Positively Mine Page 7

  The lights in the theater dim, and the previews start.

  Mike leans in and whispers in my ear, “I’d like to spend some more time in your universe.” If I wasn’t so turned on by his velvety voice and his warm breath on my cheek, I would call him out on such an awful line. But my brain and mouth seem to have short-circuited.

  The movie starts with the sound of a chainsaw buzzing in the distance while a bunch of big-boobed sorority sisters stand around a campfire in the woods doing some kind of initiation rite. Why is it always a chainsaw?

  Four of them are hacked apart in the first five minutes, and I snap my eyes shut. The killing spree continues, from what I can make out from the sounds, now with the massacre moving into the sorority house. There are blood-curdling screams and lots of slamming doors and panting. When the spine-chilling drone of the chainsaw starts up again, people in the audience call out things like, “Oh shit!” and, “Dude!” and I hear girls gasping, probably hiding their heads in their boyfriends shirts from whatever slaughter is occurring on the screen. I’m now covering my ears.

  After about half an hour, Mike pulls my hand away and says, “Are you going to watch at all?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  He laughs. “Well, then why did you want to see this?”

  “I didn’t. I hate these kinds of movies.”

  He grabs my hand. “Come on.”

  We stumble over a dozen overexcited kids in the row to escape the bloodbath. When we’re in the parking lot, he takes the keys. “I can drive.”

  Once on the road, I notice he is grinning to himself, laughing really.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. It’s just, you’re funny.”

  “Those movies give me nightmares.”

  “Okay. No biggie. I think it’s cute.” He reaches over and pulls me toward him, closing the gap between the passenger and driver seats.

  When we’re on Rural Road Number Forty-four (that’s actually what someone’s named it), he motors to the shoulder, turns the ignition off, and moves in with those lips of his.

  Before I know what’s hit me, our hands and mouths are all over each other, and I’ve somehow been repositioned so now I’m on his lap, knees straddling either side of him. It feels like we’re on fire.

  When we come up for air, he reaches up and pulls the clip from my bun, now a disorganized heap anyway, and my hair falls around my face.

  “You’re beautiful, Laurel,” he says in that silky voice. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

  “You and the lines.

  “They aren’t lines.” His eyes are intense, and he draws me into him again. We kiss more passionately now, if that’s even possible, and I feel his hands working the buttons of my sweater. When he’s managed to free me from it, my bra is fast to follow. I pull at his shirt, and he takes it off, then he lifts me off of him, and he is on top of me in the crowded cabin, working his way down my body with his mouth.

  When a car races past with high beams on, we freeze, breathing hard.

  “I guess we should go back,” I murmur.

  He nods and eventually climbs off me.

  I know I shouldn’t do this. I know it. But it’s like I’m drunk on him or something. And when we’re back at Miller, instead of saying good-bye in the lobby, I can’t help pulling his hand and leading him up the stairs to my room.

  Once inside, we start where we left off, shirts and jeans shed fast. Then we’re on my bed, and he’s kissing me everywhere, reaching his hand down to just the right spot. Jeez.

  I shift and lean forward, trying to grab for his boxers. Mike moves too, so now his face meets mine, and breathless, he asks, “Do you want to?”

  My heart is pounding. But when I look into his eyes, warm with anticipation, reality hits like a cold hard smack in the face. I’m pregnant with another person’s baby! I am horrible. Horrible. I push him away. I can’t hold the tears in.

  Mike’s face switches from eager to alarmed. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  He keeps talking while the tears stream down my face, my lips squeezed together, trying to figure out how I’m going to explain. “What is it? Are we moving too fast? Talk to me.”

  I can’t look at him, so I just stare out the window and blurt it out, “I’m pregnant.”

  Mike sits up. “You’re what?”

  I swallow hard. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “Nine weeks.”

  “With whose baby?”

  “He doesn’t go here.”

  “Wow!” Now it’s Mike’s turn to stare out the window. “So you’ve gotten together with me twice all the while knowing you were pregnant with someone else’s kid? That’s bad, Laurel!”

  I want to disappear. “I know.” I get up from the bed and pull on my clothes, waiting for him to say something. He just lies there. Too long.

  When he finally speaks, the coolness in his tone is alarming. “What were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t. I don’t know. I like being with you.”

  “Sounds like you liked being with the baby’s father, too,” he snaps.

  I deserve that. “I’m sorry, Mike. I’ve been…”

  “What?” he barks, anger clearly on his face now.

  I’m feeling the tears coming again and try my hardest to swallow them. “I’ve been confused.”

  He is up now and getting dressed. “Confused? What does that even mean?” He can’t get his clothes on fast enough.

  “Look,” I try to explain, “I didn’t even know if I was going to keep it. I thought I could have an abortion, and no one would know. But then I couldn’t go through with it…”

  Mike’s pacing now in my tiny single, fast and hard. The floor creaks with every turn.

  “I never meant for this to happen between us, but when it did, I liked it. I like you.”

  He stops and glares at me.

  “All of this was unplanned, the pregnancy, you…”

  He runs his hands through his hair and rubs his temples. “So let me ask you; what does the baby’s father think about this? Does he know you didn’t go through with the abortion?”

  I’m silent.

  “He does know you’re pregnant, right?”

  I can’t meet his eyes. “I haven’t told him.”

  “How have you not told him?”

  “I just…haven’t.”

  “Well, you have to.”

  “I know.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He doesn’t know either.”

  It feels like an earthquake has split the road we were on in two. But he reaches across the great divide and touches my arm. “Can I help you?” His voice is softer now.

  I stare at the floor because I can’t look at him anymore. “No. Just, please, don’t say anything to anyone. Until I get it figured out.”

  “I won’t.”

  I walk over to the door and open it, feeling the intensity of those eyes on me. But I can’t meet them. “You should go.”

  He nods, and as he slips through the door, he says, “Good luck, Laurel.”

  I close it firmly behind him.

  The Next Twelve

  Chapter Seventeen

  I stand in my room in front of the mirror and practice. “Dad, I know you’re going to be disappointed, but I’m pregnant. Dad, I’ve got something to tell you. I’m pregnant. Dad, I know this is going to come as quite a shock, but I’m pregnant.”

  After last night, I need to turn things around. Mike is right. I’ve got to start talking. And the first place I’m going to start is with my dad.

  I hope.

  I press his number and hold my breath. It takes three rings before he answers. “Jason Harris.”

  Dad can never answer like a normal person with a hello, he always has to say his name or jump right into a thought. It’s kind of annoying, especially when he can tell that it’s me calling.

  I have just enough air in my lungs to say, “Hi Dad.”
<
br />   “You’re finally gracing me with a phone call.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I take it you’re enjoying yourself if you can’t find a minute to call me.”

  “I, um…”

  He keeps talking. “I won’t monopolize your time I just wanted to discuss Uncle Jake.”

  “Dad…” I try to interrupt.

  “Just hear me out.”

  I sigh.

  “So, you rode over to the winery? I have to say I was pretty surprised considering you didn’t want to go when we were together in August. I don’t like the idea of you biking that far on your own…”

  “Dad…”

  “I’m more than aware of Jake’s feelings. And now you are too, I guess. I apologize for never mentioning your grandparents put that place in your name. It wasn’t a deliberate thing. Sometimes it is hard to remember that you aren’t a kid anymore. Jake seemed to think I had kept it from you so that you couldn’t get involved in any decisions, which is ridiculous. It’s not like this is the goddamn Rockefeller estate…”

  I barely get in an, “Um,” when he continues, “Still, you are eighteen, and I suppose since it is in your name, you are entitled to an opinion. But could you at least let me explain why I don’t want to listen to Jake?”

  Not right now, Dad.

  “The market is terrible up there. There are seven wineries for sale on Seneca Lake alone, with no one buying. The most valuable thing about that property is the grapes. If we sell off only the vineyard but not the house, we will be stuck maintaining an already borderline-dilapidated place indefinitely.”

  “The house isn’t that bad.”

  “It needs a huge amount of work: a new roof, new kitchen, probably new plumbing. I’m in the city, you’re at school. Do we want the burden of having to keep up this house not to mention eleven acres of useless land? Someone will come along who wants the vineyard badly enough that they’ll purchase all of it.”

  “I think Uncle Jake needs the money. He’s not looking so good.”

  “Jake always needs money. Your grandparents helped him out for decades, when they were barely making ends meet themselves. Now they’re gone, and he’s mishandled his finances again, and he’s trying to manipulate you so that he can dig himself out of a hole.”

  “I never knew he was like that.”

  “He’s irresponsible. He taught you how to drive when you were thirteen, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Whatever! If we manage to sell before you graduate from school, you might even have a down payment for an apartment. But if we only sell part of the land, I’m afraid that house could be a burden for years.”

  “You know best, Dad.” I sigh. “Can we drop it now?”

  “Good idea.” He continues without taking a breath. “I have some other news I want to tell you about anyway.”

  I feel us getting further and further away from the window where I can insert, “I’m pregnant.”

  “Remember Andrea Slawson who lived on the eighth floor?”

  “Mrs. Slawson? Yes.”

  “Well, she’s moved to Florida.”

  “So?”

  “I’ve decided to sublet her apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “For you.”

  I haven’t been gone a whole semester and my father is already relocating me? “Why?”

  “I figured now that you’re in college, this would give you more privacy and freedom.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, me or you? “That’s a huge expense for something that will sit empty most of the year.”

  “It’s already done. I thought it was too good an opportunity to pass up. When you come home for Thanksgiving, you’ll be given your new keys.”

  My throat squeezes shut. I knew our relationship wasn’t great, but seriously? Now that he’s had a small taste of life without Laurel, he doesn’t want it to end, I guess. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out, honey.

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  Doesn’t the silence say it all, Dad?

  As soon as we hang up, I log on to my computer and go to the Colman registrar’s homepage. I type in my username and PIN, pull up my current course selections, and click on Introduction to Legal Ethics. It gives me the option to Add or Drop, and I click Drop. Then a new window opens and asks me, “Are you sure you want to drop this class?”

  Are you kidding me? Absolutely!

  Chapter Eighteen

  The thought of running into Mike has me creeping around campus, sticking close to walls and lurking in shadows wherever possible. I feel like a criminal. I’ve stopped eating meals at Roebling and now go to a crappy cafeteria in the basement of one of the upper-class dorms where they have half the selection, no salad bar and only cold breakfast. Still, it’s better than running into him.

  I called the nurse at Rochester Hospital that Dr. Adler recommended, and the support group she runs meets on the last Thursday of every month at 7pm. I am twelve weeks along when I attend the first meeting. It’s held in the basement of an old church near Eastman, and as I drive near the campus, I am reminded of that first time with Mike. I push it out of my mind.

  Alison Kelly is a pretty, mild-mannered woman in, I’d guess, her early thirties. She greets me at the door with a smile and a handshake and guides me inside. There are five girls standing around a table, helping themselves to tea or bottles of water and eating from a platter of homemade cookies.

  “Ladies, this is Laurel. She’s going to sit in tonight to see if she’d like to join our group.”

  I get a series of friendly hellos from girls that are at all different stages of their pregnancies, from barely showing to looking like they’re about to explode. I’d say I’m one of the oldest ones here. One girl seems like she’s barely out of middle school, and the average age, I’d guess, is about sixteen. Alison invites us to take a seat in a circle of folding chairs in the center of the room.

  “Hello everyone,” she begins. “I’m glad you all could make it tonight. I know judging by the looks of a few of you, we won’t be seeing you here too much longer. You’ll be coming to my new mothers’ support group instead.” Laughter fills the room.

  “When is your due date again, Jill?” she asks a girl to my right, who is so big her shirt doesn’t cover her stomach entirely. Skin is popping out over her pants.

  “Yesterday.” Jill smiles. We all laugh again.

  “Babies are on their own schedule.” Then she turns to me. “Since you are new here tonight, I think we should go around and give our names, our ages, and due dates, plus a little bit about ourselves if we care to. I’ll start…I’m Alison Kelly, and I am the proud mom to a fifteen-year-old son named Ryan, a ten-year-old daughter named Kendall and a black lab who thinks he’s my third child.

  “I started this group about six years ago after I got out of nursing school because I was a teen mother and I understand firsthand what it is like to go through what you are all going through. I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and it was a nightmare, at first. But with the support of the baby’s father, who is now my husband, and some good people, I was able to have my son and still realize my dreams. I would have appreciated a group like this, though, which is why I formed it. And I’m happy to say it’s been a success.

  “Not only do we support one another here, we laugh, we cry, we have fun. It is my hope that together we can help each of you get through one of the most difficult times of your young lives and empower you to go forward and make something of yourselves because that is what your babies are going to need – strong, loving mothers who also have lives of their own.”

  Her eyes focus on me as she talks. “Okay. Enough about me. Yolanda, you’re up.”

  The girls take turns telling their stories. Yolanda is sixteen, due in December and considering dropping out of high school and trying for her GED later on. Jill is seventeen, knows she is having a girl and she’s living with the baby’s father and his family fo
r now. They hope to get married when they graduate high school. Kyle is due in February and a sophomore at the University of Rochester. She doesn’t want to marry the baby’s father although he’s asked. Elisa is the youngest at fourteen. She doesn’t share much about herself just her age and her April 15th due date. And Janet will turn eighteen in March with her baby joining her that same month. She’s living at home with her parents and doesn’t talk to the baby’s father anymore because he has a new girlfriend.

  When it’s my turn, I take a deep breath and hold it for a while. “I’m Laurel Harris. I’m a freshman at Colman, and I’m twelve weeks along.”

  “Wow, that’s a long drive,” Kyle says.

  “I know. There might have been something closer, but my doctor recommended this group, and I wanted some privacy too. Milton isn’t a big town.”

  “Everyone will find out eventually, don’t you worry.” Jill laughs while rubbing her belly.

  I nod. “I know. I just haven’t found a way to tell people yet.”

  Alison claps her hands together. “Okay, well, this might be a good place for us to begin tonight because we have all been through what Laurel is experiencing now.”

  As she’s talking, a door opens in the back of the room and a red-haired girl comes in, grabs a folding chair from a stack against the wall and slips into the circle. “Sorry, I had a seminar that went late.” I immediately recognize the girl from the party at Eastman.

  “Not a problem,” Alison says. “Audrey, this is Laurel, a potential new member. She’s a freshman at Colman College and three months pregnant. We’ve been telling her about ourselves.”

  “Oh, okay.” Audrey takes off her coat. “I’m Audrey…obviously. I’m a junior at Eastman, where I live with my soon-to-be-husband in a crappy apartment. I’m entering my fourth month of pregnancy, which was a total shock to both of us since we have been religious about birth control. I guess all it takes is one night on the beach in Bermuda.” She chuckles. “We’re getting married over Thanksgiving, and I’m hoping my stomach won’t be so big that I’m popping out of my dress and mortifying my mother, who is only telling people on a need-to-know basis. The A-line dress the bridal shop sold me had better do it, or I’m returning it. That thing was expensive. Anyway, I’m working on a degree in accounting, and I’m determined to finish on time despite this, um, bump in the road. And that’s my story. Glad you’re here.”