When she’s finished with the exam, Dr. Avanetti signals to Emily.
“Okay, you can get dressed. Make sure you take prenatal vitamins, get lots of sleep, no alcohol, no smoking, stay away from secondhand smoke, no hot tub, minimal caffeine. No raw fish. This packet contains a list of recommendations.”
She shakes both of our hands again. “I’ll see you in a month. Congrats to you both, Mom and Grandma.” My face reddens, and Emily interrupts just then, handing Elle a packet of dos and don’ts, a list of foods to eat and foods to avoid, and, last but not least, the sonogram.
“Okay, Charlotte.” Emily helps Elle off the table. “Please get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the lab to introduce you to our phlebotomist, who’ll draw your blood.”
Shakily, Elle puts her clothes on, and I follow her out into the hallway.
“I’ll wait here.” I motion to a bulletin board with smiling babies and their overjoyed parents. Must be ones Dr. Avanetti delivered.
“I can hold that.” Elle nods her thanks as I hold her handouts and the sonogram, tears streaming down my cheeks as I stare at the grainy photo, signaling life.
CHAPTER 33
Elle
I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be, going to the doctor.
First, I’ve been to the gynecologist only once.
Second, the reality of a baby and the pain I’ve heard is unbearable is starting to become real, and I am finally starting to grasp the fact that I, Elizabeth Laughlin, am going to become a mother.
If I choose.
A single mother.
A poor mother.
When we get back in Noah’s car, I stare out the windshield in silence. This time, instead of nervous anticipation, the silence is one of sheer amazement. Staring at the sonogram, I can’t believe I’m growing a little peanut in my belly. It seemed so surreal before today, and now, with the picture, it’s confirmation. Real-life confirmation. In some ways, I feel like I won the lottery, but in other ways, the reality of my life choices is overwhelming.
Then I think of Charlotte, and even though she’s married and I’m not, she’s still somewhat alone, her husband always out of town. She’s still able to manage.
She also has money, I remind myself, and a job.
I feel conflicted about what my father told me. Charlotte seems to genuinely love children and was just as excited as I was in the room. Even when her relationship with my father was on the rocks, I can’t see her throwing herself down a set of stairs out of anger.
Because not only was she putting the baby at risk, but she also could’ve died. And my father’s temper is a real beast. I’ve witnessed it many times, firsthand.
Shuddering, I think back to the table incident, when my mother almost died. This led to my parents’ contentious divorce afterward, with my father moving in with his brother, Tyler.
My mother took me with her to a small apartment, since Robbie, the former friend of my father’s, had grown bored of her now that she wasn’t off limits. I was shuffled back and forth between them like a chess piece, a forgotten pawn in a game that all of a sudden no one seemed to care about unless it involved pissing off the other one.
My mother’s next relationship was just as volatile, except this time she moved on from weed to harder drugs. She couldn’t afford the rent, so she moved in with Roger, a custodial worker with a bad back. Roger was addicted to pain pills and sold anything he could find, and before I knew it, my mother was spending most of her days on the streets trying to score drugs or shooting up in the bathroom. Roger went to prison for drug trafficking and wasn’t around to help with the bills, so we moved in with my mother’s mom, my grandma.
I would see my father half the time, but he also had a girlfriend. He didn’t want me around strange women, or girlfriends, until it was serious, he said.
Living with my grandma, I had the best times of my life.
She made cookies and cooked dinner and taught me to knit. We would snuggle up and watch reruns of all her favorite shows. I Love Lucy, The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
Her agreement with my mom was that she couldn’t use in her house; she had to get clean. She didn’t want drugs affecting her life or mine.
But everything crashed after my father went to prison. With no one to help with the bills or me, my mother grew increasingly depressed. She also had her own form of PTSD and blamed herself for not putting my father behind bars earlier, when he’d beaten her up. She blamed herself in a way for the death of the unborn baby. She couldn’t rise above her own demons, and she never really had a chance. She was dead within a year of his going to prison.
I snap back to the present, the warmth of the sun hitting my face through the window. All of these emotions rush to the surface, and I’m once again wrenched by my situation and the adults who got me here.
Resting my hands on what is my future, I remind myself I have one goal. I have to prove my father’s innocence so we can have a roof over our heads and our family back together again, as fractured as it is.
I tamp down my feelings and thank Charlotte for taking me to the doctor.
“You’re welcome.” Charlotte turns down the music. “Have you read any books?”
“I’m reading Animal Farm in class.”
“Personally, I prefer Down and Out in Paris and London, but no, I meant on pregnancy.”
Feeling stupid, I mumble, “Oh, no. I haven’t.”
“I’ve got some stashed on the bookshelf for you to read. It’ll make it easier to stomach all the changes and make you feel like you’re not a freak for having weird symptoms or ailments. Your hormones are acting up, and you’ll wonder about your sanity at times.”
“Yeah, my boobs hurt, and I could sleep twenty-five hours in a twenty-four-hour day.”
“That’s typical. You’ll have more energy at some point.”
“Have you had any weird cravings?”
“Before, it was more like certain smells associated with foods or beverages got to me. I used to like to drink a cup of coffee in the morning, and the aroma, which I usually love, made me nauseated the entire pregnancy. Even now, I’ve become accustomed to drinking tea.”
“I feel better knowing I’m not alone in this.”
“We will grow together, literally.”
Pretending I left my backpack at school, I have her drop me off there. I’m not comfortable with her taking me to the apartment, even though she dropped a package off there before. I don’t need to see her pity.
It’s days like today I wish the apartment complex had an elevator to use after I get off the bus. Drained, I don’t remember falling asleep when I get home, but at some point, I must get sick in the middle of the night, because I wake up disoriented.
Twisted like a pretzel on the bathroom floor, a threadbare towel draped around me, the apartment reeking of beans and tar, I sit up to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
I don’t hear Diane moving around, but she must’ve left food on the stove.
My mouth salivates as I check the tarnished pan on the burner.
Jackpot.
She made rice and beans. Shoveling the leftovers in a bowl, I grab a glass of tap water and settle on the couch. The television is now silent, and the grandfather clock in the corner chimes the hour. It’s an antique heirloom, or so she claims, and Diane will never get rid of it, even though it takes up most of the corner space in the living room. Plus, it would take burly movers to carry the heavy mahogany down four flights of stairs.