Belly Up Read online

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Of course you will,” was Mormor’s immediate reply. “You have us.”

  “I know. I just don’t know what’s going to happen and it’s making me nervous. He might not want anything to do with the baby. And if he does, he has a girlfriend now and I have a boyfriend and I don’t know if we’re supposed to drop everything to try to be together for the baby or—”

  “No,” my mother and grandmother said, in tones eerily similar to one another.

  It was a relief. I didn’t want to uproot my life simply because Devi found Jack. Jack hadn’t made overtures suggesting he’d want to do that, either, to be fair, but I knew how some people thought, and some people thought parents should stay together for the kids. Not only did I not love Jack, I didn’t even know if I particularly liked Jack. How the heck was I supposed to think along lines of forever with someone I didn’t know, regardless of the womb fruit?

  “I’m just worried, I guess,” I finished quietly. “This stuff is confusing.”

  Mom and Mormor shared a look.

  Mormor turned on her heel to pull plates from the cabinet. “Are you hungry?”

  I glanced over at the stairs and considered. My room was clean-ish, and there was time yet to tidy up before Leaf came over. I didn’t really want to do a feelings fest, but Mormor was a great cook and I was willing to take comfort in the false promises of Swedish meatballs. I claimed a stool at the kitchen island. Mom sat next to me. A minute later, we were merrily stabbing gravy-covered meatballs with toothpicks and rifling them into our mouths.

  Mormor turned on the electric kettle and sat across from us, her gray hair pulled back, a smudge of blue paint on her upper cheek. “You do not love this boy, right?”

  “No,” I said. “I met him the night of the party.”

  She nodded. “That makes it easier. Sometimes people meet and they immediately fall in love and manage to keep the flame burning forever, but that is rarer than the storybooks will have you believe, Serendipity. Relationships take work.” She doctored her teacup with honey and set her bag, her fingers idling while she talked. “I told you I had an abortion in Sweden when I was younger. I did not, perhaps, tell you about the baby’s father. I loved him dearly. More than I’ve loved anyone else in my life. You will notice he is not here with me. He’s in Stockholm with his wife, whom he met years after he and I fell apart. They had six children together. We exchange letters sometimes. And sometimes, it still hurts.”

  Mormor assembled two more teacups for me and Mom. I knew she was in serious mode because she never mentioned our sugar-and-milk pollution of perfectly good Earl Grey. “But, back then, we were inseparable. Until the pregnancy. Hardship can destroy new love. It can whittle it down, until there is nothing left. The good is harder to see when you are expecting a baby and your parents will not support you. When there is no money or place to go. When work is not so accessible because people dismiss you because of your age. That shiny love dims in the face of so much adversity.

  “It is not impossible, mind you,” she said, “but you need to be realistic, too. If you want to be serious with this boy, or any boy, including your Leaf, it is something you work toward. Slowly. Together. I think when you are young, it is easy to fool yourself that ignoring problems is okay because everything will mystically work itself out. It doesn’t. Problems come back to bite you later on.”

  The kettle rumbled that it was ready. Mom waved Mormor off and poured our cups, her fingers holding the teacups in place so they wouldn’t skid over the countertop. “She’s not wrong. I married your father because of you,” Mom said. “I was Not Prepared. Like, at all.”

  “I know,” I said. “You’ve told me.”

  “Ehhhh. I’ve told you some.” Mom’s smile was tepid. Her tea was not. She sipped and winced at the burn, smacking her lips together and putting the cup aside to cool before climbing back onto her barstool. “Look, I really don’t think you’re going to try to run away with Jack. You’re not, right?”

  I shook my head no.

  And ate more meatballs.

  “Good. ’Cause forcing a relationship because of a kid doesn’t work. If Jack wants in the baby’s life, okay fine. He helped make her and he has that right. But your life, he has to work for the right to be there. Trust me, I stayed with a physically abusive man for two years because his family told me I ought to for your sake. It was crap.”

  I’d stopped eating meatballs at the word abusive. Mom had indicated things weren’t great with my father, that they’d fought a lot, but she’d never mentioned that he’d hurt her that way before. By the pained expression on her face, she wasn’t chomping at the bit to discuss it much again, either.

  “I had no idea,” I said. “About Dad. Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Your father’s family was very traditional and some of those traditions weren’t great. He treated his mother like gold and his wife like garbage. When I asked his mother what to do after he’d smacked me around the first time, Maria told me that it’s just how their men did. And when I told my mother about it, she dragged me out of there and told me I deserved better. She was right. I did. So did you. You didn’t need to grow up seeing that. No kid should. My example is extreme—Jack’s probably not an abuser—but the point stands that a happy home makes for happy kids. You and Jack can be great parents apart, without faking it till you make it. If a relationship comes in time, cool. If not, well... Leaf sounds great, too.”

  “He is great,” I said, sipping at my tea. “Really great. I really want you to like him.”

  Mom smiled at me. “I’m sure I will.”

  “And maybe I will,” Mormor said.

  ...because, of course that’s what she said.

  Chapter Thirty

  Five o’clock that night, I sat on the bench on Mormor’s front porch, watching the road for cars in anticipation of Leaf’s arrival. It was not lost on me that the dog across the street, a black lab named Remy who they had to tie with a harness because he was completely unhinged, did the exact same thing, only he barked while vigilant. I just fidgeted and sighed and glanced back at the house, at Mom and Mormor who were co-knitting in the living room while watching the Game Show Network.

  Five past five.

  Ten past.

  I was just about to text Leaf to find out where he was when his dad’s car appeared. I stood, my hands skimming over my shirt. I’d changed out of the Link T-shirt and into something that fit better, and by better, I mean more loosely. I didn’t like calling attention to the baby bump in Mr. Leon’s presence. Leaf assured me his father understood, that judging me meant judging Miri, too, and Mr. Leon wouldn’t do that, but I still fretted.

  “Slut shaming,” Erin had told me once at lunch. “It’s a thing. It messes with us. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  I loved Erin and her feminism.

  Leaf exited the car and waved at me. Wine-colored long-sleeved shirt over a black T-shirt. A black leather belt. Jeans. New sneakers. His hair was pulled back into its usual sleek ponytail. Mr. Leon waved at me from behind the steering wheel of the car. He was in his work uniform, his walkie-talkie thingie attached to his shoulder already.

  I waved back and watched him pull out of the driveway. Leaf eyeballed Mormor’s house, smiling at the colorful potted mums still clinging to life on the front steps.

  “This place is niiiice,” he said.

  “Mormor’s kind of a fanatic about her house, yeah.”

  “Should I take off my shoes?”

  “Nope, that’s fine. You ready for this?”

  “Sure am.”

  I threaded my fingers with his. He lifted my left hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the backs of my knuckles. I pretty much melted into the porch. We’d been taking it slow, and I knew, logically, it was a smart move—for me, for the baby. T
hat didn’t, however, mean that my rampaging pants parts weren’t a factor. A good portion of my second trimester had been me furiously quenching the fire raging in my preggo veins.

  I led him into the house with the Swedish she-wolves I called family. Mom was frowning at a misshapen sock she’d been trying to assemble with circle hooks, her hair wound tight with a floral scarf. Mormor was sliding a stitch marker into what I was guessing was going to be a blanket of some kind. It was navy blue with a fancy yellow trim.

  “Hello,” Leaf said in greeting.

  Mom grinned at him, tossing her knitting aside and offering him a hand. “Hey. I’m Astrid. You can call me that or Ms. Larssen if you’re inclined. This is my mom, Mrs. Larssen.”

  “Mormor will do,” Mormor said. “It’s easier.”

  She didn’t stop knitting. Instead, she eyeballed Leaf over her stitches, her eyes narrowed like a sun-swollen cat.

  Leaf was not deterred. “Your home is beautiful, Mormor. Like something out of a magazine. I love it.” People often threw compliments that they didn’t mean, especially when they were nervous, but Leaf... The way he delivered his lines was everything. He wasn’t really looking at my grandmother so much as at the art with the crackled paint frames. At the stenciling she’d done herself along the top border of the walls. At the antique curio with the glass front and the country-flavored knickknacks inside. At the Americana swan on top of the TV cabinet.

  Leaf meant what he said about enjoying her aesthetic. And it made all the difference.

  Mormor melted.

  “Thank you! I’ve worked hard to get it to my liking.” She went from wary predator to purring kitty cat in three sentences. I knew my boyfriend was charming, but I was pretty sure that was some kind of record and he might actually be a brilliant supervillain.

  “I can tell. Thank you so much for inviting me to dinner.”

  He grinned.

  Mormor nodded her approval, tutting quietly.

  “Well, let’s eat, shall we?”

  Ten minutes later, Leaf had his first Swedish smorgasbord, or really, American-Swedish smorgasbord. Mormor told me fish starters were standard at home, but a lot of Americans weren’t big on cold herring and eel, so instead it was two types of bread, soft cheeses, sweet butter and egg dishes, including quiche. There were cold sausage cuts and hot ones, too, with the kok korv. She’d made ärtsoppa for me because she loved me, and the meatballs, and a bunch of hot and cold vegetable dishes. She’d made sweets, which would come later, after we’d digested the mountains of food.

  Mormor didn’t bust out the big meals often, but when she did, we had leftovers for weeks.

  Leaf tried everything. He even tried it how Mormor told him to try it, meaning a lot of Swedes eat ärtsoppa by dipping their spoons into a sweet mustard first before taking a mouthful of soup. Each new food was considered, savored and at one point, he dropped the ultimate compliment on her meatballs.

  “I’d love to learn how to make these, if you have a recipe.”

  Mormor bloomed.

  “I can write out the recipe for you, but you will want to come over and learn. It’s nice to see someone appreciating good cooking. It is a dying art form. My girls don’t care much.”

  “That just means they need their men to cook for them.” Leaf flashed a pearly smile at my mother. “I cook for Sara. I love to cook.”

  “She told me. Sometimes she makes me drool a little.” Mom sipped her coffee. “Of course, I drool for fun on Wednesdays, too, but I swear this time it’s about your food.”

  Leaf chuckled and got up to rinse his dishes in the sink. When Mormor started packing up the extra food, he insisted on helping, ladling things into Tupperware and meeting Mormor’s small talk with his own, the two of them bonding over cooking. They were getting along almost too well. Mom’s eyes met mine and she pointed at them, mouthing, “Do you see this?”

  I did.

  My boyfriend was the best.

  * * *

  Inspired by—okay, let’s be real, guilted by, because that’s the truth of it—Leaf’s easy willingness to help clean up, I started loading the dishwasher. Mom was on make-room-in-the-refrigerator-for-the extra-everything duty. It took us a good half hour to get the kitchen back to a working state, but we managed it. Leaf told Mom and Mormor about his sister and her baby, showing them pictures of Elana in her holiday dresses on his phone. His most recent shot was of her in her Halloween costume, which was a lobster, ’cause I guess if you’re from New England that’s how you did your kids dirty.

  ...I made a mental note to be sure I found something equally as ridiculous for Cass the following year. Maybe a frog. Or a unicorn onesie.

  Heck, I wanted a unicorn onesie.

  We could be twinsies.

  “Alright, you two are off the hook for spending time with the old people. I’ll call you down for dessert in, say, an hour-ish?” Mom glanced at the clock. It was only six-thirty. “Make that two hours. I think I ate an entire horse.”

  Leaf slung an arm over my shoulders. “My father has a saying—the older the violin, the sweeter the music. I’m having a great time—down here, upstairs. It’s all good to me.”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re trouble. Good trouble, I think, but trouble. Go on. Get out while the getting’s good. If you stay in the kitchen too long, she’ll find more work for you to do.” Mom waved her thumb in Mormor’s direction. “Or maybe she’ll throw a shoe. She does that for fun sometimes.”

  “Astrid! I would never. He’s been very helpful. Far more helpful than my own family,” Mormor protested. “But yes, go. We’ll take some time before dessert.”

  Leaf snickered and guided me toward the stairs. I ducked in front of him, holding his hand and bringing him up to my room. The other rooms upstairs were closed save for the bathroom, where Mom had done the customary there’s-a-guest-in-the-house lighting of the candles. It was the only time anyone actually burned candles, ever. The rest of the time, they gathered dust waiting for their next round of usefulness.

  I’d had to pick a bug carcass off one of the ones downstairs before lighting it. It was gross.

  Leaf looked around my room and smiled. Posters on the wall, a shelf of my old and not-so-old plush toys. More books than could fit on the bookshelf. A stack of homework that was probably over a month old and could be tossed out. It was a pretty standard mess of a room, save for the copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting that I had on my nightstand by my bed. Leaf went for it, sitting down by my pillows as he opened to the first chapter.

  “My mom got me that,” I said.

  “Is it helping?”

  “Sometimes, yeah.” I sat down next to him. He swung his head my way and looked at me from below his heavy lids. He was a handsome guy, with those ridiculous lashes of his, and when he moved in for a smooch, I was halfway there. His lips on mine felt right—they fit right, they were soft. He never slobbered on me or made me wish I was somewhere else. If anything, he always left me wanting a little more, and a little more, and a little more after that.

  Which, he hadn’t taken, and I wouldn’t push him for. But sometimes I really wished he’d just go for it.

  I could go for it.

  I mean, it’s not always on the guy, right?

  My door was closed. We were both properly fed and would be left alone. Why the heck not?

  I plucked the book from his hands and twined the fingers of my left hand with the fingers of his right. One kiss became two. Two became three. He leaned into me, groaning quietly. I slid my fingers into his hair, under the ponytail, massaging at his scalp. Closer he came, closer still.

  Until...the bump stopped him.

  It pulled me from the heady exchange immediately. I reared back, licking my lips, my growing happy tingles whooshing away at the reality that maybe he hadn’t gone for it with me because he found my growing bulge icky.
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  Maybe it weirded him out.

  It kinda weirded me out.

  “What’s wrong, Serendipity?” he asked, drawing out my name, romancing all the syllables and then a few extra I hadn’t known were there.

  “Nothing. Just—overfull, I guess.”

  I looked down. There was heat in my face. I must have been blushing because his hand lifted, his pinky finger gliding over my cheek.

  “Is that true?”

  “It’s not even three months away,” I blurted. “Like, then I’ll start shrinking down again. That’ll be cool.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I couldn’t really speak, so instead I motioned at myself. I’d not been all that self-conscious about my body with him to that point, but apparently the stretched-out Link face over Gutzilla bugged me more than I’d let on. Or maybe it was the class that morning, on top of seeing Jack, on top of Leaf meeting my mom and grandma for the first time compounding into a roiling ball of stress that was whittling away at my sanity.

  “Okay, that’s your body,” Leaf said. “It’s very nice. I’m a fan of it.”

  “...I just know it must be weird for you. I mean, it is weird. And, like, if you looked up anti-sex in the dictionary, you’d probably see my picture there, so... I saw Jack today,” I blurted.

  “Jack?”

  “The baby’s father. Devi got gas from him and I went to see him at work. He’s going to talk to his parents about it. He has a girlfriend now, which is totally fine. It’s just... It was a weird conversation. I was standing there, telling him about our kid, and I felt so fat. My T-shirt didn’t really fit, and I feel bulbous and...”

  “Aaaaaaah. I get it. Sara, no. I... Come here.” He pulled me in close, pressing my face to his neck. He smelled like clean cologne—not one of those overpowering stinks that made my eyes water that the jocks liked to wear. He’d shaved smooth, and I nuzzled at him, liking how his arms settled around me. Liking how soft he was against my soft. This big bear of a boy made me feel safe and I needed it then, for reasons I couldn’t and can’t really articulate beyond “I was feeling vulnerable.”