“So cut out the attitude and be grateful,” my mother added. “And stop eating chips. You’re getting fat.”
I crumpled up the bag and wiped my greasy fingers on my shorts. I scratched a mosquito bite on my leg. I stared out the open window. I’d long ago devised a game of looking at passing cars and making up stories about the people inside.
The older couple driving a Cadillac had been married sixty years and were taking a trip to the beach together. The young, long-haired guy in the hatchback was on his way to meet his girlfriend after they’d gone to separate colleges. The four girls in the VW were taking a road trip to Manhattan for the first time.
I wondered what people thought of when they saw me and my mother.
Crystal. She’d told me to call her that when I was eight. Didn’t think it was a good idea if people immediately knew we were mother and daughter.
“Get out the map, Liv.” She nodded toward the glove compartment. “We’re looking for I-77. You remember Nadine from the grocery store? She’s got a brother who lives in Cleveland. Runs an auto-parts store or something. Nadine said to pay him a visit if we happened to be in town.”
“We don’t happen to be in Cleveland,” I muttered. “We’re going there on purpose.”
“Shut up, Liv, and look at the map. Why are you always such a pain in the ass?”
“Because we’re always moving,” I snapped. “Why did we have to leave Akron? I liked it there.”
I did, too. I’d been able to start fourth grade at the beginning of the year, which meant I wasn’t as much the “new girl” as I would have been if I’d started mid-year. I’d even made a few friends, and my teacher, Mrs. White, was nice.
“There’s nothing in Akron,” Crystal replied. “We need to go somewhere where things are happening.”
By the time we got to Cleveland, we were out of money and down to a quarter tank of gas. Turned out Nadine’s brother Tom worked at a garage, and my mother talked him into filling the gas tank and checking the car. Then she booked us into a cheap motel room and told me to wait for her there.
She was gone for two days. I watched TV and ate candy bars and chips from the vending machine. When Crystal returned, she smelled like cigarette smoke and had a wad of twenties in her pocket. Even then, I wondered what she’d done for them.
Now I shove aside all the old emotions, reminding myself that my life is completely different. It’s been different for over fifteen years. I’ll never be that uncertain and afraid again. And I will not be the kind of mother Crystal was.
I take the maternity clothes out of the bag and spread them out on the bed. The stretch panels mean I can wear them throughout the pregnancy. I do a little mixing and matching with some of my other shirts, then fold everything up and put it all in my suitcase. I realize I forgot to give Joanna the chocolates I bought her, and I put them on the dresser.
I change into yoga pants and a T-shirt and sit at the desk. I open my Liv’s Manifesto notebook. After a moment of thought, I write:
An unfamiliar feeling winds through me. I grip the pen harder and keep writing.
I put the pen down and reread the list.
You.
I turn on my computer and type a few words into a search engine. I’m perusing several lists when Dean comes in. He kisses me on the forehead and gives me an update about his father before he flops down on the bed and pulls a loop of string from his jeans pocket.
“Chaucer, huh?” I ask.
“What?” Dean glances up from twisting the string around his fingers.
“You wanted to name our kid Chaucer.” I look at him with a raised brow, my hands poised over the keyboard. “Not if you expect to stay married.”
He manages to look offended. “Chaucer is a classic name. Great historical significance.”
“You might as well put a teasing target on the kid’s back.”
“We could shorten it to Chet.”
“Chet West. Sounds like the name of a spaghetti western hero. Come see Ride ’Em, Cowboy, starring Tom Mix and Chet West.”
“Hmm. Not sure that’s a movie I’d want to see.” Dean unravels the string from his fingers. “So, what brilliant name ideas do you have?”
“I’ve always liked the name Elliott.”
“Great. Our kid will forever be associated with E.T. Everyone will be telling him to phone home.”
We glower at each other for a few seconds before I turn back to the computer. “What if it’s a girl? And don’t you dare say Hildegard or Goditha.”
“Isabella.”
I pause, my fingers on the computer keys. “That’s nice.”
“Bella for short.”
I look at him. “Really nice.”
Dean smiles. I get all soft inside. He looks pleased with himself.
“Just don’t tell me Isabella was some medieval queen who ended up getting burned at the stake,” I warn.
“Isabella of Angoulême became the queen of England. She was beautiful and fierce.”
“Say no more.” I like the idea of naming a daughter after a woman who was beautiful and fierce. As long as I don’t know if she met an untimely end. “Isabella if it’s a girl. And if it’s a boy?”
“Durwin.”
“No.”
“Arthur.”
“No.”
“Roland.”
“No.”