At first, the man curls his fist around his phone, ready to battle me, under the impression I’m trying to be sneaky and steal it. His mannerisms soften when he sees a tear spring to my eye.
Under his pity-filled gaze, I cross my fingers that Justin’s not at the skateboard park, his phone usually tossed in his bag if that’s the case.
As if he’s expecting a call, he answers immediately, his voice low pitched and sensual. “Hey, sexy,” he murmurs seductively.
“Hey, I’m at the gas station near the junkyard.”
“Uh, Elizabeth? What number are you calling me from?”
My heart drops when I realize I’m not the one who is supposed to be on the other end. How quickly feelings change. I swallow, barely able to whisper, “Does it matter? I need to talk to you.”
“Elizabeth, if it’s about the other night . . .” His voice rises to its normal pitch. “I meant what I said. I love you, but we both need space.”
I feel like I’m chewing cotton, my throat parched. The words are as powerful as a punch to my gut and just as hurtful, compounded with what I now know is a baby growing inside my womb. “Yeah, I hear you. But this is important. Please.”
He has the audacity to hesitate, and in this instant I want to pummel him.
“Please, Justin. I won’t make you late for work. Promise.”
“Okay, I’ll head over now.”
I hand the phone back to the man, and he nods at me as if he understands. I wait outside, kicking rocks, and Justin’s muffler pierces the air before I even see his old sports car.
After he parks, he reaches over to unlock the broken passenger-side door.
I slide inside, my head down.
He speaks first. “What’s up, Elizabeth?” His greeting is so generic and immature I want to scream. Instead, I fidget with my hands in my lap, my cuticles torn and bloody. “Just say it. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, babe.”
“I took a test, since I missed—”
“What class?” Justin interrupts, ignorant to what I’m saying.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I haven’t had a period in a few months, so I took a test today and . . .”
“. . . and you’re telling me this now?” His eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re pregnant?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“Didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t had a period since after Christmas?”
“I guess I didn’t pay attention.” Justin shakes his head. “This can’t be happening.”
“Well, it is.”
“You’re being manipulative.”
“What?” I jerk my head back against the seat. “Seriously? I have no reason to manipulate you.”
“You need a place to go, I get it.” Justin sighs, “I wanted a break—I thought we wanted a break—and you come at me with this.”
“I was trying—” I take another breath. “Last night, I was trying to find a way to tell you.”
“You knew then, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I hadn’t taken a test then.” I add, “Though the fact you haven’t noticed any of the symptoms is a little alarming.”
“You just happened to go to the doctor today, and they said with one hundred percent certainty you’re pregnant?”
“I haven’t been to a doctor yet. This was a test from the store.”
Clearly relieved, he says, “So, it’s not for sure?”
“Justin . . .” Then I say with a sigh, “It’s a digital one. They’re about as accurate as the test at the doctor’s office.”
“How many did you take?”
“Just one.”
Stubborn, he snaps, “It could be broken.”
“You mean, defective? I guess . . .” I rest a hand on his biceps. “But I doubt it. Haven’t you noticed I’ve been throwing up, tired, and gaining weight?”
“I thought it was stress.” Justin bites his lip. “How far along do you think you are?”
“I’d guess fourteen to sixteen weeks, but the doctor will have to confirm that part.”
“That far? You’re that far along?”
I shrug.
He whispers, “Do you wanna keep it?”
“I don’t know . . . this is all a shock.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had time to think about it.” He sniffs and says, “No wonder you were asking me all these damn questions last night. Shit, I just didn’t see it coming. Like, how will you support it?”
“You mean, how will both of us support it, right?” Sarcasm drips from every word.
“Elizabeth, I’m telling you right now, this isn’t something I want.”
“You act like I planned this, or did this to myself. Last time I checked, you were in the room.”
“I wore a condom.”
“Sometimes.” I brush a tired hand across my forehead. “Justin, that isn’t the point right now. I don’t want to fight about it. It’s done. I’m knocked up.”
“Can you ask Diane for money to—”
I cut him off. “Why would I ask her? This isn’t her problem.”
Justin slams his palm on the console. “I don’t have the money right now to take care of it.”
“I don’t know that I want to have an abortion.”
“It’s gotta be an option that’s at the top of the—”
Interrupting, I fire back, “We discussed all the options.”
“And I said I didn’t think a kid was good for us.”
“And I said that wasn’t a good enough reason.” I shove open the door. “Forget you ever met me. I don’t want anything from you.”
I slam the door, which shuts with an indignant thud, and take off at a frenzied pace, hands shoved in my pockets, unsure where I’m going to go or how long I’ll be able to walk.
Sobs rack my body as Justin speeds along next to me, pleading, “Let me at least drive you home.”
“No.” I kick gravel at his car. “Leave me alone.”
Flipping him off, I take off through someone’s field, hobbling over a lowered fence.
It feels like hours have passed as I roam through grass and dirt, every muscle in my body sore, but it’s really only been a half hour or so. I pant, thirsty, and in the distance I see an old farmhouse. I go to it, and a big-breasted woman inside takes pity on me. I spend the evening eating dinner with her family of five, having forgotten what family dinners were like.
If I have a family . . . I change my thought process. When I have a family, we will always eat dinner together, I solemnly vow. After a dessert of homemade custard pie, her husband and young daughter drive me back into town on their way to pick up supplies at the hardware store.
For once, I don’t fib and give a fake address, or have them drop me off in Charlotte’s subdivision or at my favorite Cape Cod–style house.
I’m too weary for even that.
Resting my head on the floor at Diane’s, I’m plucked into sleep when I lie down on the stained carpet, not even bothering to find a pillow or drag out my mattress.