Belly Up Read online

“I’m fine. No one died,” I managed.

  “Mmm. Swedish skin. You’re freckling. Too bad you didn’t get your father’s coloring. He might have been an asshole, but he was a handsome asshole. Browned up like a chicken nugget.” She took the hat off her own head and plopped it on mine.

  “That’s a little racist, Mormor. Comparing people to food?”

  She ignored me, because that’s just what she did, pulling me in tight for a spine-crushing hug. “Let’s get you some lemonade. Your mother will join us when she’s done.”

  “I... Okay,” I said, being lovingly dragged toward the front porch. Mormor patted my shoulder and glanced back at my mother.

  “Have you eaten yet, Astrid?”

  From beneath a monster zucchini bush: “No, Ma.”

  “It’s almost one-thirty. I’ll take care of it. But you really should be on a regular eating schedule. It’s bad for your pancreas.”

  “Okay, Ma.”

  Mom had the placating tone—the one she got when she was talking to bill collectors on the phone when they were demanding money she didn’t have.

  Hopefully, Mormor still lets us move in when she finds out I’m pregnant. Mom’s struggling to go it alone.

  Mormor led me into the house. She liked Americana decor, with furniture that looked old and distressed, lots of country landscapes and a dark red, navy and off-white color scheme. Her rugs were knotted, her drapes cotton and long. There was more wicker inside, but in the form of baskets, with plenty of houseplants tucked everywhere. We walked through the front room, which was the living room, with its big brick fireplace and overstuffed leather furniture. To the right of us were the stairs leading to the second story bedrooms, but it was the kitchen Mormor wanted, and it was the kitchen we went to, me a few steps behind her the whole way.

  She motioned to a wooden stool at the island before washing her hands.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Or demanded, really. Because Mormor.

  “I...uhh...wanna wait for Mom to come in, if that’s cool.”

  “Why? Don’t you think you can trust me?”

  On the one hand, sure, I could trust Mormor! On the other hand, she’d just grabbed a tomato, put it on a cutting board and cleaved it in half with a single resounding thud of the knife.

  ...because, again, Mormor.

  “I know I can.” Mormor was gearing up to go at me again but, fortunately, Mom trudged inside with her zucchini crop, distracting her. The moment Mom left the zucchini on the counter, Mormor tutted and motioned at the sink with her machete.

  “Rinse them. You know how I do things.”

  “Ma, I’m—fine. Okay, look, we have to talk to you.”

  “Are you not moving in after all? That’d be stupid, Astrid.” Mormor went back to her tomato, slicing it into big slabs and laying them out on a paper plate. A touch of salt, a drizzle of balsamic vinegar—she slid it my way, reaching for a loaf of crispy bread she probably made herself and slicing off a hunk. It, too, went onto the plate.

  I stared at it. It ought to have been a real treat for me, because Mormor’s garden-fresh tomatoes were the best, except the idea of the squishy insides of the tomato with all those seeds made my stomach rebel.

  I hunched over, squinting my eyes shut, willing the nausea to go away.

  Stop trying to murder me, baby. That’s rude.

  “...what’s wrong? Is she sick? If she’s sick—I’m sixty-five. You shouldn’t be exposing me to—”

  “She’s not sick, Ma. She’s pregnant, okay? That’s why we’re here. Sara’s pregnant.” I kept my eyes closed, because then I wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on my grandmother’s face. Mom came to stand behind me, her hand going to the small of my back and rubbing in soothing circles. It helped me not hurl all over the kitchen island, but it didn’t make me feel better. Mormor was silent save for the sound of her knife hitting the cutting board as she attacked another tomato.

  Shunk.

  Shunk.

  Shunk.

  “Well,” Mormor said, speaking only after she’d finished cutting up her vegetables. I cracked an eye, daring to peek at my grandmother’s face. No smile. No scowl. No anything. She was arranging more tomato slices on a paper plate when she said, without looking up, “It’s good, then, that I have four bedrooms.”

  Chapter Eight

  I asked to be excused from the conversation about my own baby. I know that’s weird, but I was exhausted—emotionally and physically—and napping seemed like the best course of action, especially as a puke risk, which is like a flight risk, only more disgusting. Dr. Bhatia had prescribed medicine to help with that, but I hadn’t gotten to the pharmacy yet on account of the Mormor visit.

  Who, so far, was taking the whole thing pretty well. Thank God.

  I climbed the stairs to the big beautiful spare room on the right. The bedspread was ivory. The wallpaper on the walls was ivory with little red-and-pink flowers with whorled greenery. The curtains in the windows were lace. It was pretty, at least two of my current room in size, and a lot fancier. I wasn’t going to have a reason to be jealous of Devi’s nice stuff anymore.

  Right, Devi.

  I have to call her.

  This’ll be fun.

  I walked over to the bed and face planted into the pillows, arms to either side of my body, legs akimbo. Mormor walked in behind me to pull the shades. I had four windows total, three on one wall facing the neighbor’s house next door, one on the adjacent wall pointed out at the backyard, overlooking Mormor’s shed and frog pond. She made sure each of them was darkened before coming over to the foot of the bed to pull another crochet blanket up over my legs.

  Mormor liked to crochet, particularly when she was watching Jeopardy and Fox News at night.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  “You’re welcome. This is going to be your room. You can fix it up how you like.”

  “Okay.” I lifted my head so I could look at her. There was no reproach on her face, only her tried and true austere expression of chin up, brows high on her weathered forehead, mouth pinched tight in a flat line.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t even sure why I was apologizing, except maybe for putting everyone out, making everyone worry about me. I’m an honor student, top of my class—smart and always lauded for having it together. The mighty had finally fallen, and I’d done it hard.

  Like, right onto my face before getting crushed by one of those cartoon ACME anvils hard.

  “Stop apologizing,” she said. “You’ll get through this. Your mother did, and I did before her. It’s not easy but it’s not insurmountable, either.”

  “You didn’t have Mom until you were thirty, and you were married.”

  Mormor sniffled, her hands, thin and riddled with dark blue veins, clasped together over her flat stomach. “I had an abortion, in Sweden in the seventies. I’d gone to live with family awhile,” she said. “There was a boy, I loved him, but I was naive. Young women are often naive. Trusting everything will be fine without realizing you have to work for fine. We make our own fine.” She paused. “Frankly, I find it amazing our species continues. We’re all idiots.”

  “Yeah, I’m an idiot,” I admitted, my fingers sweeping over my throbbing temple. On top of the nausea, I was getting a killer headache, which was probably tension, but who knew with my freshly announced tenant. Weird stuff was, and would be for a long while, happening in my body. “Ugh. I feel so stupid. Like, I was so careful with Aaron, but one night, and one bad choice—”

  “That’s all it takes. One choice. Bad is relative. If it’s any consolation, it’s a mistake that’s been made a million times before and will be made a million times again. Such is the way of youth and life. But you will get through it because your mother and I will help you get through it. We’re Larssen women.
We persevere. It’s what we do.”

  Except I’m a Rodriguez, my brain screamed. What if we don’t persevere?

  I didn’t say it aloud. Mormor wouldn’t brook a whiner, so instead I snuggled into the bed pillows and closed my eyes, hoping I could drift off and vacate reality for just a little while. Mormor took the hint, closing the bedroom door behind her and leaving me in the dark, alone. It should have been a time for rest, but my brain was on fire, the possibilities, the what-ifs, the what-do-I-dos endless. I felt like one of those babies who cried because they were overtired but refused to go to sleep. I wanted to, willed my body to, but it wasn’t happening.

  So I pulled out my cell phone and called Devi. I’d normally text her, but this was big enough news that it warranted the call. She was still in Connecticut, but was coming back after Shabbos that weekend.

  “Killlll meeeeee,” Devi rasped in greeting.

  “Hi. Hey. Why?”

  “I’m melting. Bubbe keeps the house at six zillion degrees and it’s four thousand percent humidity. I’m going to have zits the size of meteors. Green tea sheet mask, thy name is God.”

  This was the part of the conversation where we’d normally spiral off into talking about skin care, both of us fully riding the Korean skin-care train, but not then. Then it was, “Devi, I’m in trouble.”

  “You okay? What’s wrong? Who’re we killing?”

  “I just got back from the doctor and I’m pregnant. Please don’t—just don’t... No ‘I told you so’ or anything, okay? I just found out and I’m really upset.” And that was when the tears started. Not at the doctor’s office. Not with my mom in the car when she told me we’d figure it out. Not with Mormor. With Devi, on the phone, by myself in the dark of a bedroom that didn’t feel like mine but would be mine soon. Devi gasped and then went quiet, which only made me cry all the harder, because what if she didn’t want to be my friend anymore? What if her parents decided I was “a bad kid” and didn’t let Devi hang out with me because I’d corrupt her with my rampant slutitude?

  If I get an abortion, they wouldn’t have to know it’d even happened.

  Except I wasn’t sure I wanted one yet. I wasn’t raised religious, I didn’t have any dogma to contend with or staunch familial teachings. I’d always viewed it as a person’s choice, to each their own. But the reality was, I was almost three months along. The fetus was maybe getting sorta human-like in there, and I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with the idea of a medical eviction. I had nothing to say about anyone else making that choice! But for me, I just... It sat wrong. Mom would probably have something to say about it later, maybe she’d sway me one way or the other, but I was leaning toward a “don’t do it.”

  Adoption? Possible, a good possibility, in fact, but again, I’d want feedback.

  Devi’s here, on the line, now. She’s smart.

  I trust her.

  “I’m not sure what I want to do yet,” I managed, warbling. I used my sleeve as a tissue because desperate times and desperate measures and boogers stopped for no woman. “About the baby.”

  “Holy crap. Okay, right, so. Right. Oh, my God.” Devi cleared her throat. “So, yeah, I am totally down for talking about this with you. But...”

  “Bubbe?”

  “Ayep. She’s got her soaps on. I’ll... Give me a little bit, okay? And I will absolutely be down for a talk. I’ll call you back?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She apologized and ended the call. The idea that she couldn’t even talk to me without risking grandmother ire did nothing for my nerves. I had another good cry, muffling it into Mormor’s afghan, before tiptoeing down the hall to wash up in the bathroom. I splashed my face but the damage was done. I was not a pretty crier; my skin was tomato red, nose large and in charge. Half of my hair had escaped my rubber band, so black wormy frizz haloed my head like a Brillo pad. Crusts of snot soiled my nostrils. My eyes were swollen to the point I looked like a bug on a coke bender.

  Yeah, this is the face of a woman who could be a mom.

  I tried to swallow another sob and failed, which is what alerted my mom to the great crash of Serendipity Rodriguez going on upstairs. She called my name from the living room, and when I didn’t answer, came running. I was sitting on the toilet holding my stomach and rocking back and forth when she found me. She slid into the bathroom and gathered me close. My little mom, that petite blonde thing who smelled like Chanel No. 5 and had for as long as I remembered, hauled me to my feet and led me back to the spare room. She half carried me there. I don’t know how she managed such She-Hulk strength, but I wasn’t asking questions as she dumped me into bed and pulled the covers up over me, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside me and stroking my hair.

  I was crying so hard I didn’t see Mormor come in, but I felt her when she sat on my other side and very efficiently tucked the blanket in under my butt, as gentle as the angriest drill sergeant.

  “You will be okay,” Mormor said.

  “She’s right, kiddo. You’re going to be okay,” Mom said. “We’ve got this.”

  I wanted to believe them. I had to believe them, or not only was it all over for me, it was all over for my kid, too.

  Chapter Nine

  I woke hours later, not of my own volition, but because Devi had climbed into bed with me and was spooning me, her arm thrown over my middle. I didn’t care how she’d gotten there, I just knew she was there, and I rolled over and hugged her, burying my face in her neck.

  “I probably smell rank. I haven’t showered,” she said in greeting.

  Her arms wrapped around me and squeezed.

  “You are the best wifey,” I managed before catching a waft of...bacon? “You stopped for cheeseburgers on the way, didn’t you?”

  “Damned right, I did. Freedom, baby. But even with that bacon double cheeseburger with a double cheeseburger on the side, I did a two-and-a-half-hour drive in an hour and forty-five because I care. Also because I was trying to beat Connecticut traffic at rush hour. Thanks for ruining everything, New York.”

  “Is Bubbe going to kill you for leaving early?”

  “Don’t think so. I told her why I was going and she didn’t try to stop me. I think she’s glad to have her house back to herself. She said I kept getting a weird look on my face after a few hours without my phone on Shabbos. I’m pretty sure looking at me actually makes her angry.” She smirked. “She loves me. She just wants to punch me a little.”

  “Well, yeah, but so does everyone.”

  “Exactly. I’m just that kind of girl.”

  The banter was easy, light. Familiar. Familiar was good, and the brick I’d been trying very hard not to shit softened a little.

  ...wow. Gross analogy, but you catch my drift.

  Devi kissed the top of my head and smiled. I think it was supposed to be reassuring, but she looked like she had gas. That was okay, though—finding out your bestie was pregnant right before senior year of high school was probably worth a few fart faces. “So what are we going to do about Babygate? Like, do you even know or...”

  “I’m fondly referring to it as the fetus. At least, mentally I am, and no clue.” I reiterated my stance on abortion, that it was okay for others but I wasn’t feeling it, pausing to ask her, “Is that dumb?”

  She immediately shook her head.

  “Not at all. It’s a decision that’s going to be hard for lots of people for lots of reasons. So, think about it, decide what sits right for you. No one gets to dictate your feelings about something complicated like this.”

  “I don’t know what my mom’s going to say.”

  “I’m betting, by the talk she gave me when I got here, she’s going to support whatever you decide. She texted me, you know.” When surprise made my eyebrows kiss my hairline, Devi nodded. “Yeah, she didn’t know you’d called me. She asked when I was home and said she thought you could use
some friends around, that you’re going through some stuff. She wouldn’t tell me what, though. I thought you’d appreciate that. Your mom was good about your privacy.”

  My mom was good about a lot of things. So was Mormor, when she wasn’t throwing shoes or demanding vegetable service. I sat up in bed and swung my legs over the side, peering down at my feet. My toenails were blue with a pink sparkle. If I continued with this pregnancy—and I was feeling like I wanted to—I’d not be able to paint my toenails anymore, never mind see those feet for too much longer.

  Fat Town, Population: Serendipity.

  “So what did she say to you when you got here?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the idea of my imminent flesh expansion.

  “Both of them assured me that you were okay, that they were taking care of you, but that you’d be super glad to see me. Which you were. You squealed a little.” Devi hopped out of bed, immediately bending over to right Mormor’s sheets and blankets. “I think they’re gonna be cool about it. It’s just a feeling.”

  “I hope so.” I watched her work for a moment before clueing in that I might be pregnant, but that didn’t make me useless, so I folded the afghan into a neat square. “I’m thinking adoption, maybe?”

  “That’s cool, if you don’t want it. It’d make some other people really happy.” She fluffed the pillows and peered up at me. Normally, she wouldn’t be caught dead in daylight hours without some makeup on, but she’d come straight from Bubbe’s, which meant she’d been clean-faced for over a month. I could see the ginger freckles on her nose. “But only if you don’t want it. You’re not obligated to give your baby up if you don’t want to. I can’t see your mom turning into a supervillain and selling your baby on the black market.”

  “She wouldn’t, I don’t think. I’m just not sure yet? Adoption seems like a good idea, but what if I figured out I was wrong after I gave it away? That I did want it? There’s no take backsies.”

  “So you gotta be sure.”

  She was right, but I had no idea how to come around to that. A sit-down with my mother and grandmother would maybe give me some answers.