s hell. Forget the drones; if the army could unleash this feeling? There’d be world peace for all.
I’m in the office of my mother’s gynecologist. Billy and Delores came along for moral support. See us there? Lined up in the chairs, like three delinquents waiting outside the principal’s office. Delores is wearing sunglasses even though we’re inside, reading a pamphlet about the new female Viagra. Billy’s asleep, mouth open, head tilted up and resting against the wall behind us. My mother’s here too, flipping through a magazine without reading any of the words.
And I just sit, trying too hard not to look at those pictures of newborn babies covering the walls.
Billy lets out a snot-sucking snore, and Delores jabs him in the ribs with her elbow. he wakes up sputtering, “Monkey ball banana blitz!”
We all look at him questioningly.
And he realizes where he is. “Sorry. Nightmare.” Then he lays his head back against the wall again, eyes closed. “I feel like gassy stool.” Delores and I nod in unison. And Billy solemnly swears, “I’m never drinking again. I’m going legit.”
his cousin scoffs, “heard that before.”
“I mean it this time. No more alcohol for me. From here on out, it’s weed only.”
Yeah. That makes sense.
Since we’re waiting anyway, let’s take a moment to reflect on one of the most sacred womanly rites of passage: the gynecological exam. It’s completely bizarre.
See, our whole young lives, we girls are told to stay pure. Keep our legs crossed, our knees locked. And then we turn eighteen.
And we have to go to an office and meet a doctor who, based on statistics, will be a middle-aged man. And then we have to strip bare—completely naked. And let him feel us up. And finger us. A total frigging stranger.
Oh—and then there’s the best part: the conversation. Yep, he talks to you during the exam. How’s school? Sure is rainy out today, isn’t it? Is your mother doing well? All in the effort to distract you from that fact that he’s wrist deep in your vagina.
Can you say awkward?
And don’t any of you men out there try and cry me a river about the horrors of your prostate exam. Doesn’t compare. One little finger up the ass can actually be rather pleasant. At least you don’t have to put your legs up in a contraption that originated as a medieval torture device. Women definitely got the raw end of the deal on this one.
A nurse in blue scrubs calls my name. My mother and I stand up and walk into the first exam room on the left.
I take my clothes off and put on the pink plastic robe, opening in the front, of course.
The better to see you with, Little Red Riding hood.
I sit on the table, the paper liner crunching beneath me. My mother stands to the side, rubbing my arm supportively. And in walks the doctor.
Take a look. White beard. Chubby cheeks. Round glasses.
Give him a red hat, and he could totally ride that last float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I have to go to third base with Santa Claus? Are you kidding me?
Christmas will never be the same.
“hello, Katherine. I’m Dr. Witherspoon. Your mother’s regular physician, Joan Bordello, is on vacation—”
Of course she is.
“—and I’m filling in for her.” he looks down at the file in his hand. “Judging by the date of your last menstrual cycle, you’re almost six weeks into your first trimester?”
I nod.
“And you’ve had some bleeding and cramping?”
“That’s right.”
“Can you describe the blood for me, please? The color? Were there any clots?”
My voice is raspy. “It started out brownish-pink. Like the first day of my period. On the way to the hospital there was a gush . . .
of bright-red blood . . . and then . . . it turned brown again. I didn’t . . . I don’t think there were any clots.”
he nods his head, and his eyes are kind. “I’ve read the emergency room physician’s report, but I’d like to take a look myself. Is that all right, Katherine?”
I force a smile. “Okay. And you can call me Kate—everyone does.”
“All right, Kate. When you’re ready, slide down to the edge of the table and put your feet in the stirrups, please.”
While I follow his directions, he wheels a cart over with a monitor and keyboard. And then he picks up a long plastic white wand that looks . . . well . . . like a dildo.
For an elephant.
I lift my head from the table. “Uh . . . what’s that?”
“This is an internal ultrasound. Looks a little scary, I know . . .”
No shit, Santa.
“. . . but it won’t hurt.”
And then he takes out a foil packet, tears it open, and rolls an extra-large condom onto the elephant dildo.
Not kidding. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
“Just try and relax, Kate.”
Sure. No problem. I’ll just pretend I’m at the spa. having my ovaries massaged.
he inserts the rod carefully. And I flinch. The room is silent as he moves the instrument to and fro. he wasn’t lying; it’s not painful. Just . . . disconcerting.
“Are you still experiencing any cramping?”
I stare at the beige-tiled ceiling, purposely avoiding the little screen.
“No. Not since last night.” I’m pretty sure the alcohol and pot disabled every pain nerve in my body.
I hear the tapping of buttons on the keyboard, and the rod is removed. “You can sit up now, Kate.” I do. “Do you see that flickering, right there?”
My gaze settles on the screen, where he’s pointing. “Yes.”
“That is your baby’s heartbeat.”
The breath rushes from my lungs. And I’m horrified. “You mean . . . it’s still . . . alive?”
“That’s right.”
My hands squeeze together and I feel the tears coming back up, ready to gush like a weakened dam. “When is it going to . . .
how long will it take before . . . I fully miscarry?”
he covers my clasped hands with one of his own. “Based on my examination, your hormone levels, and what you’ve told me, I see no reason why you should.”
My head snaps up. “Wait . . . what? But the doctor last night said—”
“It can be difficult, this early, to detect a fetal heartbeat with a traditional ultrasound. As for your bleeding, some spotting in the first trimester is quite common. Now, however, your cervix is closed, your blood work is unremarkable, and the fetal heart rate is normal. All of these factors indicate a routine pregnancy that should progress to full term.”
My mother’s arms wrap around my shoulders, relieved and excited. But I need more. “So you’re saying . . . I get to keep him?
I’m going to have this baby?”
Dr. Witherspoon chuckles.
It’s a jolly sound.
“Yes, Kate. I believe you’re going to keep this baby. Your due date is October twentieth. Congratulations.”
I cover my mouth and the tears flow. I’m smiling so big, my face hurts. And I hug my mother back. “Mom . . .”
She laughs. “I know, honey. I’m so happy for you—I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
This is how it should have been the first time. No fear. No doubts. Only elation. Euphoria.
It’s the most wonderful moment of my life.
I throw my clothes on faster than a cheating wife caught in the act and burst into the waiting room. Delores and Billy stare at me in surprise. “I’m still pregnant! I’m not having a miscarriage!”
They stand up.
“holy shit!”
“I knew Dr. Dickhead didn’t know his ass from his elbow!”
Smiles and hugs are passed around like acid at Woodstock.
And my best friend asks me, “So I guess your mind’s made up?
You’re keeping it?”
My hands drop to my stomach, already imagining the bump.
“Until he turns eighteen and goes to college. And even then, I might make him live at home and commute.”
She nods, bestowing the coveted Delores Warren seal of approval.
Billy drops to his knees in front of me. “hey, in there. I’m Uncle Billy.” Then he looks up at me, worried. “I can be Uncle Billy, right? You gotta let me be Uncle Billy. The only other shot I’ve got is Delores—and who the hell knows what kind a freak of nature she’s gonna squeeze out.”
Delores smacks him on the head.
And I laugh. “Yes. You can be Uncle Billy.”
“Sweet.” his attention reverts to my stomach. “hey, kid. Don’t worry about a thing—I’m gonna tell you everything you need to know. Say it with me: Strat-o-caster.”
Delores shakes her head. “It can’t understand you, Jackass. It’s like the size of a tadpole.”
“After last night, it’s probably a wasted tadpole. But that’s cool, right? It’ll build up its tolerance—put hair on its chest?”
Delores grins. “What if it’s a girl?”
Billy shrugs. “Some guys are into girls with hairy chests. You’d be surprised.”
I turn away from the Tweedledum-Tweedledee exchange and walk down the hall to Dr. Witherspoon. My words come out stunted. Guilty. “Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you . . . but . . .
last night . . . I was upset and I . . . drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes.” I lower my voice. “And marijuana. A lot.”
A montage of Special Report News flashes through my mind: Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.
Super-preemies.
Low Birth Weight.
he puts his hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “You’re not the first woman to engage in some rather . . . unhealthy behaviors before learning she was pregnant, Kate. Babies in utero are heart-ier than you think. They have the ability to overcome momentary exposure to drugs and alcohol. So as long as you abstain from these substances from now on, there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”
I throw my arms around his neck, almost knocking him over.
“Thank you! Thank you, Dr. Santa—this is the best Christmas present ever!”
I run back to Delores and Billy. “he said it’s okay!” We jump up and down in a circle like three kids on the playground doing Ring Around the Rosie.
And it’s almost perfect. Almost. Because there’s something missing.
Someone.
The only other person on earth who’s supposed to be as happy as I am at this moment. he should be here. he should be picking me up, spinning me around, and kissing me until I pass out.
And then he should be telling me that of course the baby’s fine— because his studly super-sperm is indestructible.
Can’t you just see it?
But he’s not here. That’s just the way it is. I’d like to tell you it doesn’t hurt—that I don’t miss him—that I don’t really care anymore. But that’d be a big fat lie. I love Drew. I can’t imagine ever not loving him. And I want to share this with him, more than anything.
But we don’t always get everything we want; sometimes we just have to be grateful for what we have. And I am. Grateful, I mean.
happy. Because I’m going to have this baby and take care of him.
And I don’t have to do it alone. Between my mother and George, Delores and Billy, there won’t be any shortage of helping hands.
he’s going to be loved enough for ten babies.
Forty-eight hours ago, I didn’t know what I was capable of, what kind of steel pumps in my veins. Now I do. And I guess that’s the moral of the story.
You have to fall down, scrape your palms and knees, before you know you have the ability to pick yourself back up.
So don’t worry about me. I’m going to be just fine. Eventually, I’ll be great. We’l be great.
We pull into the rear parking lot of the diner and my mother rushes in through the back door. She left George manning the ship, and she’s a little eager to make sure he hasn’t single-handedly sunk it.
As Delores, Billy, and I walk less hurriedly, Delores asks me, “So what’s the plan, Stan?”
I breath deep and squint up at the sky. And it feels like a new day. A blank page. A fresh beginning. More clichés, I know.
But still—so true.
“I’m going to hang here another day or so. Just . . . recharge.
Then I’m going back to New York. And Drew and I are going to have a long talk. I have some things to say, and he’s going to listen—whether he wants to or not.”
She taps my shoulder. “That’s my girl. Give the bastard hell.”
I grin. Billy opens the door for us but I don’t follow Dee Dee inside. he asks, “You coming, Katie?”
I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna go take a ride.
Clear my head, you know? Tell my mom for me?”
he nods. “Sure. Take your time. We’ll be here when you get back.”
The door swings closed behind them.
And I walk to my car.
So there it is. You’re all caught up now. That’s my story. It was a whopper, huh?
My father used to bring me to this playground when I was young. Even then, when it was newly built, it was never very crowded. I don’t know why the town chose this location to build; it’s an unusual place for a children’s park. There aren’t any housing developments or apartment complexes nearby. And you can’t see it from the main road—it’s off the beaten path.
Time hasn’t been kind to the metal swing set frames and wavy steel slide. They’re rusted, faded, and discolored from the lively primary colors they once were. Still . . . it’s kind of beautiful here—in an industrial modern art kind of way. It’s solitary. Peaceful.
And I need as much of that as I can get. Because thinking about what comes next, what’s ahead of me? I’m not going to lie— it’s scary. It feels like . . . moving into a new house. Exciting, but nerve-racking too. Because you don’t know where the closest gas station is, or the number of the local fire department. There’re so many things to learn.
I read somewhere that babies can actually hear what’s going on outside the womb. That they’re born knowing the sound of their mother’s voice. I like that idea.
I look down at my stomach. “hey, Tadpole. Sorry about everything that’s been going on lately. My life usually isn’t this dramatic.
Although Drew would probably disagree with me on that. he tends to think I’m quite the drama queen.”
Drew. That’s gonna be a tough one. Might as well start now— practice makes perfect.
My hand rests against my stomach, cradling it. “Yeah . . . your father. Your dad is like . . . a shooting star. When he’s around, every other light in the sky just . . . fades out. Because he’s that vibrant— you can’t take your eyes off him. At least I never could.”
I bite my lip. And watch as a hawk soars overhead.
Then I go on. “We loved each other. No matter what’s happened or what will happen from here on out, it’s important to me that you know we were in love. Your father made me feel like I was everything that mattered to him. The only thing. And I’ll always be grateful to him for that. I hope you get to know him one day.
Because he’s actually a really . . . great guy.” I laugh softly. “When he’s not too busy being as ass.”
When I finish speaking the air settles, and all is quiet for several minutes. It’s so different from the parks in the city, with their honking cars, screaming children, and jogging footsteps. It’s serene.
So when a car door suddenly closes nearby, it startles me. My head whips toward the sound.
And standing there is the last person I ever thought I would see out here, in Greenville, at this moment.
It’s Drew.