This Too Is Love, page 12
On our way out of the dance I stop at the bathroom. The baby has been kicking my bladder all night so I have to pee constantly. There’s a girl washing her hands when I walk in. I instantly know she’s Ricky’s ex-girlfriend. And not just because he showed me her picture on Facebook, but also because she looks like she wants to spit on me or fight me the moment I walk in. No one else has given me a hard time all night.
“You’re the girl Ricky cheated on me with, right? And now you show up here, at my prom, trying to make me look like a fool?” She dries her hands on a paper towel, throws it on the floor, then walks right up to me, getting in my face.
I try not to immediately hate the perfect blond hair on the top of her head, her bright red dress snaking around her skinny waist.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m leaving. Now.” I turn to walk away, confused as hell as to why she’s giving me attitude.
“Not that easy.” She grabs my shoulder as I turn to walk away. Nose to nose we stand, and I regret ever coming here tonight. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it sounded too easy, and nothing is ever easy for girls like me. “You know what everyone calls you around here?” she asks. “Cheap Trix. Funny right? You ever heard that before, slut? And for the record, I don’t date cheaters, which is why I dumped Ricky the moment I heard about your little hook-up.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? But I’m not fighting with you.”
I run out of the bathroom, knowing that she’s behind me, and we walk right into Ricky. The look on his face gives him dead away. She told the truth.
I keep walking, out the doors, into the parking lot, and climb into his truck, not knowing what to do besides cry. Pressing my lips together I raise my chin, wanting to keep the tears at bay. Not wanting to cry when this night has been so perfect, and now it’s become so perfectly ruined.
It seems like forever before he comes to the car. I sat here thinking of all the things I wanted to yell at him about, punch his face about, storm off about. But by the time he’s actually sitting next to me, I’m over it, no longer interested in the fight I’d played out in my head. Ricky looks as defeated as I feel.
And I feel so damn tired.
Tired of being hurt and used and broken. I just want to be happy.
I wanted Ricky to make me happy. And I thought he could, I thought he might be the person who could erase my past and give me a future. I wanted him to rescue me.
But sitting in the truck, looking over at him now, I realize he’s just human.
Just a guy doing the best he can.
“Trixie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here tonight without telling you the whole story. I never told you the truth in the first place because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than you’ve already been hurt. I wanted to protect you — but it wound up hurting you.”
“She was your girlfriend when we hooked up?” I ask, not wanting my voice to catch.
“Yeah. I cheated on her. Not the other way around. And someone who was there that night told her. We broke up the next day. Yes, it was a shitty thing to do. I know. But if I had told you right away, you would have hated me and I didn’t want the baby to grow up thinking it had a crappy dad. Do you get that?”
Do I get that? Me? The girl with so many fucking daddy issues it’s a joke.
“Yeah, I get it Ricky.” Because I do. “I’m just really tired. I want to go home.”
“I never wanted to hurt you, Trixie. You’ve got to believe that.”
“I do, Ricky,” I say, knowing in some ways he’s just like me. A person who doesn’t know what the hell to do besides his best. I offer him my hand to hold, a peace offering to my closest friend.
As he drives me home, I close my eyes, trying to memorize the night, the dancing and pictures and sugary-sweet punch. And I think about Ricky, how even though the end wasn’t what I had dreamed up, he still gave me a night I’ll never forget.
Week Thirty-One
“Josh’s mom gave us five hundred dollars for the wedding, but it won’t go very far. I’m getting plastic table cloths and Josh’s aunt is making these centerpieces, so that won’t cost me anything.”
I walk with Justice, browsing the aisles of a party supply store trying to decide on whether or not she needs a guest book. I’m being a nice cousin, along for the ride, even though I’ve been in a crappy mood all afternoon.
The nurse at the doctor’s office is pissed because I was a no-show for another appointment and Julia texted to see if I’d spoken to the agency yet about the open adoption agreement. Which I haven’t. Every time I try to make decisions about my future, my head hurts. I kind of want to ignore it all and pretend it’s not happening.
Besides that stuff, I’m still trying to get over everything that happened with Ricky. It’s all too much for me right now. Ever since prom, all I want is to be a regular high school girl with regular high school problems. I want a life I never had. And it’s making me really angry. I’m never angry. I’m the girl who pretends and avoids. I hate having to deal with this on my own.
Justice is still talking about decorations and I have to work to actually pay attention to the words coming from her mouth. “I don’t know, though, it adds up really fast. And I should really just be focusing on passing all my classes. Ugh. Do you ever get stressed out?” she asks.
Ever get stressed?
Me?
Pregnant. No place to live soon. Adoption. Ricky.
I try not to outright laugh in her face, at her insensitivity, her complete cluelessness. I shouldn’t hold her stress against her. That’s not fair, so I try to take the edge from my words.
“Yeah, I’m always stressed out, Justice. Especially right now, with your mom leaving. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do this fall. I’m really screwed here.”
Justice looks up at me, her bleached blond hair stringy and past her shoulders. Her face is breaking out around her mouth, which always happens when she’s overwhelmed.
“Why don’t you call your mom and see if she wants to live at the house with you when Mom and I leave?”
“Um, Justice, I hate to give the same sob story over and over, but my mom is not a realistic choice. Remember the last time she came out here? It was a year ago and she was strung out. She ended up taking forty bucks from your mom and left in the middle of the night. Why do you and your mom keep acting like she’s an option for me?”
I turn and walk out of the store. Sitting on the steps alone is better than trying to defend myself. I’ve spent my life dealing with my mom’s shit. I’m not going there again.
Ten minutes pass and finally Justice comes out of the store, empty-handed.
“I guess I don’t need a guest book. I mean, we’re getting married in Josh’s backyard. Grilling hamburgers and eating coleslaw.” She twists her mouth, like she knows how dumb this all is. Not her getting married, not her future in the military — that’s the good stuff. The stuff that matters. She shrugs her shoulders, as if knowing the other stuff — the petty stuff like decorations — that’s what’s dumb.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
“Scared of what, Trixie?” She sits down next to me, the sun shining on us.
For her: Marriage. The Army. Leaving her mom. Moving away.
“Scared of change,” I say, knowing I’m terrified.
For me: Labor. Giving away my baby. Not being strong enough.
“Not really scared,” Justice says. “I want to join the Army. And I get to go with Josh, so it isn’t like I’m totally by myself, you know? And Josh is so ready to get out of town. But still, what if we get sick of each other? What if we hate being married? No one in our family has ever been married. I might suck at it.” She shoves my shoulder softly, not wanting to get emotional. “God, why do you always have to make things so heavy, Trixie?”
“Well, you do suck at cooking. And cleaning. But Josh already knows all that, Justice. You’re going to be fine, stop worrying. You don’t want a bunch of zits in your wedding pictures,” I say, knowing it won’t be an issue, the wedding is still seven weeks away.
“I know I’ll be okay, but what about you?”
What about me? I grab Justice’s hand, and place it on my stomach. The baby has the hiccups and wants to tell us all about it.
“I’ll be okay. How can I worry about anything when I have a miracle inside of me?” I give her a half-broken smile, containing this wistful moment between what was and is and is to come.
Week Thirty-Two
Tuesday, 2:00 a.m.:
I wake with a start, my legs sopping wet, the sheet that was wrapped around me soaked through. Shit, I can’t remember the last time I peed the bed.
Fuck. It’s not pee, is it?
This is too soon, way too soon.
I sit upright, looking around my room, hoping for some clue, any clue that this wasn’t what I think it is.
“Justice. Come here!” I scream, scared to stand, to move. What if the baby falls out or something? “Get in here. Aunt Lena? Help me!”
Aunt Lena rushes in the doorway, saying something, but I can’t hear because suddenly a pain breaks through me and I can’t see straight.
“Aww...Aunt Lena, what the fuuuuuuu?” And now Justice is here and someone’s making a phone call and I’m wrapped in towels and we’re in the car and all I can think is that the books were never read and adoption papers are still not signed and I cannot have this baby. Not yet.
* * *
4:00 a.m.:
“Did you call Julia? She has to be here.” Tears stain my face and it’s scary and fast and everything it isn’t supposed to be. “Ohhhhhh. Make it stop!” My nails dig into Mrs. Carter’s arm as she stands by my side. Each contraction causes my screeching voice to echo the halls of the hospital. Justice and Aunt Lena are on my other side, offering ice chips and draping a washcloth on my forehead.
The nurses are busy prepping the room for delivery. But mostly they’re concerned. My water shouldn’t have broke so early, and the contractions started as soon as it did. The baby started to descend before anything can stop her. She’s coming. Soon.
“Beatrix.” The nurse looks at the monitor, and then reads the pages it prints out. “Your doctor has been called and is on her way. But you’re dilated to an eight out of ten already and since things are moving so quickly the most important thing to do is let us know if you’re ready to push.”
“Can’t I get drugs? I need them. It hurts too much!” The next contraction arrives and my wailing causes the room to pause as I let loose.
“I’m sorry, but this labor is moving too quickly for drugs, there isn’t time.” The nurse answers me calmly. How is she so freaking calm right now? My body is going to explode.
I lean over the bed railing and throw up all over the floor. For some reason that is code for everyone to rush to my side, and a nurse pages a doctor to the room.
“Okay, can you grab that leg?” a different nurse asks Aunt Lena, who looks pretty dazed and is probably dying for a cigarette at this moment. “And you grab the other,” the nurse tells Mrs. Carter. “Yes, just like that, and hold tight.” Mrs. Carter has my leg in her hand and all I can think is how in the hell did my life get to a place where I’m in a hospital room with my art teacher ready to push a person out of me.
* * *
4:17 a.m.:
Three pushes later and this little teeny baby is held up for me to see, her arms so small, her body covered in my body with no screams coming from her sweet, blue lips. Fear sets over me as the room becomes a hazy hush of lights and movement and I feel so dizzy I want to fall over but the doctor forces me to focus because the baby came fast and I need stitches and a needle enters my inner thigh.
I can’t feel a thing. I reach for the baby as she’s wheeled away, rushed away. I want to press her close to my breast and cradle her head wrapped in fuzzy back hair. I want to hold the baby that looks just. like. me.
* * *
6:45 a.m.:
I’m barely awake, just waiting for someone to tell me if Julia and David have made it. If they’ve seen their daughter.
If they’ve counted her fingers and her toes.
But no one says anything. Nurses tell me to rest, to close my eyes, and even though I don’t want to, I can’t resist the sleep the meds offer.
* * *
1:15 p.m.:
Julia is by my side. Holding my hand. The room is still dark, my head aches and my body aches and all I want to hear is that she is beautiful.
“Is she okay? It all happened so fast, I wanted you here but it was all over before it began. I couldn’t stop her from coming. I’m sorry, I know you wanted to be here.” My voice is quiet, scared at the stillness in the room, the bassinet not by my side.
“Beatrix, sweetie.” She sweeps my hair from my face, and I see the fear in her eyes, her trembling fingers as she grasps my own. “She isn’t well. Her lungs, they weren’t ready, and she’s struggling to breathe.” Julia inhales at her own words and tears stream down her cheeks and the world is falling apart in the middle of a hospital room.
“What do you mean? They can give her medicine, right? It will be okay? Have you held her, Julia? Kissed her?” My voice shakes and my body shakes and then a nurse returns, and she tells me to lie back while adding something to the IV in my arm and I hold on tight to Julia because I don’t want to be alone.
“The doctors are amazing,” Julia says, her voice soft. “We can trust in that. They’re running some lab work right now to better understand what’s going on. Everyone is here for you and the baby. Mrs. Carter and Justice. David is with the baby right now. The doctor is still trying to stabilize her. Until they do we’re able to watch her through the window.”
She speaks so calmly as she tells me the scary truth and all I want to know is that the baby is going to be okay. But she won’t say that.
“Did I do something wrong? Is that why she’s sick, why she came early?” I’m afraid of the words, that I’m even saying them.
“Beatrix, you’ve done everything possible to perfectly grow this baby.”
I lean into the medicine the nurse gives me, allowing it to help my eyes close again, trying not worry.
* * *
Wednesday, 7:00 a.m.:
“Good morning, Trix,” Dr. Midlow says with a cough, waking me from my fitful sleep. Nerves and fear have overwhelmed me. People were in and out all night checking my temperature, medications, and my pad. I wanted to see the baby but the nurses kept pushing me off, telling me to rest, to heal.
They finally helped me shower last night, holding my arms and helping wash the blood between my legs, helped me into a fresh gown as I stared at my body in the mirror. The deflated stomach bulging still, my breasts aching — asking for relief they aren’t getting. In the mirror I saw that the Trixie of last summer would never be here again. But I didn’t need a mirror to tell me that.
“Trixie, I need to speak with you,” Dr. Midlow continues. “And the things I’m going to be sharing are serious. Would you like someone here with you?” Her tone is dry, professional, but I hear hidden sincerity.
“I don’t even know if anyone is here.” Aunt Lena and Justice left late last night, needing to shower and sleep. “And I don’t want to wait on them anyways.”
“I understand. In that case, we got lab results back, on you and the baby. Trixie, you both have chlamydia. It wasn’t detected at your initial pregnancy appointment, which means it was contracted after you conceived.”
I pull the stiff sheets higher, wanting to cover something because suddenly I feel translucent, seen in ways I don’t want to be. There’s nowhere to hide when she’s the one holding the lab results. “I only had sex one time while I’ve been pregnant. It’s not possible.” Well, I know it was possible — but I can’t think about that.
“Did you and your partner use protection that one time?”
“Well no, I mean, I was already pregnant so I didn’t think it mattered.” My mind flashes back to the state-park quickie. I’d straddled him while his seat was reclined. I’d felt so empty that afternoon, so lost. Mrs. Carter had asked about my collage and I’d seen how pathetic my life was. Is. So I ran to the first guy I saw, wanting to feel better.
I never thought that would make me feel like this.
“It did matter. You contracted chlamydia from him. And you spread it to your child when she passed through the birth canal.” Dr. Midlow clears her throat, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts.
“Well, okay. I mean, that’s really awful and everything, but when I got HPV they gave me antibiotics to fix it. Is it the same thing now? Can’t we just get medicine to clear it up?”
“Had we known of the disease during pregnancy it would have easily been treated. A single round of antibiotics would have treated it, never affecting the fetus. Unfortunately, it is a standard test we perform for women under twenty-one at their twenty-eight week appointment.”
“And I skipped my last two appointments.” The truth dawns on me, shames me. Breaks me. My baby has an STD because I’m a flake. “Okay,” I say, desperate for an escape clause. “Can we take the antibiotics now?”
“Yes, it is vitally important we treat this immediately, and you will quickly recover, Trixie. But the baby is enduring serious complications. Chlamydia, if detected but untreated typically results in a cesarean section birth, to avoid the infected birth canal. The issue we’re facing now is that chlamydia in and of itself causes premature delivery. Your water broke and the baby came within two hours. That’s why she came so early.”
“Babies can survive when they’re born early, can’t they? I read that a baby can survive after twenty-six weeks. I was way farther than that.” My voice rises; needing to understand this faster.
