Butterflies in May Read online

  An hour later, Aunt Laura arrives to spend the day with us. We exchange presents. Mom and Dad give me two maternity tops, a book, a pair of earrings I’ve been wanting, and a 35 mm camera for my photography class next semester. “Now you can express yourself without words,” says my mother. She’s more excited about this class than I am.

  Aunt Laura gives me denim maternity shorts. “I thought you might need them this spring,” she says. I’m more excited about the shorts.

  We have brunch afterwards, and Aunt Laura fills us in on her love life. “I’ve met someone new,” she confides. “He might be the one.”

  Then my dad says something about managed care and a new drug they’re coming out with, and I just listen to them talk about nothing and nothing and nothing. All I can think about is Matt. He’s planning to stop by later, but he said he’d call first. We’ve only seen each other twice since school let out for winter break. I’ve been working almost every day from eleven to four, and he’s been working nights at Vincent’s and hanging out a lot with Niles.

  Finally, he calls at 4:00, and when he comes by, my parents and Aunt Laura are in the family room working on a puzzle.

  “Can we go somewhere to talk?” he says.

  “Sure,” I say, leading him to the den. It’s the first room off the entryway of our home and very private. I sit on the sofa, opposite Matt.

  “Here,” he says, reaching into his coat pocket. He hands me a tiny box, wrapped in silver paper with blue ribbon. As soon as I see it, my heart nearly stops. Inside is a thick silver band. It doesn’t look anything like an engagement ring, but then Matt takes it from the box and slips it on the ring finger of my left hand, and it looks just right.

  “I’m thinking we could, uh, get married. I’ll get a job, put off college for a year, maybe two, and save money. Maybe I can get a construction job again, or something else that pays well. We’ll find a way to make this work.”

  I can’t talk. The tears start coming. He kisses one cheek, then the other.

  “I love you, Allison Parker,” he says. Then he takes my hand to examine the ring. It’s a little loose, but I like the way it looks on my hand. “The guy at the store said you could come in so they can size it.”

  “Wow,” I say. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Then the baby moves, so I take Matt’s hand and put it on my stomach. “Can you feel it?” I ask him, covering his hand with mine. He can’t at first, but then there’s an undeniable ripple. “That’s amazing,” he says, smiling.

  “What do you think of the name Willow for the baby?” I ask.

  “Willow. . . like a tree?”

  I smile. “Yeah, like a tree.”

  “For a boy?” Matt looks skeptical.

  “No, a girl. I found it in a book, and I think it’s a pretty name.”

  Matt pretends like he’s going to puke. “Oh yeah, sure, and if it’s a boy we can name him after a planet, like Jupiter or Mars.”

  I give him a friendly poke. “I’m being serious here.”

  “So am I.”

  “Okay, then. What about Shana for a girl, and Jordan for a boy?”

  He considers them both for a minute. “I like Shana, especially if she looks like you. . . but Jordan? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

  “It’s unisex.”

  “No way,” he says. “No unisex names.”

  “Okay. . .” I say, and try some of my other favorite names. “How about Justin?”

  Matt shakes his head. “I once knew a kid named Justin. Couldn’t stand him.”

  “Joshua?”

  “Too pretty.”

  “Well, what names do you like?”

  “You like J-names, right?”

  I nod.

  “Well, how about Jonah?”

  “Jonah?” I don’t usually like traditional names, but Jonah isn’t one of those names you hear often, which almost makes it seem new.

  “Yeah, I went to school with a guy named Jonah back in Ohio. He was cool. Everyone liked him.”

  I try it out. “Jonah Matthew Ryan.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s growing on me.”

  “Do we have to use my name?”

  “I love your name.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, as if he doesn’t want to bother arguing with me, but I can tell he likes the idea of using his name.

  Then he pulls me close and gives me a quick kiss, and I give him his presents—a CD he’s been wanting and a blue sweater I knew would look good with his eyes. He puts it on right away. “Thanks,” he says. Then we sit there on the sofa, holding hands and talking the way we used to, but an hour later, he has to leave. All his relatives are coming for dinner, and his parents expect him to be there.

  The rest of the day, all I can think about is that Matt and I are getting married. I can’t believe it’s happening. Mrs. Matthew Gregory Ryan. Allison Parker Ryan. I write it out on a scratch pad and doodle all around it, making hearts and crescent moons and stars, but then I tear it up so no one will see it, especially my parents.

  See, if I was living in 1952, I’d tell my parents right away, and they would probably weep with relief. But this is the 21st century. I doubt they’ll think getting married is the answer to my situation. My parents have been steering me towards college since the day I was born. And now, whether I have a baby or not, they still want me to get a college degree. So I keep the news to myself and the ring out of sight. I need to think about how I’m going to tell them.

  I tell myself that everything is starting to fall into place, but I get nervous and jumpy inside whenever I think of the future. I know it won’t be easy. I mean, I haven’t even graduated from high school yet, and now there’s college to think about, and the baby. But it’s Christmas, the lights on the tree are bright, and I have this ring that proves Matt’s serious about this. Of course, another part of me just can’t imagine it. I just can’t.

  It’s two days after Christmas. We have another week off before school starts, and I’m in the kitchen making spaghetti sauce for dinner because my mom has to work late. The phone rings. As soon as I answer it, Matt says, “Guess where we’re going next Friday?” He sounds excited. I haven’t heard him like this in a long time.

  I shift the phone to my other ear and play along, but after three guesses, I give up. “Where?”

  “Skiing.”

  “I can’t ski.”

  “Sure you can. I’ll teach you.”

  “Matt, I know how to ski, but I can’t. I’m pregnant. Remember?”

  “Oh, right. I thought you’re not that pregnant yet so it would be okay. It’s just that some other people from work are going to a place in Wisconsin, and they asked if we want to come along.” He sounds disappointed.

  “I can’t. I’m almost five months pregnant.” He doesn’t say anything. “Just because I can’t go doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great.”

  I hang up and wonder why it bothers me so much that he’s going without me.

  I still can’t stop thinking about Niles and Tory and how everything can change so fast. And sometimes I wonder what would have happened if they took a different road that night or started out five minutes later. Would Tory and Jenna still be alive? One afternoon, I pull out the paper I wrote in English about the accident and try to write a column, which is due the day we get back to school. I have about two pages, double-spaced, but they’re only words on paper. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say. I crumple it up and toss it in the garbage.

  “Things are getting serious with Kyle,” Monica announces on New Year’s Day. We’re at my house making brownies, listening to music, and dancing around the kitchen in our bare feet. My parents went to a movie, so we have the music turned up louder than usual.

  Monica broke things off with College Boy a while ago, which makes Kyle number 18. I shoot her a skeptical look. I’ve never seen her serious about anyone. Then I notice the initia
ls K.M. with a heart drawn around them on the inside of Monica’s wrist. Now she’s writing his initials on her arm? Gak. I’ve never seen her like this over any guy. I pretend not to notice.

  “I mean it,” she says. “Kyle might just be the one.”

  “Does your mom know?” I ask, scraping the batter into a dish.

  “No. We’ve been careful. Kyle took me to a party last night, and Mom said she was so relieved Kyle and I are getting along better. Then, get this, she asked how I like having a brother.” Monica laughs. “If she only knew. . .”

  I slide the brownies into the oven and look at her. “Mon, are you sleeping with him?”

  “No, but believe me, he’s interested.” She smiles, scrapes the last of the batter from the bowl, and licks it off the spoon.

  I just stand there, looking at her. You’d think that when your best friend is pregnant, that would be a serious reality check, but it doesn’t even faze her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

  “Because. . .”

  “Because why?”

  “Because I know what you’re doing. And I know you have this. . . timeline, but there are serious consequences here. . .” I say in my Mom voice.

  “Look, it’s not about a timeline, Ali—not anymore. I’ve never felt this way before. I love him.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  She pulls her hair back with one hand and looks away. “Not yet.”

  “Does he love you?”

  “Oh, Ali. . . yes,” she says, but she doesn’t look completely sure.

  “He told you.”

  “Not in so many words. . . but I can tell.”

  I shoot her a look.

  “What?” she says.

  I shake my head.

  “Just say it,” she says.

  “Look, if you can’t even talk about how you’re feeling. . . that should tell you something.”

  On the last Friday in January, I have an ultrasound. Matt was planning to go with me because we agreed we wanted to know the sex of the baby. But at the last minute, Matt’s dad decides to take him and his brother skiing for the weekend. Skiing! It’s all Matt seems to think about now, and he can’t wait to go. His dad is picking him up from school right before lunch. “You can tell me later,” Matt says, as if it’s no big deal.

  Mom goes with me instead. As soon as I see the baby on the screen, I get all choked up. There it is, sucking its thumb. Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand.

  “It’s really something to see, isn’t it? Still gets me every time,” says the technician. Then she asks whether I want to know if it’s a boy or girl.

  “Yes,” I say, but the baby never gets in the right position so we can see. My mom tells me we’ll have to wait to find out the sex of the baby until after its born because Dad’s insurance pays for only one ultrasound, unless there are complications. I have to admit, I’m disappointed. But it doesn’t really matter. I can wait until it’s born. Besides, I want Matt to be with me when we find out.

  That Sunday, I save the real estate section from the newspaper so I can call about an apartment for me and Matt. I still haven’t told my parents about our plans. The ring is hidden in the bottom of my pajama drawer, where I put it Christmas day. I still don’t think my parents can handle that right now. Besides, I want to make sure getting married is going to work. On Monday, during lunch at school, I start making phone calls.

  But after a few calls, I don’t see how it can work. A two-bedroom apartment in downtown Chicago will run at least $800 a month, and every place I call wants the first and last month’s rent up front plus a security deposit. I was thinking that if Matt got accepted at SAIC, it would be easier to live in the city. But even if Matt worked two jobs and I got a job, we would never have enough money to cover all our expenses.

  Then I call several apartment complexes in nearby suburbs, but even those are out of our price range. I think about what Ms. Connor said at our first meeting. “You may get help from your parents, your boyfriend, or your friends,” she said, “but you need to find out what they are willing to provide.”

  That night, I finally tell my parents our plan. “I think getting married is a bad idea,” Dad says, setting his glass of wine on the table next to the sofa. He and Mom were in the den talking when I sprang it on them.

  “But it will solve everything,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “You’re both very young,” Mom says. “You’ll ruin your lives if you make a mistake. You’ve already made one mistake. Don’t compound it with another.”

  “Look, I don’t think you understand. This isn’t just some high school romance, okay?” My eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t help it.

  “Ali, you know we’ve always liked Matt,” Dad begins. “But we don’t want you to get married—not yet, not now, and not for the wrong reasons. I think the best thing for both you and Matt would be to continue your education.”

  “We will. We thought we would get married and take a year off after the baby comes—to save money and get a head start— then go to school the following year,” I say. It makes perfect sense. They have to understand. “The only thing is, we’ll need some money to help with expenses.”

  Dad looks at Mom and then at me. “Ali, we’ve been talking,” he says carefully. “We think it would be best if you went to college in the fall as planned. We’ve already set money aside for tuition. We thought you could take evening classes at the university. That way, your mom and I are here to take care of the baby at night.”

  “But what’s the difference whether I live here or live with Matt? I’m just asking if you could help us financially a little. You know, give us some of the money you planned on using for my tuition.”

  “Ali, we think getting married now, or even living together, is a big mistake,” Mom says.

  “You can’t tell me what to do. I’ll be eighteen in June.”

  Dad sighs. “We realize that, Ali.”

  “But we cannot support what we believe would be a bad choice,” Mom says.

  “I thought you guys were on my side,” I say, knowing full well I sound childish.

  “Ali,” Dad says, “we are on your side.”

  Chapter 17

  The photography class is in the vocational building next to the parking lot. The teacher is Mr. Guiterrez, but everyone calls him Mr. G. He doesn’t look anything like the other teachers at Lakeview. He has long dark hair and a goatee, wears cargo pants, and uses the type of language you don’t usually hear from teachers.

  It turns out his photography class is insanely popular because he doesn’t believe in giving homework or tests. But the first week is boring because he explains the parts of the camera and talks about light, focus, f-stops, and perspective. The second week doesn’t get any better. We get an in-depth tour of the photo lab and demonstrations on how to develop film. I almost wish I was back in P.E., but then he turns us loose with our cameras and tells us to “get creative. . . find your muse.”

  The first opportunity we have to be creative is at Willow Lake. I use half a roll of film snapping various shots of the lake, which is frozen. I snap a few shots of the trees and the concession stand that has a black and orange sign that reads “Closed—See you this spring!” But I’m seriously uninspired—maybe because it’s freezing outside, or maybe it’s because I have no talent. I’m better with words. (Not that you’d know it lately.)

  Later, when we’re back at school, I still have a few pictures left. The bell hasn’t rung yet, so the halls are empty. I pop the lens cap off my camera, snapping the hall in front of the principal’s office by all the rows of lockers. It’s usually jammed with people going to and from class, but no one’s around now. It looks deserted and creepy. Then, turning a corner, I see someone off in the distance, alone, hunched over by a row of lockers, leaning his head against a locker. I snap the picture, catching him in that one instant with a click. He turns to leave, and as he walks away, I realize it’s Nile
s.

  The next day in the darkroom, when we develop our pictures, I stand and watch as Niles’ image emerges slowly in the solution tray. Then, all of a sudden, there it is—a silhouette in black and white, perfect and haunting. When Mr. G. walks by, he stops and looks down for a long time. “Excellent contrast. . . a row of lockers, a lone figure off in the distance. It looks like you caught him off guard,” he says in a voice only I can hear, his eyes still on the photo. “It’s almost as if you can feel his pain.”

  When class is over, I grab a tuna sandwich in the cafeteria and head over to Ms. Connor’s office. Kelly and I meet with Ms. Connor during lunch on Mondays and Wednesdays. Sometimes Ms. Connor talks with us about something specific like prenatal care and eating healthy. Other times, she lets Kelly and I ask questions or discuss whatever’s on our minds. Today, I want to talk with Ms. Connor about my mother. Lately, avoiding her has become my other part-time job. Whenever Mom is alone with me, she starts in about how marrying Matt will ruin my life. I’ve heard this lecture now, oh, about two dozen times. And Matt is no help. He’s mentioned marriage exactly two times since Christmas, and talked about how great it will be when we have our own place, but he’s not doing anything to make it happen.

  Kelly’s already there. As soon as I walk in, she says, “Connor had to take off. . . something about her daughter and an ear infection.” Then she screws the top off a Coke, takes a swig, and says, “Guess what happened to me yesterday?”

  “What?”

  “My parents kicked me out of the house.”

  “Really? Wow. . .” And I thought my parents were bad—especially my mother and her endless lectures. At least they didn’t disown me or anything.

  “Yeah.”

  “So where are you living?”

  “With Jared.”

  “I’m sorry.” I give her a sympathetic look.

  “You know what? It’s better—really. Once they found out I was pregnant, my stepfather didn’t want me around, and my mother just doesn’t want to be bothered. Besides, I have Jared and this little guy.” She pats her belly. Kelly doesn’t know for sure what she’s having, but she thinks it’ll be a boy. “I have my own family now.”