Butterflies in May Read online

  “That’s him with. . . Rena Albright.”

  “Keep driving,” she commands, slouching down in her seat, “but go slow.”

  “I thought they broke up.”

  “That’s what he told me. I knew it. God, I’m such an idiot. . . and I was starting to really like him, Ali. I was.”

  She sulks the rest of the night. We stop by Vincent’s Market, where she buys three candy bars, and proceeds to eat one right after the other. By the time I drop Monica off at home, she’s already over him. Dylan Lang, number 16, is history.

  When I wake up Sunday morning, my parents have already left for their trip. I feel sick again, so I try a small bowl of corn flakes, which I regurgitate back into the sink about 15 seconds later. I’d decided to give up eating breakfast entirely, when my aunt arrives with her suitcase and a bag of bagels, still warm from the bakery.

  “I just picked these up,” she says, opening the bag. “Try one. . . they’re amazing.”

  I pick at a blueberry bagel, and find that not only is it good, but I’m able to keep it down. I eat two. I may have to give up cereal.

  Later that afternoon, Aunt Laura and I go to the mall. I can’t help but notice all the babies. They’re everywhere. When we walk by a baby store, Aunt Laura stops to look at the window display. Draped over a white rocking horse is a blue and white baby blanket. A tiny christening outfit is suspended from the ceiling. All of a sudden, I feel dizzy and weak.

  “It’s times like this that my biological clock seems to tick loudest,” Aunt Laura says. She places an arm around my shoulders and gives me a light squeeze. “A friend of mine at work is pregnant. She’s the same age as me, so I’ve been thinking about it more. . . Hey, are you okay? You look pale.”

  “I need to sit down a minute.”

  We find a bench nearby. “Put your head between your knees,” she advises.

  I try it and feel ridiculous, but it works. Within a few minutes, I start to feel better. “I think I need something to eat.”

  “Sure,” Aunt Laura says. “I know just the place.” But I don’t miss the look on her face.

  Aunt Laura leaves early the next morning so she can catch the 6:30 train back to Chicago from Lakeview. She’s already gone when I wake up. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m feeling really, really crappy. I take a shower, and everything there makes me sick—the smell of the soap, the shampoo, and even the cream rinse. I can’t believe this is normal. Afterwards, I have to lie down for a while. When I feel better, I put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and pull my hair back in a ponytail. I don’t bother with any make-up. One whiff of anything unnatural is going to send me straight back into Barfville.

  I’m in the kitchen eating a bagel when the doorbell rings. As soon as I open the door, Matt wraps his arms around me and holds me so tightly I can feel his heart beating. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone. We’ll be more careful. . .”

  I pull away. “Matt, we have to talk.”

  “Sure,” he says.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “You didn’t. . .”

  I shake my head, and when the realization hits him, he gets this awful look on his face.

  “I tried, but I couldn’t. . .”

  “Look, Ali, you’ve got to.” He’s trying to stay calm, but I can hear the panic in his voice. “We’ll make another appointment. I’ll go with you this time.”

  “Matt. . . it won’t make any difference. I can’t. This is our baby.” I place a hand on my stomach.

  “So, you’re the one making all the decisions?” The understanding look I’d seen in his eyes just moments ago is now replaced with anger. “I have no input in this at all?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we should talk about what we should do.”

  “Which means what? That I should have an abortion?”

  His voice is tight. “What choice do we have?”

  “Matt, this is our baby we’re talking about. At first, I told myself it was just a bunch of cells, like a biology project or something. But this is real. . . it’s about three inches long. . . the arms and legs are fully formed.”

  Matt’s face gets red, and a muscle near his jaw is twitching. “Ali, I know how you feel, but—”

  “Don’t tell me you know how I feel, Matt. It’s in my body, and you don’t know what it feels like. I’ve been sick almost every day. If we go for an abortion, I’m the one who goes through it. I’m the one who has to live with this decision the rest of my life. Don’t you get that? I’m having the baby.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. I just can’t have an abortion.” I reach for him, but he pushes me aside.

  “I can tell you one thing I know for sure, Ali. I don’t want a baby.” He looks at me as if he hates me, then turns around and walks out the door.

  I stand there at the doorway and watch him drive away. Then I call Aunt Laura at work and tell her I won’t be going to school today. Suddenly, I feel sick—really sick—and the feeling is coming from deep inside.

  Matt doesn’t call that night, which isn’t like him at all. The next day, he’s not in study hall. I look for him during lunch, but he’s nowhere to be found.

  That night, I’m really down. It’s an effort to smile, so I can’t even pretend everything is okay. Aunt Laura picks up on it right away. When she comes home that night, she walks in with a bag of carry-out. Aunt Laura is not much of a cook. She takes one look at me and asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Did something happen at school?”

  “No, nothing like that. Matt and I got into a fight.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well,” she says, “it’s normal to have disagreements. After you both cool off, I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

  I feel a little better after that. We eat dinner in the kitchen—egg rolls, an eggplant dish, and spicy chicken. I think about calling Matt, but I don’t. Then we watch TV, and I fall asleep on the sofa. I’ve never done that before, but I feel tired all the time lately.

  The next morning before study hall, Matt is waiting for me in the hallway.

  “Look,” he says, “the other day really took me by surprise. We need to talk. We have to do something, Ali.”

  He doesn’t apologize or anything, but at least we’re talking. “I know.”

  “I have to be at work right after school, but I’ll call you later tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  After study hall, he walks with me to my next class. At lunchtime, he looks for me in the cafeteria. Things aren’t completely normal between us, but I think we’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this somehow.

  I stay after school to edit copy for the November issue of The Voice. We always work a month ahead. Andy’s there, too. We talk and joke around for a while, but then we both get down to work.

  I’m starting to feel sick again, and remember that I haven’t eaten since lunch. Yesterday, I called Planned Parenthood and talked to a nurse, who suggested that I carry crackers with me at all times.

  I eat a stack of saltines, but they don’t help at all, so I start stuffing everything in my backpack.

  “You heading out?” Andy says.

  “Yeah.” I pull on my jacket.

  “Need a ride?”

  “No, thanks. I drove today.”

  Andy looks at me closely. “You okay? I mean, you look terrible.”

  “Gee, thanks, Andy.” The truth is I feel terrible, and I know I look terrible. Aren’t you supposed to glow when you’re pregnant? I crumple a piece of paper and throw it at him, aiming for his head. Andy, laughing at the effort, ducks.

  When I get home, I still feel sick. Aunt Laura isn’t there yet, so I lie down in my room for a while. When I wake up, it’s already dark outside, and Aunt Laura is sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Oh, you’re home,” I say.

  “I just go
t in.” Aunt Laura has an odd expression on her face. “Ali, is there any special reason you’re so tired lately?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  Aunt Laura doesn’t say anything. She brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. “If there’s something on your mind, we can talk,” she says.

  “Thanks, but everything’s fine.”

  “Okay,” she says, getting up. “I brought home a pizza. Why don’t you come downstairs and have a bite—if you feel up to it, that is.”

  “Sure. I’ll be right there.” Actually, I don’t feel like eating anything, but I want to prove to Aunt Laura I’m just fine.

  But when I walk into the kitchen, the smell of pizza hits me all at once. I run back up the stairs, barely making it to the bathroom in time. Afterwards, I sit there on the floor, next to the bathtub, feeling weak and shaky.

  Aunt Laura stands there for a minute, a knowing look on her face, then gets a washcloth from the cabinet and dampens it before handing it to me. I drape it over my face. I want to tell Aunt Laura that it’s nothing but some weird flu bug, but I have a feeling she already knows the truth.

  I pull the washcloth off. “I’m pregnant.”

  “I thought so.” She’s much calmer about it than my mother would be.

  “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” I ask.

  “No, honey, I won’t. You should do that. Does this have anything to do with why you and Matt had a fight?”

  That’s when I tell her everything. Aunt Laura just sits there and listens, as if hearing that your seventeen-year-old niece is pregnant is the most natural thing in the world. Finally, Aunt Laura says, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to have the baby.” It sounds strange saying it aloud like that.

  “Are you planning to keep it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Aunt Laura nods. “You need to tell your mom and dad right away, Ali.”

  “Mom and Dad are going to freak.”

  “Give them some credit,” she says. “I think they’ll handle it better than you think.”

  Later that night, Matt calls. I didn’t think the day could possibly get any worse, but Matt tells me his grandfather died today. Matt’s really upset—I can tell by his voice.

  “What happened?”

  “Another heart attack, but this time he didn’t make it.”

  He tells me they’re leaving tonight for Wisconsin to be with his grandmother, and he won’t be back until after the funeral sometime next week.

  “Matt, I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  After I hang up, I can’t help but think how this couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Then I feel awful because I know I shouldn’t feel that way.

  The last night before my parents come home, my aunt gives me a book. It’s called So You’re Expecting. . . and it has all this information about being pregnant and what to expect each month. Then we make eggs and toast for dinner because she thinks it will be easier on my stomach than take-out food.

  “How am I going to tell them?” I ask while we’re cleaning up after dinner.

  “There’s no easy way,” she says. “You’ll just have to sit them down and tell them the truth. When are you planning to do it?”

  “I think I’ll wait until after Matt gets back.” Aunt Laura arches an eyebrow.

  “When do you think I should tell them?”

  “As soon as possible,” she says. “Not the minute they walk in the door tomorrow, but sometime over the weekend.”

  Chapter 9

  My parents return home Friday, but by Saturday night, I still haven’t told them. That night, Monica picks me up. We were planning to go to a movie, but we decide to skip it at the last minute. Instead, we drive around awhile just talking and then stop for ice cream, even though it’s freezing outside. Just thinking about telling my parents is making me nervous. Ever since my parents came back, I’ve been shaking inside.

  Finally, Monica says, “God, look at you. You’re a wreck! You have to tell them, Ali. I know it’s going to be hard, but once you do. . . at least that part will be over.”

  “My parents are going to freak out.”

  “No, they won’t,” says Monica. “Your parents will discuss this with you rationally, and they’ll counsel you.”

  I shoot her a look. Monica has no idea what it’s like to be cursed with a functional family. My parents have only one expectation for me: absolute perfection. “My mom will come completely unglued and my dad. . . oh, God. . . I don’t even want to think about it.”

  That night, I can’t sleep, so I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and mentally practice my lines. “Mom, Dad, there’s something I need to talk to you about. . . It’s serious. . . I should have told you sooner.” I have no idea how to go about it, and this isn’t exactly the sort of topic they routinely write about in teenage girls’ magazines.

  I try to imagine my parents’ reaction, and every scenario I come up with is awful. Last year, a girl from my class, Rachel Thomas, got pregnant. I didn’t know her personally, but I heard that her mother forced her to get an abortion. Mom is pro-life, so there’s no way that would happen with me.

  When I wake up the next morning, it’s not even 7:00, but I get up anyway. I take a shower and then sit on the stool, clutching a towel around me because I feel so crappy. I can’t remember any more what it was like to feel normal. When I finally feel better, I look for my blue sweater. Dad loves that sweater on me.

  My parents are already in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and sipping coffee. I toast a bagel and spread cream cheese on it, as if this is any other Sunday morning.

  Dad gets up to refill his coffee mug. “You’re up early today.”

  “Yeah.”

  Then, sitting across the table from Mom, I decide to tell them after I’ve eaten. Part of me just wants to hang on to this last moment of normalcy before my parents go ballistic. But Mom looks up from the paper and says, “Ali, you look pale. Are you feeling all right?”

  I take a quick breath and pray that they’ll understand. This can’t wait any longer. “There’s something I need to talk with you about. . .”

  They both look at me, but don’t have a clue what’s coming next.

  “I’m pregnant.” There, I finally said it.

  Everything goes quiet. The words hang in the air.

  “You’re what?” Mom looks at me as if she didn’t hear right. Dad’s face whitens. I know I’ll never forget this moment. Their shock. . . the smell of coffee. . . the paper spread out on the table. . . the sound of the clock.

  “I’m pregnant,” I say, then look away. I force myself to swallow, to breathe.

  Dad drops his coffee mug. It breaks into several chunky pieces, splattering coffee everywhere. He ignores the mess and sits down in his chair, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end. The vein above his left eye is bulging—it always does that whenever he’s stressed.

  There’s a seemingly endless silence, except for the clock ticking on the kitchen wall. Tick, tock, tick, tock. I wish I were dead.

  Then Mom says, “Are you sure? Have you been to a doctor?” She sounds scary calm, as if we’re discussing SAT scores or prom dresses.

  “Yes. I had a pregnancy test at a clinic.”

  More silence. For days now, I imagined how they would react when I told them. I expected Dad to rant, and Mom to cry. What I hadn’t expected was this—this is even worse.

  “I just don’t understand how this could happen, Allison,” says my mother, starting to unravel. “You’re intelligent—an A student. We’ve talked about sex at home, and you’ve had years of sex education at school.” Her voice starts to rise, and now she comes completely unglued. “Dammit, Ali, how could you let yourself get into this situation?”

  I’m not about to give them specifics, so I say, “It was an accident. . .” Then I start crying, but I don’t bother to wipe the tears away.

  “Do you know h
ow far along you are?” Mom asks.

  I hate this, but I know I have to sit here and take it. “About twelve weeks.”

  “Twelve weeks! Why didn’t you tell us before now?”

  I shrug.

  Mom stands up and starts pacing. “Do Matt’s parents know?”

  I shake my head, but Mom doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. “We’ll just have it taken care of,” Mom says.

  Taken care of? “What does that mean?”

  Mom totally loses it, and starts yelling, “Allison, you know what it means. You can’t have a baby. You know that! You are seventeen years old. . . a child! Think about your future. A baby would ruin it.”

  That gets to me. “You are such a hypocrite! All my life, you’ve been telling me how morally wrong abortion is. How can you sit there and tell me we’ll ‘take care of it’?”

  Mom lowers her voice. “Ali, be reasonable. It’s the only way. There are some situations where there’s just no other—”

  “I am not having an abortion. All right? Believe me, I know. I already tried.” My voice breaks, and I start crying all over again.

  “You did?” Dad asks.

  I nod.

  Mom sits down. Both of them still look shocked. “Maybe you should have thought of that before. . .” Mom says tightly.

  “Katherine,” says Dad.

  “Dammit!” she says, smacking the kitchen table with her hand. “How can someone so smart be so stupid?” She jumps up and walks out of the room, but she storms right back. I’ve never seen her like this before.

  “Kate. . .” he says again. He’s the calmest one in the room. “That’s enough. I think we all ought to think about it for a while before we say something we might regret.”

  Mom is slightly calmer, but she’s not about to back off yet. “Neither of you seems to understand the ramifications of having a baby.” Her eyes lock on me. “Once you have that baby, whether you keep it or not, it will change your life forever in ways you cannot yet imagine. This baby is nothing more than a speck right now. It is not—”

  “Mom. . .”

  “Kate,” Dad says. “Let’s all calm down and talk about what to do later.”