Morgan’s voice was very faint as she asked, “What does that mean?”
Delia set the wand back in its stand, and gently wiped the goo from Morgan’s belly with a warm wet cloth. “It means that you can have a medical abortion, if that’s what you decide.”
Morgan sat up and opened her eyes. “That’s the pills, right?”
Delia nodded. “If that’s what you decide on, you’ll get two sets of pills. The first medication is called mifepristone. That’s going to stop the pregnancy from proceeding any further. Then, in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, you’ll take four misoprostol pills. You’ll hold them between your cheeks and gums for thirty minutes, until they dissolve, and you’ll want to take your ibuprofen then, too. The bleeding will start within three to four hours after that.”
“The bleeding,” Morgan repeated, lips thinned. “You mean the abortion.”
“Yes,” Delia said. “That’s right.”
“That works,” Kayla said, doing the math. “Tomorrow’s a day off. We’re on a bike trip,” she explained to Delia. “But if you take the first pill now, and the second ones tomorrow, and if it…” She groped for the words. “If it happens tomorrow afternoon, you should be fine.”
Morgan nodded. Delia went on. “Most women pass the pregnancy within four or five hours after taking the misoprostol. The cramping can be strong, and you might see clots the size of lemons.” Morgan shuddered, looking revolted. Kayla gave the girl’s hand a squeeze.
“But, for some women, it’s no different than having a period,” Delia said.
Morgan gave a jerky nod. “How long will it—how long will I bleed for?” she asked.
“For most women, the bleeding tapers off after twenty-four hours. You might see some spotting until your next period.” Delia’s voice was low and soothing as she recited the list of possible complications, and signs indicating that Morgan would need to seek help. “We’ll give you a number to call so you’ll be able to talk to someone here while it’s happening. Do you have someone who can stay with you?” she asked.
Before Kayla could offer, Morgan said, “My mom.” Her voice was a little more steady as she looked at Kayla. “If I tell her it’s cramps… if she thinks it’s just my period… she’ll take care of me.”
Delia’s gaze moved from Morgan to Kayla. “I’m not her mother,” Kayla said. “Just a friend.”
“Your mom doesn’t know?” asked Delia. Morgan shook her head.
“I can’t tell her,” Morgan said, her voice quiet, but very firm.
“Morgan has friends who know what’s going on,” Kayla said. “We’ll take care of her. We’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Delia nodded. “Do you understand everything I’ve told you?” she asked, looking carefully at Morgan. “Do you have any questions? I’m going to give you printouts that go over everything I’ve told you. I know it sounds scary, but I promise you, this is a very, very common procedure, and the vast majority of women come through it just fine.”
Morgan said she didn’t have questions. Kayla didn’t, either.
“Do you want to talk about birth control?” Delia asked.
“Oh, no.” Morgan shook her head. “I don’t need that.”
Delia and Kayla exchanged a glance over the girl’s head. “There are long-term options, for women who don’t want to get pregnant in the next months or years,” said Delia.
“No,” Morgan repeated, her voice firm.
“Okay,” said Delia. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us. And if you do have penetrative sex with a man again, make sure your partner is using a condom, and that he’s put it on correctly. I can give you some condoms to take with you. Just in case.”
Morgan gave another stiff nod, before asking, “Will anyone be able to tell? Like, after I’m home? If something happens, and I have to go to the hospital?”
“When are you going home?” Delia asked.
“In a week,” said Kayla.
“Then you’ll be fine,” Delia said. “And no, nobody will be able to tell that you’ve had a medical abortion. There’s nothing that shows up in a blood test, or an exam.” She wheeled her chair over to a keyboard and typed rapidly. “If you end up needing to see your doctor or go to a hospital, you’ll tell them you didn’t even know you were pregnant,” Delia said. “But that’s very, very unlikely. The majority of women who take both of these medications—I’m talking ninety-nine percent—they do just fine.”
“One pill today, four pills tomorrow. Then it’s over,” Morgan said, mostly to herself.
“And I need to ask if you’re sure about your choice,” Delia said. She turned to Kayla. “Can you give us a minute?”
Kayla nodded and stepped out into the hallway. A minute later, Delia opened the door. “She’s just going to get dressed. You’re all set.”
In the waiting room, Andy was sitting where she’d left him. His hair was wet and he was playing a game on his phone. He practically jumped to his feet when he saw Morgan and hurried across the room to meet her.
“I bought you some chocolate,” he said, and shoved a bag toward her.
Morgan nodded her thanks and put the bag in her sweatshirt’s pouch, which was already bulging with a sheaf of pamphlets and printouts: information about the drugs, about where to get birth control, about websites they could access and numbers they could call. The receptionist had given Morgan three prescription bottles in a white paper bag: mifepristone, misoprostol, and prescription-strength ibuprofen. Morgan stopped at the water cooler, filled a cup, opened the bag, then one of the bottles. Kayla watched her tap the first pill out into her hand.
“You’re sure?” Kayla asked one last time.
“I’m sure,” Morgan said. She raised her hand to her mouth and swallowed the pill down.
Abby
11:06 a.m.
On a sunny day, the cinder-topped dirt path out of Syracuse would have been as flat and as hard-packed as pavement, a fine surface for riding. On a rainy day, the trail transformed from dirt to mud, which, that morning, seemed to be actively sucking at their tires, making the riding effortful, and keeping the pace extra slow.
Abby ground out the miles along the canal, hearing her tires squelching with each rotation, watching her shoes and her legs and the frame of her bike getting increasingly crusted with mud. She didn’t pass any other riders. Probably because they were all sensible enough to stay home.
All morning long, Abby plowed along, shivering, always keeping Sebastian’s flashing rear lights in her sights. In his lime-green rain jacket, he was easy enough to see, even with the rain pouring down. She pedaled, and breathed, and mentally cursed him, blinking water out of her eyes, doing her best to ignore her feet, which were turning numb, and the ominous rumble of thunder, which accompanied them for each slow mile they managed that morning. Abby told herself that there were cars and trucks nearby, and that those vehicles would provide bigger targets for the lightning than their bicycles did. She only hoped that, once they started riding on the road, they’d be small enough for the lightning to miss them, but not so small that the drivers and the long-haul truckers wouldn’t be able to see them.