Morgan didn’t want to think about her mother. She did not want to remember the way her mom had showed her how to use the back of a spoon to stretch the caramel, or how they’d watched together as its color went from amber to glossy dark brown. She didn’t want to think about how the smell of sugar mixed with the scent of the pine needles from the Christmas tree in the living room, or sitting next to her mom on the couch, using needle and thread to make popcorn and cranberry garlands, while her dad sang carols and built a fire in the living-room fireplace. There would be no more Christmases like that if her mother knew what she’d done. Morgan probably wouldn’t even be allowed to come home.
She groaned and collapsed on her side, her head on the pillow, the blanket pulled up to her chin. When Andy came back, she pretended to be asleep, listening as he set the cup down on the floor, then sat at the foot of her makeshift bed. At some point, feigned sleep became real, because, when she opened her eyes again, an hour had passed, and Andy was looking down at her, biting his lip.
“My mom keeps texting,” he said, holding his phone. Morgan saw that it was after eight o’clock. “Your mom—I think she’s really worried. She doesn’t know where you are, and she wants to call the police.”
Morgan gulped. “Did you tell your mom where you are?” she asked, her voice very small.
Andy shook his head. “I didn’t answer any of her texts.”
“Okay.”
“But I think you need to talk to her. Or one of us does. She needs to know that you’re okay.”
Morgan stared up at him. “I can’t.”
Andy’s throat jerked, and he rubbed his hands on his shorts. “You can’t avoid her for the rest of the trip. You were going to say you had cramps, right?” His face got a little red.
Morgan nodded. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the bottle, read the directions she’d already committed to memory: Place 4 misoprostol pills (200 mcg each) between your cheeks and gums and hold them there for 30 minutes as they dissolve. You should not speak or eat for these 30 minutes, so it is good to be someplace quiet where you will not be disturbed. After 30 minutes, drink some water and swallow everything that is left of the pills. This is also a good time to take a painkiller like ibuprofen, as the cramping should start within three hours.
“Wait,” she said. Before Andy could say anything, before she could second-guess herself, she opened the bottle, shook the pills into her hand, and tucked them between her cheeks and gums, two on each side, wincing at the bitter taste as the medication began to dissolve, watching the clock until thirty minutes had passed. It’s done, she thought. Her heart was pounding with elation and terror, shame and regret, and relief. More than anything else, relief that she’d done it and that, soon, it would all be over.
Lily
You went to the gym and fell asleep there?” Lily repeated. Morgan looked awful. Her hair was tangled, her lips were chapped, and there were circles under her eyes. Lily had taken one look when Morgan had come shuffling into the lobby at ten thirty in the morning, with Andy trailing shamefacedly in her wake, and, immediately, Lily had known that something had happened, that something was wrong. “Upstairs,” she’d said, her voice sharp. Morgan had followed her onto the elevator and back to their room. Lily hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door handle, closed the door and locked it, then turned to face her daughter.
“Andy wanted to show me some yoga,” Morgan said, with her eyes on the floor. In between frantic calls—to the police, to Don, in Arizona, to Morgan’s friend, Olivia, who she’d tracked down at summer camp—Lily had gone back to the room and straightened up, to keep her hands busy. Both beds were made, and she’d set Morgan’s duffel bag on top of the luggage stand, after going through each item and telling herself that her daughter wouldn’t go far without her phone, her retainer, or her beloved flat iron.
“You were in the gym with Andy?” Lily could hear her voice, a loud and undignified squawk. She was remembering that Andy had been carrying a blanket and pillow when he and Morgan had come traipsing into the lobby… but surely Morgan wouldn’t have been brazen enough to carry those items into the lobby if she and Andy had been doing something illicit. Andy seemed nice, well-mannered, and his parents seemed like decent, upstanding people… but Lily knew that young men who seemed pleasant were, sometimes, the ones that could cause the most harm.
“I have cramps,” Morgan said. “I—my legs were sore. Everything hurt. He was trying to help me.” She sniffled, one hand rubbing at her eyes. “I’m still not feeling good. I think I just want to stay in bed today.”
Lily looked at her daughter, examining her face, her clothes, her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. They had planned to spend the day going to the museums—there was one for women’s rights, and another one dedicated to the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, which was one of Lily’s favorites. Bedford Falls, the movie’s setting, was based on Seneca Falls. Lily suspected that those visits would not be happening.
Morgan didn’t look like herself. She was clearly exhausted, visibly miserable. But why? What had happened? Had Andy Presser done something to her? Hurt her, somehow?
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said. She went to her bed and lay down, curled on her side, her back toward Lily and her face toward the wall. Lily stared at her for a moment. Then she sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and stroked Morgan’s hair, rubbing her back. “Honey,” she said.
“I just want to be alone,” Morgan said, in a tiny, tearful voice. “Please, just let me be by myself for a little while.”
“I want to make sure you’re all right. You scared me.” Lily touched Morgan’s hair again and then asked, quietly, “Did Andy do something?”
“No!” Morgan bolted upright, and her voice was loud. She shook her head, then lay down again. She curled in around herself more tightly. “Andy’s a nice guy.”
“Did someone else hurt you?”
Morgan shook her head, but Lily felt her daughter’s body stiffen, very slightly, under her hand.
“Did something happen?”
Another headshake.
“Honey, you can tell me. Whatever it is.” Lily felt like she was groping in a dark room, feet bumping into furniture, hips banging into tables, everything just vague shapes lurking in the blackness.
“You’ll be mad at me,” Morgan said.
“I promise I won’t be angry. But I need to know what happened.” She took a deep breath and made herself ask, “Does this have something to do with Brody?”
If she hadn’t been watching and listening so carefully, she’d have missed Morgan’s minute nod, the sound of her daughter’s hair moving against the pillowcase. Maybe he broke up with her, Lily thought… but her mother’s heart, or intuition, or even just her own experience, was suggesting something else that seemed more likely. “Did Brody make you do something you didn’t want to do?”
Morgan pressed her hands together. “Not—not exactly.”
“You can tell me,” Lily said, stroking Morgan’s silky hair, moving gently, speaking softly. “You can tell me anything.”
“You’ll be mad.” Morgan’s voice was choked with tears. “You’ll be so mad, and you won’t…”
Lily waited.
“You won’t love me anymore,” Morgan finally whispered.
“Oh, honey.” Lily kept her voice steady, even as terror grabbed at her with icy fingers. She bent closer, squeezing Morgan’s shoulders. “There’s nothing you could do to make me not love you. You’re my baby.”
At that declaration, Morgan started sobbing, crying so hard that her body shook.
“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” Lily said calmly, even as a red film descended over her eyes. Had Brody done something? Had he hurt her daughter? Oh, she would kill him if he’d hurt Morgan. She would end him. She’d tear him apart with her bare hands. “I promise. I won’t be mad, and I won’t ever not love you.”
Morgan cried harder. Then she sat up, sniffling as she wiped her streaming eyes. “Brody…” she began.
Lily waited, making herself keep quiet, willing her body into stillness.
“He—he didn’t force me or anything. He didn’t hurt me, or, or…” Morgan grabbed a handful of her hair and started twisting, wrapping the strands around and around her hand as she stared down at the bedspread. Her voice was toneless and soft. “We only did it twice, and I didn’t even like it. And we used condoms. We were careful. Only…”