Belly Up Page 21

  We shared a smile, and then we shared a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. It was a pretty awesome ending to a pretty lukewarm afternoon.

  What was not awesome was that Thanksgiving came and went, and Jack was still giving me the quasi–blow off. He kept in touch, letting me know he was still around, but they were one sentence texts of apologies and excuses about how hard it was and that his family was going to get upset and he was afraid to talk to them. It was confirmation he hadn’t ripped off the Band-Aid yet. I was sympathetic to a point—not everyone’s families were as supportive as mine—but I was losing patience, too.

  I had the much harder job in the vast scheme of brewing the kid.

  Nut up, Jack.

  The second week of December, when I was sitting in the living room, holding Leaf’s hand, staring at Mormor’s color-coordinated Christmas tree because she only decorated with Sweden’s colors, I said as much. It wasn’t out of the blue or anything. Rudolph didn’t start playing and I had a crisis of paternity, but he’d sent me another text that said, gonna tell parents after X-mas. Have a good 1.

  My fingers were moving before I could think better of it.

  Don’t bother. Clearly too hard for you.

  Yes, it was witchy, but I was thirty weeks into the pregnancy and he’d been told over a month ago. I was in a Saturday morning teen support group and had started Lamaze with Devi. I’d read two books about pregnancy. I knew things about mucus plugs—don’t ever Google image search that. And the meconium—especially don’t Google image search that. I was working my fat pregnant butt off to make sure that my kid came into the world with a half-functioning mom.

  And he couldn’t tell his father?

  Whatever.

  I’d been patient enough.

  “Are you okay?” Leaf asked.

  I grumbled something that wasn’t really words, more just a mishmash of frustrated animal sounds.

  “You look like you want to eat the phone,” he said.

  “I kind of do. Jack just told me he wasn’t going to tell his family until after Christmas. I guess he doesn’t want to ruin the holidays.” The bitterness was there, lacing every word. Leaf snorted and rubbed the back of my neck, hissing when he felt how tense my muscles were. His fingers kneaded at them in vain, attempting to get me to uncoil.

  Good luck, buddy.

  “He’s being dumb.” He motioned for me to lean forward, and I did the best I could, resting my boobs on top of my belly. His hands moved from my neck to my shoulders and spine. “You’ve been patient. If he can’t appreciate that, he’s not worth your time.”

  “I know, right? I’d hoped he wouldn’t be an asshat about it, but I guess that was too much to ask.”

  “His loss,” Leaf said.

  Damn right, it was his loss.

  Except it wasn’t actually a loss. Two minutes later, Jack texted me back.

  I’m sorry. Gonna tell them now. Bbs.

  Okay, so maybe my baby daddy wasn’t an asshat. Maybe he just needed a toe up the butt now and then to get him going in the right direction. I could do that. I could be that toe.

  “Or not. He’s telling them now. I guess pointing out he was being a donkey was a quick way to get results. I should have been meaner, sooner.”

  Leaf kissed the back of my shoulder. “I like you mean. At other people. Mean at me, probably not so much.”

  “I don’t have any reason to be mean to you, though. You should screw up more.”

  He stopped massaging my shoulders.

  “Like that?”

  “...never mind. Keep being awesome. I’ll save my mean for other people.”

  He laughed and pulled me back into a hug. My back was to his front, his arms looped around my body, his hands resting on my belly. I went still, so my kid started kicking like crazy. Leaf followed the movement with his hands across my belly button area.

  Most pregnant people will tell you in-utero children are offended by relaxation. The moment their fleshy incubator stopped moving, the kid got their tap shoes on. It made trying to fall asleep a fun and exciting game. Dr. Cardiff explained that the babies were lulled by their mom’s movements. My walking around equated to “Rock-a-bye Baby.” I stopped? Well, Mom just failed the team.

  This roundhouse kick to the ribs will show you, Mom!

  “She’s active.”

  “She does this lately. Kid doesn’t like it when I chill out.”

  “Are you chill now? More than you were, at least?”

  I eyed my phone—the conduit between me and the proving-to-be-annoying father of my kid.

  I eyed the Christmas tree, the stockings hung by the chimney with care and the reflection of me and Leaf cuddling on the couch in the black of the TV screen.

  “Yeah,” I said, nestling in closer to Leaf’s warm body. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jack’s parents took the news poorly.

  That is the understatement of the century.

  I had a lot more sympathy for him when he called me that night, at eleven, two hours after I’d gone to bed, but I figured it had to be serious if he was willing to use actual conversation instead of text to communicate. I rolled over and picked up the phone, clearing my throat so I didn’t sound like I’d gargled with a porcupine.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey. Hi,” he said back. “Sorry to wake you. Did I?”

  He sniffled.

  He’d been crying.

  I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. I knew I didn’t appreciate it when people fussed when I was a wet sack of tears, which was frequently, so I went at it simple.

  “I sleep all the time. Kid makes me tired. It’s fine. You okay?”

  “No, not really. My parents are pissed. They want to meet you and your parents. Dad’s... He wants a paternity test. He was an asshole about it. I knew he would be. That’s why I waited so long. I know how this is going to sound, but it was as much for you as it was for me. My mom will keep him in check to a point, but he’s going to be uncool.”

  I groaned and flopped back into my pillows, my eyes adjusting to the darkness in my room. Back at the apartment, I had those plastic glowy star stickers on my ceiling. I missed them in that moment. They would have given me something to focus on that wasn’t Jack’s father potentially dickbagging at me and our unborn kid. “Okaaaaay. Well, he can deal with my mother and grandmother. Good luck to him. I’m not sure what goes into a DNA test, but...”

  “I looked before I called. We can do spit tests when the kid is born—it’s a girl, right?”

  “That’s the assigned gender. I wanna keep doors open in case they choose another gender, later, though. But that’s a talk for another day.”

  Jack paused.

  “Yeah, okay, that’s fine. I’m just going to tell my parents it’s a girl. I don’t think they’ll get it, otherwise.”

  Jack’s parents sounded like charmers.

  “Anyway, you can get a blood test done now but that’s probably going to cost us money and the baby’s coming soon. February, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. If you’re cool with one of those spit tests, my dad is. We can get them off Amazon. He just doesn’t want to have to pay support if it’s not mine. Which, I—I believe you, Sara, okay? My dad’s just tough. He’s not always a bad guy. He’s just... I dunno.” Jack sighed and sounded sad. “Anyway, he wants to get together. It’s probably going to suck. A lot. I won’t lie.”

  “Yeah, but I’d rather get it over with. I’ll talk to Mom and Mormor and we’ll set something up. Text you tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.” He paused. “And I’m sorry for the delay, Sara. I was just really scared.”

  “I am, too, sometimes,” I said. “But it’ll be okay. I’ve got plans in place. My school’s going to let me finish the last ter
m of senior year at home so I don’t have to leave Cass too early.”

  “That’s cool,” he said. Then he paused. “I guess you’re not going to that Ivy League school you told me about, huh?”

  “Not now, but maybe one day. I didn’t apply to any for now, though.”

  It was that time of year when all of my classmates were getting their application essays together for early decision admission. Weller had even set aside a few days in AP English to give us guidelines for writing what she called the perfect college essay. It was formulaic, but it sounded legit, and I wished I had more reason to care about it, but I was too busy trying to fit a baby belly in between my chair and desktop to give her much attention.

  Your priorities shift when you’re pregnant.

  To Weller’s credit, she’d noticed my discomfort, and miraculously, the next class we had two long tables in the back of the room with pull-out chairs. They seated two kids per table, and Leaf had taken to sprinting to class early to claim one for us. Thankfully, the other kids caught on pretty quickly it was for the preggo who didn’t quite fit into standard seating and never fought him.

  Because Weller had done that, my other classes did it, too. She was a trendsetter. A mean one who called us stupid when we screwed up, but a trendsetter all the same, and I appreciated her consideration.

  “However I can help, I will. My mom said she’d help, too. We’ll figure it out,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, we will. Let me talk to my family and we’ll get a plan going?”

  “Totally. Thanks for being cool. And I’m sorry again.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I hung up and rolled over. My brain was on fire, doing that thing where I worried not about what Jack had said, but what he hadn’t said. About why his father wanted the DNA test. Did he think I was a slut? Was it because my last name was Rodriguez? Did it even matter what he thought because he was just the baby’s grandfather? Or maybe he was just being responsible for his son, making sure Jack didn’t get taken in?

  I worried about the gender discussion, too. Was Mr. Ianelli anti-queer? And if so, how would he feel if he found out I was questioning my sexuality and leaning toward IDing as bisexual? Or that my best friend was gray ace? Or that Morgan was a trans girl? Would he teach my kid a lot of toxic things that would, ultimately, hurt people I loved a lot?

  I felt like crap. I was halfway tempted to call Devi or Leaf and wake them up with my whining, but the next day was a school day, so instead, I crawled from my bed and went downstairs to sample our leftovers, and by sample, I mean microwave and devour all of them. Mormor had made fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. They were delicious.

  Both times that I ate them for dinner that night.

  I was sitting in the living room, my only light the warm glow of the Christmas tree, when Mom padded downstairs in her robe and slippers. She caught me feasting and smirked, throwing herself onto the couch beside me and sticking her finger straight into my mashed potatoes.

  “Uhhh, why are you so nasty?”

  “Because potatoes are delicious,” Mom said.

  She wasn’t wrong. That didn’t mean I wanted her pawing my food, though. When she licked off her first stolen potato sample and made motions to take a second, I stabbed the back of her hand with my fork.

  Mom flinched.

  “Dang, girl. You are bitey.”

  “Leave my food alone,” I said.

  “Okay, okay. Did you leave anything in the fridge?”

  “...no.”

  Mom smirked and headed off for the kitchen, returning a little while later with a jar of pickles, a pudding cup and a quarter pound of lean roast beef with a saltshaker. It was pretty gross, and I frowned as she sprawled out next to me.

  “I’m the pregnant one, I thought,” I said. “That’s food abuse.”

  “Delicious food abuse. I’m PMSing. Salt, beef and chocolate, baby.”

  I smirked and went back at my dinner. Mom salted her beef and chewed thoughtfully. “So what’s got you up? Everything okay?”

  “Jack told his parents. They were dicks about it,” I said. “Erm, sorry. They were unpleasant about it. They want to meet.”

  “Good swear catch.” Mom proceeded to wrap a pickle in salted roast beef and eat it. I scowled at her. She ignored me. “We’ll get together. If they’re dicks, they can deal with me and your grandmother.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “Good. Did you know Vikings rubbed actual salt in wounds? Like, we did that. We may have invented that. We were those people. Jack’s dad is going down.”

  “...you and Mormor say the weirdest crap sometimes, you know that?” I shook my head.

  “Yeah, but you love us. And you don’t have a murder factory so I take that as a sign that I’m a superior parent.”

  “As opposed to all of my classmates who do, in fact, have a murder factory?”

  “Yes. Exactly.” Mom finished her pickle atrocities and moved on to her pudding cup. Realizing she didn’t have a spoon, she used her finger to eat it. Out of pity, I cleaned off my fork and handed it to her. She saluted me and dug in. “Friday,” she said.

  “Invite them over then?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Bring me the disbelievers. We shall feast upon their trepidation!”

  I stared at Mom. I blinked.

  Without a word, I picked up my phone to text Jack the plan.

  * * *

  Leaf, Devi, Morgan and Erin all offered to come be my backup for the meeting. I went with Leaf for no other reason than he was a big dude and maybe, just maybe, that’d slow Jack’s dad’s roll. Leaf showed up a half hour before the Ianellis and immediately popped into the kitchen to sous-chef for Mormor. It was interesting to see my usually unflinching grandmother nervously fluttering about in her blue dress. She didn’t say she was worked up, but she couldn’t sit still. Every time she sat down, she immediately thought of something else she should be doing and sprung up again.

  Mom, who’d just finished vacuuming, whispered to me, “Stay out of her way. She’s turbo right now.”

  In a way, I was glad for it; if Jack’s dad was as bad as Jack suggested, we’d need her sass. I didn’t like the idea of Mormor being stressed, but...well. A stressed Mormor was a pointy Mormor.

  Pointy was good sometimes.

  Mom finished picking up the living room, straightening the tree skirt under the Christmas tree and putting out drink coasters. Leaf delivered the tray of meat, cheese and crackers that he’d assembled to the coffee table. I set the table. We were all quiet, lost to our thoughts. Leaf, dismissed by Mormor, came to help me fold napkins and put out silverware. He’d worn nice khakis with his off-white button-down shirt and black shoes. We were all dressed up—Mom in her pink blouse and black slacks from work, me in a floral-print dress that tucked in under my boobs and flared out and over the bump to call as little attention to it as possible. It was a futile endeavor. My kid was large and in charge, but hey, I’d managed some tights and a pair of shoes that weren’t sneakers, so at least I looked cute.

  I’d gotten to the point that shaving my legs was off the table. I couldn’t bend to get to my calves. It was tights or revealing that the great North American yeti was real and living in New England.

  The Ianellis pulled in five minutes early. Mom went to the door and held it open for them, smiling. Mrs. Ianelli came in first. She was small and delicate, with pale brown hair she’d cut into a chin-length bob, green eyes and a Christmas sweater to go along with her jeans. She held a cheesecake in her hands, and she smiled at Mom.

  “Caroline,” she said.

  “Astrid. Please, come on in.”

  Mrs. Ianelli walked inside, scoped out the Christmas tree and then spotted me not-at-all hiding behind it by the fireplace. Her eyes swept right over to me, first perusing my face and then going down, down, down to the evidenc
e of my and Jack’s misdeeds.

  “Hi,” I said in greeting.

  “Hello, Sara. Nice to meet you. I’m Caroline.”

  Mormor came out of the kitchen toweling off her hands. “Yes, hello. Welcome. I’m Ursula Larssen. Come in, come in.” She took the cheesecake from Mrs. Ianelli and the two of them disappeared into the kitchen, making proper introductions. Jack walked in next, in jeans, work boots and a long-sleeved T-shirt. His hands disappeared into his pockets as he looked around.

  “Hey,” he said. “Nice house. I probably should have dressed up more, I guess?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I pulled Leaf forward, my hand resting on his back. “Jack, this is Leaf.”

  The boys shook hands, sizing one another up. Leaf immediately dropped the big white dazzle smile. Jack’s wasn’t as warm, but I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with Leaf and everything to do with his old man, who’d just shaken Mom’s hand by the door and come inside.

  “That’s my dad. Peter,” Jack said.

  “Mr. Ianelli, I think is more appropriate given the circumstances,” his dad corrected.

  Mom and I shared a look. She shut the door and pursed her lips.

  “Can I get either of you a drink?” Mom asked. “Soda, beer, water, the harder stuff. The liquor cabinet is in the kitchen.”

  “I’m set,” Jack said.

  “I’ll take a beer,” Mr. Ianelli said. He glanced my mother’s way, scowling slightly, his mustache twitching before walking my way. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I wasn’t eager to make small talk with him, either. Not after Jack’s warnings on the phone, and definitely not in the face of his grumpy stare.

  “Sara,” he said.

  “Hi.” I tilted my head at Leaf. “This is my boyfriend, Leaf.”

  Mr. Ianelli just...sorta blew past Leaf’s existence. Like he glanced at him and then immediately looked back at me. “Jack said you’re a good student.”

  “Oh, he did?” I looked at Jack. “I, uhh. Yeah. I think I’m ranked second in the class right now? Might be third. I’ve missed a little school thanks to doctor’s appointments but I haven’t fallen too far behind.”