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  I like Audrey immediately. She’s got a happy glow about her, and you can tell she doesn’t take herself too seriously.

  Two hours fly by. The theme for the evening is communication – a good topic for me. It takes me a while to open up, but by the end of the evening, the girls know that I haven’t told my father or the baby’s father. I even tell them about Mike. And instead of judging me, they are sympathetic.

  “You may as well wait until you go home for Thanksgiving break,” Audrey suggests. “Doing it over the phone sucks. That’s how Bill, my fiancé, told his father, and there’s no way to control the conversation. It’s too easy to slam the phone down.”

  Alison closes the meeting just after 9pm and asks me if I want to join the group. Definitely, I tell her. After only one meeting I feel like I’ve made a bunch of friends. This is the most welcome I’ve felt anywhere in a while. As we fold up our chairs and gather our things, I approach Audrey.

  “So, you think I should wait to tell my father in person?”

  Audrey has grabbed a handful of cookies. “That’s what I would do. It’s only a few weeks away anyway. Or go home for a weekend if you don’t want to wait.”

  The thought of sitting in Mrs. Slawson’s empty apartment ten stories away from my old bedroom is completely unappealing. “I don’t mind waiting. I’d be happy to put it off forever. How did you tell your parents?”

  We walk outside to the parking lot. There’s a nip to the air with November just around the corner, and I zip up my jacket.

  “Well, we found out in late August, and Bill proposed immediately. He and I have been together since the second week of my freshman year. We knew we’d be getting married eventually. This just expedited it. So when we went to my parents, we started with that and then told them about the baby. They were shocked at first, my mother cried, my dad wouldn’t look Bill in the eye. But now my mother is so preoccupied with planning the wedding, she’s over it.”

  “I don’t have anything like that to spin the story, unfortunately. And he’s going to want to know who the father is too. I’m not sure I want to tell him.”

  Audrey leans her back up against her SUV. “Why haven’t you told the baby’s father? What’s going on there? I mean, even if you two aren’t a couple, he is the father.”

  It’s a good question, and one I keep asking myself. “I’m not entirely sure. I think it’s because I want each decision to be mine. It’s selfish, maybe, but he already made it clear he doesn’t want a relationship. I’m afraid now that I’m pregnant, he’ll try to do what he thinks is the right thing and attempt to build something that isn’t there for the sake of the baby. I don’t need that.”

  She nods. “Yeah. I don’t think you’re the only one in this group in a less-than-ideal situation with the baby’s father. Kyle and Janet have some real rocky situations going on.”

  I change the subject. “So I have to tell you something. I was at your apartment in September.”

  “You were?”

  “When your building had that big fall party. I happened to be here with some friends, and this girl Natasha told us about it.”

  “Ugh. Natasha. I cannot stand that girl.” Audrey opens up her car and climbs in. “That’s funny, though. Maybe we were destined to be friends.”

  “Maybe.” I smile. “Well, have a good night, Audrey.” I start to walk across the parking lot.

  “Wait. Laurel, give me your number. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee or something.”

  “As long as it’s decaf,” I joke. She plugs my number into her phone.

  When I get into my grandmother’s truck, a wave of relief washes over me. Maybe I can do this after all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  October is gone before I know it, and the three weeks of school leading up to Thanksgiving break are filled with the pressure of tests and papers. Thanks to some strategic planning, I’ve managed to avoid any confrontations with Mike. I do this via a well-orchestrated effort to either a) leave my classes five minutes early; or b) arrive at them five minutes late; plus I always c) avoid common areas of the college during high-traffic periods. So if I require any kind of campus maintenance, like getting my mail, going to the book store, hitting the ATM machine or meeting with a professor, it is usually early in the morning or late in the afternoon after lunch has been served but before the cafeterias are open for dinner. I also order in – a lot. I call it living off-peak.

  Liz seems to have joined the Mikayla and Olivia squad, and she hasn’t been calling me to go out. I think after I said no enough times, she got bored. I’m content with my life of lying low, and since I have no one to socialize with, my grades have never been better.

  I manage to squeeze my monthly appointment in with Dr. Adler the day before my flight home. Afterwards, I’ll meet Audrey at the mall.

  We’ve talked on the phone a bunch of times since that first meeting, met for coffee, and become fast friends. She’s due almost exactly a month ahead of me – April 5th. As a result, she gives me a heads-up about what I can expect at the doctor, what tests I need and how much weight I should be gaining. According to her, I’ve gained too much too soon. I’ve got to stop ordering the subs.

  It’s hard to believe I’m sixteen weeks already. Based on all the online reading I’ve been doing, the baby is about the size of my fist now. His legs and arms are looking more like limbs, and his eyes and ears are almost where they need to be. I should be feeling him move soon.

  I wait for the nurse to call me, occupying my thoughts with the various scenarios I’m bound to face over this weekend. I’ve gone over it a thousand times, and I have my plan. I will not wait for Thanksgiving Day. It will be Tuesday night. I’ll suggest we order take-in. I’m not going to do it at a restaurant, not in a public place. It’s going to be at home in his apartment.

  I’ll be matter of fact. This is how it is, Dad. When he asks how I’m planning to manage school and a baby, I’ll tell him. I’ve already done my research. Turns out, back in the 60s when people got married and had kids a lot younger, Colman created a reduced-load student policy. If you are a new parent, you can change your student status for one year following the birth of your child from full-time matriculated student to reduced-load matriculated student. This allows you to take fewer classes in the semester but not lose your place in your class. I’m sure I’ll be the only student to request this status in like forty years, but hey, if it’s there, I’m going to take advantage of it.

  So, Dad, I’ll tell him after he calms down, things won’t be so terribly different from how they are now. If he’s willing to help me with finding a good used car – I can’t drive the baby around in the front seat of a Chevy pickup, I can find an off-campus apartment, and the rest will be my problem. My burden, not his. Then he’ll realize the joy of having a grandchild is so much more important than the disappointment of his daughter…

  “Laurel.” The nurse stands in the doorway with my chart, interrupting how beautifully this is playing out in my head.

  First the weigh in. I’m up ten pounds now. I cringe.

  “You were underweight to begin with, so it’s okay,” the nurse remarks.

  Then my blood pressure, 115/70. And pulse, 72. “Good.”

  Then the urine test to check for protein. “It’s fine.”

  She takes me into an examination room. “Take a seat, and the doctor will be in shortly.”

  “Do I need to change?”

  “Not today.”

  The best thing about Dr. Adler is that he is prompt. Other than our first meeting when we sat and talked in his office, he makes an effort to keep to his schedule. He doesn’t rush you out, but he doesn’t sit around and make small talk either.

  He knocks twice and then opens the door. “How are you today?” He takes a seat on a small round chair with wheels on it.

  “I’m okay.” I smile.

  “Any complaints or concerns?”

  “I’m not feeling as morning sick lately, and the headaches have pretty m
uch gone away.”

  “Good. Now that you’re in your second trimester, a lot of that stuff tends to subside.” He looks through my chart. “All of your blood work so far has come back fine. The next test I want to schedule is a comprehensive ultrasound that you’ll have done at the hospital.”

  “What’s the ultrasound for?”

  “It’s just a way for us to rule out any abnormalities and an opportunity to be prepared in the event something doesn’t look the way we expect it to.”

  The nerves start up in my stomach. “What kind of stuff? Should I be worried there is something wrong?”

  “No, of course not. As I said, every test you’ve had has been normal. This is a standard test we do at twenty weeks. Nothing to worry about. Okay?”

  I relax. “Okay.”

  He stands up. “Lay back.” Then he comes over and measures my stomach with a tape measure. “You are measuring for sixteen weeks precisely.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you are growing at the right rate.”

  “Oh.”

  “Should we listen to the heartbeat?”

  This is my favorite part of every visit. “Yes.”

  The doctor takes out the doppler and holds it up to my belly, and the room fills with the beating heart of my baby. It takes my breath away.

  “Sounding good, Laurel. Nice and strong.”

  He takes a seat on the chair once more and writes a few things on my chart. Then he asks, “Are you going home for Thanksgiving break?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “And I take it that is when you’re going to share your news?”

  “That’s my plan. I’ve been going over it a thousand different ways in my head.”

  He takes off his glasses. “As difficult as it is to feel like you might be disappointing your father, in the end, everything will be all right. He might be angry at first, but once he has time to digest the information, you’ll see he’ll be on your side. And when he realizes he is going to be a grandfather, he may just forget all about being angry with you. People surprise you. You’ll see.”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  I meet Audrey in the bridal shop at the Rochester Mall. She’s picking up her dress after having had her final fitting last week. When I walk in, she’s all jitters.

  “I’m here. I’m here.” I smile.

  “It’s about time. Are you ready?” She practically runs into the dressing room where I can see there is an ivory gown hanging on a hanger.

  I take a seat on a velvet bench the saleswoman refers to as a settee. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks and she motions to a table with champagne and coffee against the wall.

  “No thanks.”

  “Let me know if you need any help with the zipper,” she says to Audrey behind the curtain.

  “I’ve got it.”

  Audrey reappears after a few minutes in a creamy strapless gown that sweeps out into a seamless silhouette, gently curving past her now protruding tummy and hiding it behind a flow of silk. She looks like a princess. I am without words.

  Her shy smile tells me she knows she looks beautiful, but she wants reassurance from me.

  “It is absolutely gorgeous, Audrey. You look amazing!”

  “What about the bump?”

  “You can hardly tell.”

  The saleswoman is satisfied. “Beautiful.”

  Audrey looks at herself in the three-way mirror. “Should I try on the veil?”

  “Of course.” The woman disappears into the back room and then reemerges with a long lace veil. She places it on top of Audrey’s red mane.

  “Am I missing anything?”

  Compared to my situation, Audrey isn’t missing a thing. She’s in love, getting married, has the support of her family, and has a baby on the way, too. Sometimes I need to suppress the jealousy. I mean I’m truly grateful for her friendship and happy for her. Whatever good things come her way, she deserves. But still, my situation in comparison to hers. Ugh.

  “Okay.” She smiles. “I guess you can wrap it up.”

  When she is dressed and has made the final payment, she turns to me and says, “I wish you could be at my wedding this weekend. I know it would mess up my mother’s seating chart from hell, but I’d love for you to be there.”

  “I wish I could go too. I don’t see how I’m going to get up to Buffalo on Saturday, though, especially after the way I’m anticipating this week going.”

  “If something changes, please come.”

  “I will.”

  I help her carry the garment bag to her SUV, and then we go for coffee.

  “Are you ready?” she asks over a decaf pumpkin latte.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve even got my OB giving me pep talks.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The flight to LaGuardia is uneventful, and I’m able to get a cab quickly on one of the busiest travel days of the year. We zip across the RFK Bridge and down the FDR, and soon I’m standing at the curb of the building I’ve lived in my whole life on 85th and Madison.

  Charlie, the doorman, has worked here since before I was born, and he rushes outside to greet me. “Welcome home.”

  I give him a hug, and he picks up my one lone bag and carries it inside.

  “Your father left specific instructions for you and the key to your new apartment.”

  I roll my eyes. “Why did he rent Mrs. Slawson’s studio? I don’t want to live in that place. It always smells like boiling beets.”

  Charlie shrugs his shoulders, but there is something in his eye that makes me suspicious. He knows something. And the best thing about Charlie is that he gossips (or the worst thing depending on what side of it you are on). I’ll get it out of him.

  “Do you know why? I mean, it’s like he’s kicking me out or something.”

  Charlie stares at his feet. “Maybe it has something to do with his new lady friend.”

  “My dad has a girlfriend?”

  “You haven’t met?”

  “No. Who is she?”

  “Miss Philips.”

  Miss Philips? My father has a paralegal named Sheryl Philips. I’ve met her a few times at the office. She’s like barely out of college.

  “What does she look like?”

  Charlie won’t make eye contact. “Attractive. About your height. Short hair. She’s a runner like your father. He keeps up with her pretty well, too.”

  “Keeps up with her?”

  “She’s quite his junior, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Is her first name Sheryl?”

  “I believe so.”

  I shake my head. My dad is sleeping with his paralegal? Now it all makes sense. He wants to keep the apartment clear of me so that she can come and go without explanation. Unbelievable!

  “So what are these specific instructions he has for me?”

  “He told me to tell you to go directly to your new place and call him when you are settled. He asked that you don’t go to the other apartment until he gets home.”

  “Wait, what? I can’t even go home? Why not?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “Those were your father’s instructions. Here is the key.”

  “Do you know anything more that you aren’t telling me, Charlie? Please. This whole thing is so strange to me. I just want to go home.”

  Sympathy washes over his face. “He had the locks changed yesterday. You couldn’t go in there even if you wanted to.”

  My legs feel like jelly, and I slip down onto the leather sofa that decorates the lobby. “He changed the locks?”

  “Miss Philips has been spending a lot of time here. And last week she showed up with more than a couple suitcases. I’m not sure if she’s moving in or just making herself more comfortable. But your father and she, they’re pretty serious.”

  “Okay.” I force myself to stand up. I’m suddenly fuming mad. “I guess I’m going to Mrs. Slawson’s, then.”

  Charlie pushes the elevat
or button, and I step into the mahogany-sheathed compartment and press eight. As the doors close, the look of concern in his eyes is unsettling. This is not getting off to a good start.

  Walking down the corridor of the eighth floor feels foreign. The only time I’ve come here is to trick-or-treat or for high school fundraising. It seems like an alternate universe. The carpet and the crystal sconces that line the walls are the same as on my floor, but the smells and sounds are different.

  I follow the arrow around the corner, and there is the entry to 8E at the end of the hall. I stare at it for a while before continuing. When I slip the key in, I can’t help but hold my breath. Please don’t smell like beets.

  As the door slides open, my jaw drops. The place has been transformed from what was a dark, dingy apartment filled with old lady knick-knacks to what looks like a 1990s’ decorator showcase. My father must have brought in a designer or something because the place has been done from top to bottom.

  The whole thing has been whitewashed, and there are two butter-yellow couches facing each other, each with leopard print throw pillows. A fluffy white carpet and a coffee table separate them while a black lacquer television stand lines the wall with a flat-screen TV on top of it.

  The studio is L-shaped with the living room, kitchen and dining room in one part and a place for a bed around the corner, creating the illusion of a second room. A glass table and four chairs compose the dining area near the kitchen, which looks all shiny with new appliances. The only familiar thing here is my bed, but even that has been re-outfitted with a new comforter and shams to match the décor.

  I text my father. “I’m here.” My phone vibrates.

  “I said call, not text, Laurel.”

  I don’t respond.

  “So, are you in your new place?” His voice is edgy.