Because I Love You (5 page)

“Not really.”

I pretended to fall asleep. But my thoughts danced with too many questions. How do I tell Carter? How do I tell Mom? Cheerleading was out; the doctor had said so. Would anyone notice if I disappeared for months? My jaw stiffened as I fought the urge to smack my head against the glass. Maybe if I knocked myself unconscious, I’d wake up in seven and a half months and not be pregnant anymore.

I stared at Heather out of the corner of my eye. Tapping her fingertips on the steering wheel, she looked like she was about to crap herself. She was trying to leave me alone, but I knew it was killing her to stay silent. She had an opinion about everything.

Guilt boiled in my gut. I couldn’t lie to her anymore. And if I told Carter and my mom that he was the father before her . . . well, that’d just make things a thousand times worse. She had to know the truth.

I straightened. “Okay, maybe there
is
something I need to tell you.”

Heather relaxed. “Oh, thank God. Seriously, I thought I was going to have to start talking to myself over here. So, I was thinking that maybe telling Carter would be a good practice run for your mom.”

“Heather—”

“And then, between Carter and me, we could give you alternate scenarios with different responses—”

“Heather, shut up.”

She clamped her mouth closed and raised an eyebrow.

Yes, I know. You hate being cut off.
“Look, I need to tell you something, and I know you’re going to hate me, but please try not to.”

“O . . . kay?”

Taking a deep breath, I dug my fingernails into my thighs. I spoke the words quickly, forcing them out of my mouth before I lost my courage, “I’ve been lying to you, and I know we don’t do that, and I’m sorry. But I couldn’t tell you the truth because it sucks so much more.”

Heather narrowed her eyes.

“‘Mr. England’ isn’t the baby’s father. Carter is.”

At first, I wasn’t sure she’d heard me. But then Heather’s gaze hardened, and her knuckles whitened. The car accelerated. “You two
slept together?
”

My fingernails dug deeper into my legs. “I know. I’m sorry. We were drunk. It just sort of happened.”

“Was this before or after I told you I liked him?”

“Before. I swear I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”

Heather glared at the road, her nostrils flaring. She screamed. “God, Andie! Carter, really? You did it with my best friend?”

“Hey, he’s my best friend, too.”

“Not anymore, he isn’t! Now he’s your freaking baby daddy! What do you think’s going to happen when he finds out, huh? It’ll be you two against the world, and I’ll be tossed to the fucking curb!”

“No. We wouldn’t do that.”

“You know what? Stop talking. I don’t want to hear it.” Her face was so red that it glowed. “I get now why you were so adamant he didn’t find out, but I swear to God, if you don’t tell him soon, I will.”

Tucking my knees up to my chin, I stared out the window again. Heather blasted the music the rest of the ride home, and when we pulled into my driveway, I tried to say goodbye, but Heather didn’t even acknowledge my existence. As soon as I shut my car door, she backed out of the driveway without a word.

Backpack slung over my shoulder, I gripped my purse to my chest, watching as she peeled around the bend. I sniffled and took a deep breath, knowing Mom was home and would grill me as soon as I walked in the door—my red eyes had stared back at me in the window’s reflection the whole ride home.

But I wasn’t ready to tell her the truth.

chapter five

After punching in the garage’s security code, I entered the house and was again greeted by an excited Micah. He squeezed my legs, and I tousled his red hair before he went running to the living room where Aunt Kathy and Uncle Doug were playing what looked like a game of Scrabble. Mom loaded mashed potatoes into a bowl.

“Hey, honey,” she said. “Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” Then she turned and squinted at me. “Everything okay?”

“Heather and I had a fight. But I’m fine.” I marched through the kitchen and up the stairs. The pregnancy pamphlets were tucked deep in my backpack, but the last thing I wanted was to leave the bag in a place accessible to Mom’s wandering hands. I’d caught her going through my things on a few occasions.

Locking my door, I tossed my book bag on my bed and grabbed a roll of tape off my desk. Then I fished out the pamphlets and taped them to the back of a dresser. If Mom moved any furniture soon, I’d be shocked. And if she was nosy enough to check behind here . . . well, let’s just say I’d be signing up for anger management.

I jogged downstairs. Aunt Kathy tucked Micah into his booster seat when I entered the dining room. I grabbed a chair across from my cousin, waiting for Mom to begin the evening prayer. As soon as Aunt Kathy sat, Mom started, “Thank you, Father, for all the blessings we share. Our family, our home, this food. Give us wisdom in our daily decisions, and remind us of your love and mercy. In your Son’s name, Amen.”

“Amen!” Micah shouted and dug into his food like the little kid in
A Christmas Story
. If I was in a better mood, I might’ve shouted, “Show me how the piggies eat!” But all that ran through my head was some variation of
Tell her
or
Don’t tell her
. Like a scene from a cartoon where your inner evil sat on one shoulder while your conscience planted itself on the other.

“Micah, use your fork please,” Aunt Kathy scolded.

He grabbed his mini-utensil like a caveman and stabbed a bite of chicken.

“So, how was your day, Andie?” Uncle Doug asked.

Awful.
“It was fine.”

“Andrea, you know we want to hear more than ‘it was fine,’” Mom said. “Did you decide yet if you’re going to run for homecoming court?”

I shrugged.
Definitely not
.
No one wants a pregnant chick wearing a crown
. “I’m not sure yet. They never crown a junior.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t go for your dreams,” Uncle Doug said. “I went for mine, and look what God gave me—a beautiful wife, a spirited son, and a great job serving the homeless in London.”

Ugh.
Why did my family always have to follow everything with something gag-worthy? Homecoming queen wasn’t a dream, anyway. Graduating with honors and becoming a doctor—now, that was a different story. But, apparently, God had turned a blind eye to me.

“So, what happened with Heather?” Mom asked.

I swirled the mashed potatoes on my plate. “It was a misunderstanding. I’m sure everything’ll go back to normal tomorrow.”
Doubt it.

“Yes, this isn’t the first time you girls have had a fight. Remember when you were about eight years old, and you refused to talk to her because she bought the Barbie you liked after you told her you wanted it for your birthday?”

I nodded. She’d taken it to school and showed it off like she was the coolest kid to roam the earth, which is what I’d been planning to do a week later. But Carter wasn’t a Barbie, and we weren’t eight. This wasn’t going to blow over in a week.

“Friends fight, and they move on,” she continued. “I’m sure you girls will figure it out.”

Sticking a bite of mashed potatoes in my mouth, I avoided eye contact. My mom was one of those people who could see into a person’s soul if she caught your stare. She didn’t need to know I was lying about Heather and me having a simple argument.

For ten minutes, Mom and Aunt Kathy reminisced about my childhood, telling stories of when I first learned to ski and the time I told them I was going to grow up and become a firefighter with Carter. The more stories they told, the harder it was to keep myself under control. And the last thing I wanted was to blurt out over dinner that I was pregnant.

“May I please be excused?” I asked.

Mom tilted her head. “You’ve barely eaten.”

“I’m still feeling kind of queasy”—which wasn’t a lie—“and I have a lot of homework to finish before I can go to bed.” Also not a lie.

“Come on, Susan. Let the girl go. I’m sure you remember what it was like, being a teenager and listening to your parents prattle on about you.” Uncle Doug flashed me a warm smile.

I forced myself to return it.

“Oh, all right,” Mom said. “I’ll put your food in the fridge in case you get hungry later.”

Nodding, I stood and left my plate on the kitchen counter before walking—not running—up the stairs. Again, I took a risk locking my door, but if Mom paid a visit, a few seconds to hide the pamphlets would save me from an even worse punishment. Grabbing the booklets, I hopped onto my bed and, with shaking hands, flipped through the ones about prenatal care, what to avoid, and how my body would change over the next few months.

I held my breath as I looked at the pictures of baby bellies, dreading the day I glanced in the mirror and saw my own abdomen distended. The symptoms were listed by trimester, and I slammed the brochure closed. A shiver rolled down my spine. Was that really what was to come?

I can’t do this
. An abortion would just be easier, right?

Jumping off the bed, I returned the brochures to their hiding spot. Leaning against the dresser, I put a hand on my aching chest. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply and forcing the panic into the pit of my stomach. If I could calm myself before every dancing, gymnastics, and cheerleading competition, I could do it now.

When I opened my eyes, my insides still tossed, like I’d stepped onto a ship in the middle of turbulent waters without my sea legs, but the tears were gone.

I
can
do this.
Heather’s plan was good: tell Carter, then, together, we would figure out a way to tell my mom. I’d already decided if I was pregnant, I’d keep my baby; the fear of what was to come wouldn’t get in the way.

Clenching my jaw, I grabbed my textbooks. Once I talked to Carter, everything would be okay. He was a reliable friend and ally, not some jerk like Neil Donaghue who made out with a girl behind the reference section of the library when he was dating another. Not that I still held a grudge against the only other guy I’d ever had a crush on.

I sighed, opening the pages. Everything would be fine. I was sure of it.

Mom checked on me a few hours later, but, by then, I’d buried myself in homework, so her visit didn’t last long. Fingering the locket around my neck, I read ahead in my English textbook, anxious for when I’d hear the clicks of bedroom doors closing. Around 10:30, my family finally went to bed, and at 11:00, I dialed Carter.

He picked up on the third ring. “I was beginning to think you were going to blow me off.”

“I know. Sorry. Overbearing mother.” I used that defense all the time, but no one questioned it. The excuse wasn’t far from the truth.

“So, are we going to talk about what happened at school?” he asked.

I bit my lip. Telling him the truth over the phone was a pretty crappy thing to do. Somehow, I needed to see him tonight. “Can you come over?”

“Right now?” Though he lived maybe five minutes away—walking distance—his parents were pretty strict about curfew.

“Yes.”

There was silence on his end, and at first, I thought he’d hung up, but then his voice came through. “Okay, yeah, they’re sleeping. Give me ten minutes.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Tucking my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants, I opened my bedroom door and snuck, barefoot, down the hall. I stopped at Mom’s doorway then the guest room’s, listening for the sounds of soft snores. When they met my ears, I tiptoed the rest of the way downstairs and eased the sliding door open. After shutting it behind me, I crossed the yard to the swing set. The air had that cool-yet-muggy feel of early fall, and the scent of a wood fireplace met my nose. Soft chirps of crickets filled my ears. Lightning bugs brightened the sky with tiny balls of fire. Damp grass tickled my feet.

I sat in a yellow swing and pushed myself gently back and forth, grasping the metal chains. Carter came around the left side of the house, his sandy hair falling into his face. My heartbeat raced. This was it—the moment everything changed. Would the baby have blonde hair like his, like mine? Would it get Mom’s Egyptian features or Dad’s Irish ones? Carter and Heather always joked I was adopted, but supposedly a baby could inherit genes from its grandmother or grandfather.

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and tried to calm my racing heart. First things first: tell Carter.

Carter sat in the swing next to me. “We haven’t done this in a long time.”

I forced a smile. “Not since our ninth grade homecoming dance.”

He chuckled. “Your shoes got all muddy, and you ended up wearing those bright green, Kermit slippers.”

“You remember that?”

Carter’s dark brown gaze flickered over my face. “Of course. You had your hair curled over your right shoulder”—his fingertips grazed the side of my neck—“and you wore that blue Cinderella-dress-thing.”

I jumped up and wrapped my arms around my waist. He was flirting again, just like he had in the hot tub. I needed to get the truth out before he sucked me in. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”