Belly Up Read online

  Well, I mostly got away from him. I still occasionally got the random check-in text, which I’d ignore, but it was nice to know he was still out there, thinking about how he’d ruined my life. I wasn’t going to blame the fetus sitch on him, but he’d played a part, in his own way. If he hadn’t screwed around on me, I wouldn’t have been boffing strangers in trucks as a way to purge him from my system.

  Thanks, Aaron. You dong.

  Erin groaned. “Ugh, those are the worst. Two tables back from you, kid with the green hair? That’s my ex, Todd. Todd’s a butt.”

  “I totally stole his girlfriend,” Morgan said with a satisfied smile.

  I lifted my chin and tried to do the casual glance. There was a table of skateboarders with wallet chains and colorful hair, and in the middle of them was a nerdy looking kid with ectoplasm green spikes on his head and an Anarchy T-shirt.

  “You upgraded,” I announced without hesitation.

  “Yep, I like her,” Morgan said.

  Erin lifted a french fry in salute. “Same.”

  “I told you,” Leaf said, after swallowing down a bite and dashing at his mouth with a napkin.

  “You told them what?”

  “That you could hang. I got a good feeling about you. Speaking of which, what are you doing Friday night? We get together and watch movies at Morgan’s place every week. She’s got a private movie theater.”

  “It’s not a private movie theater,” Morgan said with a sigh. “My dad’s a football freak and got the reclining chairs and a big TV for Mantown is all. I hate it, but it has its uses.”

  “The TV is huge,” Erin said. “Ridiculously huge. It might as well be a movie theater, babe.”

  “Dad really likes football. Patriots fans are kind of extra,” Morgan said dryly.

  I didn’t answer right away, because I wasn’t sure what Devi was doing that night and I didn’t want to ditch her simply because I’d met new people. Leaf must have clued in that something was up, because he finished his food and motioned at me with his fork.

  “Your friend, right?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said you miss your best friend. Bring her. If you like her, that’s good enough for me.”

  “Oh! Yeah, I was worried she’d think I ditched her. What are you, psychic or something?” I smiled, thinking I’d just dropped some easy, forgettable banter, but Leaf’s expression turned grim.

  “Haven’t you heard about gypsy fortune tellers? I see allllll.”

  I had no idea what to say to that because I wasn’t sure if he was serious. Fortunately, I was spared the embarrassment of asking when Morgan reached out to whack Leaf upside the head.

  “Stop it, you ass.”

  Leaf burst into laughter, not his earlier childlike giggles but a full-bellied roar of a thing that filled up all the space around the lunch table. “I’m practicing! Dukkering is a tried and true way to scam gullible gadze out of their money, don’t you know?”

  “You jerk.” Erin rolled her eyes. “You like Sara!”

  He picked up his milk carton and pressed it to his full bottom lip, his dark eyes fixing on me as he offered yet another exaggerated wink. “Oh, I do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I walked into the house at half past two. Mom was at the day job, so it was just me and Mormor and would be until five thirty. Mormor had a thing about stuff that wasn’t food on the kitchen table, so I swung my backpack onto the floor of the coatroom and kicked off my lace-up boots. Mormor stood by the sink, pulling the green hats off strawberries, with her back turned to me. She never looked my way.

  When she’d said she wouldn’t talk to me again until I told her what I was going to do with the baby, she meant it. She hadn’t said a single word in days. On one hand, it was obnoxious and irritating and I recognized it for the emotional blackmail it was. On the other hand, if I was being perfectly honest, I didn’t actually care. Mormor was famous for this kind of stuff, and if she wanted to tantrum, so be it.

  Who am I to tell a sixty-something-year-old woman that she’s acting like a turdsicle? At least she wasn’t throwing shoes at me.

  “It was a good first day,” I said, making my way over to the fridge. I swiped a yogurt and some orange juice and a cheese stick for a snack. My lunch offerings to the womb overlord were apparently no longer sufficient because my lower quarters were gurgling like a backed-up garbage disposal. “I like my teachers. Met some cool new kids, too. One of them’s Romani. His name is Leaf. I also met these two girls, Morgan and Erin, and I like them, too.”

  Silence.

  “I ate with them and they were super nice. Leaf made sure I got to all my classes on time.”

  She rinsed the strawberries in the sink.

  “Well, I’m gonna go upstairs now. Listen to some music backward and make an offering to my dark lord, then maybe ask Devi to come over so we can be lesbian witches together. Good talk, Mormor.”

  She made a strangled sound, almost like a cat with its tail caught in the door, but still she refused to speak. The fact that I nearly incited her to use her words was a victory in my book, and I climbed the stairs to my room, gnawing on cheese before my door was even closed. I texted Devi with a simple, Come over?

  A minute later came, On my way. Chzbrgr?

  Yas.

  She was a good wifey.

  I sprawled out on my bed, putting Pandora on mostly so I could drown out the sound of Mormor smashing things around in the kitchen in her frustration. I heard Devi arrive, heard Mormor greet her with a “How have you been, Devorah?” because Devi wasn’t in the doghouse, followed immediately by “McDonald’s isn’t food, you realize.”

  “Yeah, but it’s tasty not-food,” Devi retorted before sprinting up the stairs. I didn’t even bother getting off the bed, instead just moving over so she had room on the other side of me. She didn’t fail to disappoint, sprawling out beside me within seconds of appearing in my life like a long-legged, cheeseburger-bearing unicorn.

  “Oh, hi,” she said in greeting.

  “Oh, hi.”

  Talk was abandoned in favor of food, and it wasn’t until I’d inhaled one burger and was onto the second that we got around to catching up.

  You think I’m kidding about always being hungry when pregnant. I’m not. When you don’t want to hork, you probably want to eat. Then you want to sleep. Reproduction is not elegant.

  “How was it?” Devi asked.

  “Good. Met some kids that don’t suck. They want to hang out Friday. Invited you, too.”

  “Cool, I’m down. Same old, same old at Auburndale, which means take me with you, please. I want to escape. Got some good tea to spill, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aaron and Samantha broke up.”

  That should have been satisfying on some level, and months ago, I would have cackled at his misfortune, but I just nibbled on a cheeseburger and shrugged. I couldn’t muster much in the way of caring, mostly because I had bigger things to worry about. Maybe, just maybe, I’d finally sorta gotten over the guy who’d busted my heart into a trillion pieces.

  “I should block him,” I said. “He still texts me sometimes, but—”

  “It just happened today. Big fight in the cafeteria at lunch, so maybe you should do that now, before he shows up shivering and naked and sad on your digital doorstep.”

  I picked up my phone, expecting some of the familiar hesitation to creep up on me when thinking about forever thrusting Aaron out of my life, but it didn’t come, and so I did what I should have done months before:

  I got rid of that trash.

  “Good job, high five! About time, girl.” Devi rolled over to half sprawl across me, her leg draped over mine. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Hungry, pretty much always tired, but good.”

  I filled her in on the essay, the health
class concern of being their dissection specimen, and then I filled her in on the keeping-the-baby thing. Which she took remarkably well.

  “I’m gonna be an auntie,” she singsonged, squirming around on top of me.

  “Not too loud. I don’t want Mormor to hear, but yes.”

  “Oh, damn. She going to be difficult about it?”

  “No. She wants me to keep them, but she’s been so pushy about me making a decision, I’m making her wait for it. That’s why she’s not talking to me.”

  “Okay, so.” Devi pushed herself up onto her elbows to peer at me. “You’re kind of a douche, Sara.”

  I shrugged. “I’m okay with it.”

  Devi giggled and collapsed onto my chest. “I am, too.”

  * * *

  I kept Mormor in suspense another whole day, the stubborn old woman refusing to talk to me despite repeated attempts on my part. Mom finally decided to intervene; she pulled me aside, freshly home from work, wearing a skirt suit, her bright white sneakers looking odd with her pantyhose.

  “Okay, it’s time to be the bigger person,” she announced, gesturing at our dinners laid out on the table behind us. “I know this is terrible to hear, but I can no longer allow you, daughter of mine, to torture your grandmother.”

  “It’s fine. I was getting ready to tell her, anyway.” For all that Mormor had been a bully and a pain, she let us live in her house rent-free and she cooked for me every night, even if she wouldn’t look at me or talk to me while I ate it. In fact, she’d pretty much set up shop in the living room in front of the TV during dinner so she didn’t risk doing either thing. There was a distinct possibility she just liked eating in front of the news—that’s how she used to eat when she was alone, before we moved in—but on the off chance I wasn’t just a handy excuse for her to go back to her old routine, it was time to do the reveal.

  Mom stroked my hair and then patted my belly. It wasn’t really doing any rounding yet, though it was hardening. Belly fat is supposed to be soft, right? Except my stomach had gone from bread dough to iron skillet. My stomach felt how in-shape people’s stomachs must feel!

  Too bad it was the precursor to looking like I ate a basketball.

  I wandered toward the living room. Mormor was tuned into Wheel of Fortune on Channel Seven, her finger accusingly pointing at a blonde woman on TV who’d incorrectly guessed the clue.

  “That one is stupid. She is stupid, Astrid. I should do this show. I’d win a car.”

  Mom eyeballed me before slipping onto the couch adjacent to Mormor’s chair. “That’s cool, Ma. Hey, it’s time we stop pretending our kid is dead, yeah?”

  “I’m not doing any such thing. I simply don’t want to talk to her until she respects me,” Mormor insisted. “You can tell her that.”

  “I am literally standing three feet behind your chair.”

  Mormor didn’t answer.

  Mom looked over at me.

  Be the bigger person.

  “I’m keeping the baby,” I said to the back of Mormor’s head. “So, you know, that’s cool, I guess?”

  Still Mormor didn’t say anything.

  My mother scowled. “She told you, Ma. She’s keeping the baby.”

  “Keeping the baby does not mean she is not selling it to some other family.”

  “Adoption’s still not selling the baby! What are we, in the Twilight Zone? She’s keeping them keeping them. Like, raising the kid. As a Larssen. Or, wait.” Mom looked up at me. “As a Rodriguez? Your choice, of course.”

  That was something I hadn’t considered. Would I give the kid the name of the bio dad I didn’t know, who’d left me with so much angst about the half of me I wrestled to understand? Or would I name the kid after my quasi-dysfunctional grandmother who threw shoes and hadn’t talked to me for days because she’s an emotional terrorist?

  “Dunno,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I’ve got about six months to decide.”

  “Serendipity is a Larssen,” Mormor announced. “The birth certificate is a piece of paper with a bad name. We raised this girl. She’s ours. She’s a Larssen. This baby is one of us, too. I told you the ultrasound looks like a Larssen. It’s in the nose.”

  I looked back through the kitchen door, at the refrigerator. “They look like a legume from where I’m standing. A legume with eyes.”

  “That is incredibly creepy,” Mom said.

  “My great-grandchild is not a legume,” Mormor insisted. “They are beautiful.”

  “It’s a joke, Mormor.”

  “It’s not a funny one. Do you want to be called a legume? Legumes are ugly. I ought to give you the shoe.”

  Mom sighed, raking her fingers through her hair. “Well, I guess things are back to normal.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Weller proved to be the banshee of all my teachers. I was pretty cool with my calculus teacher, my history teacher, even the health teacher who’d be giving the moral lesson on how not to grow up to be a Serendipity Rodriguez, but Weller was hardcore, delivering not only the in-class essay, but another at-home one on the other summer reading that I had to turn in on Friday. At least I could use the internet to my advantage; I was pretty confident in my paper, despite only reading half the book.

  The one downside to the week was how tired I was during the day. I didn’t nod off, but I came close a couple times, and I started chugging a bottle of Starbucks iced coffee between classes two and three to keep me awake. The doctor didn’t say no caffeine, just limited amounts. That was my limited amount. It was enough fake energy to get me through midmorning.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t scramble my kid’s still-developing brain.

  Sorry, kid. Mom really needed to get through Math.

  Friday came. School happened. I sat with Leaf, Morgan and Erin at lunch that day as I had all week. Other kids had come to introduce themselves, and some of them were nice enough that I’d consider maybe hanging out with them, but I was still most comfortable in the corner table with the other “atypicals.” We weren’t Stonington’s standard fare and we knew it. We were also blazingly okay with it, by all appearances, anyway.

  “We’re still on for movies tonight, right?” Morgan asked, wiping ketchup off her mouth with her sleeve. Erin tsked and shoved a napkin at her. Morgan looked at it, dashed at her already-clean lip and then threw it onto the table. “I already checked with the ’rents. Dad’s taking Mom line dancing later so the house is ours.”

  Erin flinched. “Your poor mom.”

  “No, they like it, the weirdos.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” I said. “Devi, too. She’s looking forward to meeting all of you. Anything we can bring?”

  “Soda’s always good. We’ll have oven pizzas and chips and stuff,” Erin said.

  “Got it.”

  “I’m bringing some pastry tonight, I think,” Leaf said. He was busy unpacking yet another amazing-smelling lunch, smiling all the while. I was leaning forward to steal a sniff when Leaf cut off a piece and slid it my way on a mini paper plate.

  Like he’d done every lunch since I’d met him.

  He winked at me.

  “Enjoy.”

  “You don’t have to keep feeding me!” I wasn’t really complaining—the food was delicious—but I didn’t want him thinking I was a dog sitting by his leg at the dining room table begging for food, either. It’s not like he was feeding his other friends, too.

  Leaf just shook his head and lifted his finger, reaching out to tap the tip of my nose.

  “In my family, you always give food to appreciative friends. It’s etiquette.” I wanted to reassure him that I had plenty of food, to just look at my overloaded tray, but he simply nudged the paper plate my way a second time. “Eat, or you’ll offend me, gadzo. And if you keep objecting, bad ideas will sail into your open mouth and take root.”

 
It was again one of those moments when I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, so I shut up and ate. I had no idea what I’d thrust into my mouth, but it was similar in flavor to the other Romani dishes I’d been lucky enough to sample. Some sweet. More spicy. Enough heat that the roof of my mouth tingled. There was tomato there, and garlic and pepper, but beyond that, I didn’t even know what meat was in it.

  I didn’t really care, either, if we’re being honest. Every bite was a treat.

  “Lamb, this time,” Leaf offered before pulling out his silverware. “Minced lamb.”

  “It’s fantastic.”

  “My father gets up every morning to cook before work—for him, for me. He doesn’t like to let food sit overnight. Leftovers aren’t—” He paused, looking for a word. “They aren’t something he’s comfortable with. Rom can be particular about food. I’m not as strict as my father, and he’s not as strict as my grandmother. She’d have never allowed me to eat food that had been sitting this long, but we break from some of her traditions.”

  I’d noticed that he had a different approach to food than other people, but it wasn’t something I’d ever comment on because that was a culture that wasn’t mine and I didn’t like being rude. “It’s all delicious.”

  “It is. He likes to cook with certain ingredients. Things that are powerful and make you strong. Big flavors.” Leaf motioned at his Tupperware. “To him, this is why I’m tall and wide. The foods he makes. I keep telling him the wide is from my sweet tooth, and then he sighs and tells me I’m just like my mother. He’s not wrong—she is half of me.”

  “Speaking of sweet tooth, are you making the honey pastries tonight? With the almonds?” Erin’s eyes, lined again with her signature cat eye, swung my way. “They’re the best. Like, to-die-for best.”

  “Raspberry instead of honey, I think. We have a fresh pint of berries from the market.” Leaf paused to look at me. “It’s like a baklava pastry, if you’ve ever had that? Layered pastry.”