“I could ask around the firm,” she said. “See what’s coming available.”
God, accounting. I’d rather turn tricks. But I had to be gracious and grown-up for what was coming, so I said, “Sure, Mom. Sounds good.” I thought about taking a bite of the apple, but then my stomach went queasy. I set it down.
She went to the refrigerator and filled a glass with water. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Actually, my mouth was already dry with the unsaid news. “That would be great. Water’s fine.”
She filled a second glass. While she was still looking away, she said, “I can’t help but wonder what’s really going on, Jenny. You’re being way too agreeable.”
Mom was good like that, knowing how to segue into a tough conversation, leaving the door open for me to lay whatever I’d done lately right on her.
She turned and set the glasses on the counter. “You want to tell me what’s really going on?”
I took a long sip, trying to steady myself. There was no way to do this but be straight.
“I’m pregnant.”
Mom was so startled by my words that she knocked over her water, sending it cascading onto her pale blue cardigan.
“Oh!” she cried, snatching the glass before it crashed to the floor. She pulled a dish towel from a hook and began soaking up the spill.
“Sorry, Mom,” I said, not sure what all I was apologizing for. The words. How I said them. The mess.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Just let me get a handle on this.”
I waited in the tall chair as she soaked up the bulk of the water. I thought she might go back to her bedroom to change, but then she started giggling like a teen. “Wait. Have I gotten the dates wrong? Is it April first already? Is this your April fool?”
Oh, crap. I broke her. Mom never laughed like this and she certainly always knew the date.
“You all right, Mom?”
She bent forward, bracing her palms on her thighs. “You were always such a practical joker, Jenny.” She glanced around. “Did one of your movie friends set up a hidden camera? Are you trying to make a viral video?”
I clutched the edge of the counter, trying to figure out who this woman was, standing in front of me, completely losing it.
“Mom, it’s not a joke. You’re scaring me. Please go back to being the straitlaced organized mother who sees the practical side of everything.”
She held the dish towel to her face despite the fact that it was dripping wet.
“Mom?” I asked. Now I was getting worried. “Are you okay?”
She stepped forward and dropped the towel on the counter. “Just let me…adjust.”
I wiggled on the chair, feeling like a little kid in trouble.
She continued to pass the wet towel over the counter for another minute. Then she stopped and looked up at me.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Her face was drawn tight with confusion. “Was it that movie director man? He’s so much older than you, Jenny.”
I shook my head.
“You’re seeing someone new?” she asked.
I shook my head again.
She slid onto a stool on the opposite side of the bar. “Well,” she said, “the baby has to have a father.”
“He’s not in the picture,” I said, deciding not to mention that I didn’t know his last name or if he was even inside the state lines anymore.
“All right.” She pressed her hands against the counter, still streaked with water. “Have you considered your options?”
Now, that was unexpected. I didn’t think she’d get all progressive on it.
“I haven’t thought about anything yet,” I said.
“How far along are you?”
“I looked at a website online, and it said four weeks.”
“Did it give you a due date?”
I shook my head. “I can look.” I pulled out my cell phone to find the site again.
Mom got up to pace the kitchen, walking to the fridge and back.
I focused on the little screen of my phone. I wasn’t sure what I wanted from her. Condemnation. Anger. Disgust.
Maybe a hug.
“I never thought this would happen to you,” she said. “I thought you were so independent. Cautious.”
I figured I’d get a little stern talk, so I kept tapping. My stomach felt like lead, but overall, it hadn’t been as bad as I had imagined.
I put in the conception date again and clicked past the part where it said the baby was sand. There was a link that said, “Reveal your due date.”
Mom was back at the counter. “I don’t think you are ready for a baby,” she said.
My heart was thudding. Did she think that little of me? That I couldn’t adjust?
But then the due date came up, and I dropped the phone.
“Jenny?” she said, her voice full of concern. “You’re white as a sheet! Are you feeling sick?” She came around the counter to put her arms around me.
I couldn’t stop staring at the screen. I rarely cried, but this did it to me, hot tears pouring from my eyes.
“What is it, baby?” Mom asked.
I pointed to the phone.