Since Elle’s allowed to start class that morning, I leave her at the new school, and instead of barricading myself in the home office or a vacant room like I normally would, I plop down at the nearest coffee shop. As I start to answer emails from my students, my mind keeps drifting to Elle. After I sigh louder than I intend, an elderly man considers me with curiosity. My face flushes red, and I smile at him.
Typing notes on next week’s lecture, “Beloved, by Toni Morrison,” I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Elle’s pregnant as well. Out of nowhere, this teenager shows up on my doorstep, and now I’m caught up in her life, for better or worse.
I want to call Noah and tell him the good news, that Elle’s agreed to stay with us, but I get his voice mail. He’s most likely working, but I talk myself into believing he’s probably with another woman. He’ll find one in New York so he can fly to Tokyo while I’m at home nursing our baby.
I kick my foot out angrily and catch my shin on the foot of the table. It doesn’t help my plight, and I hiss a cussword at the dark oak.
Focusing back on my laptop, I jab the keyboard with my fingers as I access Noah’s email.
This time, Noah’s responded to Lauren, his email generic enough, but flirty.
Don’t let her get to you, I warn myself. You’re having his baby, not her.
My temperature rises, and, flushed, I feel perspiration dripping underneath my armpits.
And here I chastised Elle for how she reacted to Courtney, I admonish myself.
Dr. Everett has recommended that when I want to berate Noah for the past, I should do the exact opposite. Shower him with love and affection instead of anger and recrimination.
Taking a deep breath, I write him a sweet email and attach a picture to it.
Then, giving up on work, I browse the internet for a new duvet cover for the comforter in the guest bedroom, baby clothes, and a glider I think would complement the nursery.
I also find a gift for Lauren.
The site asks if I want overnight shipping so it can be delivered tomorrow. Perfect.
After I submit the order, I overhear someone at the table next to me mention the time.
I gasp at my phone.
Muttering another curse word under my breath, I realize I’m late picking up Elle. If I had my watch, I would’ve been inclined to look at it, I think sadly.
After slamming my computer shut, I rush to a nondescript gray building that looks a little too much like a prison from the outside. There’s nothing cheery about it, the outside unmarked, the architecture meant to fade into the industrial office park.
Elle is standing outside wearing a yellow parka, her blonde hair billowing behind her in the wind. Another girl stands next to her with a pierced nose, extensive tattoos covering her arms. She’s wearing a concert T-shirt, but it’s definitely not the Jonas Brothers, I think wryly.
I detest the smell of smoke, but worse, when the girl shifts, so does her face, and I watch as a puff of air is expelled from her lungs and a cloud of smoke dissipates into the air.
When Elle realizes it’s me, she quickly says something to the girl, who stubs the cigarette out underneath her worn shoes. After unbuckling my seat belt and throwing the Jeep into park so fast it sputters, I jump out of the car. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m eighteen,” the girl says, shrugging.
“And she’s pregnant,” I retort.
“And we’re leaving.” Elle grabs me by the elbow, her lips pursed in a tight line. “Hi to you too.”
“You can’t be around smoke.”
“Why?” Her blue eyes narrow at me in defiance.
“Do I need to give you a lesson in secondhand smoke and birth defects?”
“It’s not going to matter, anyway.”
Incensed, I yank out of her grasp. “Great, so that means you can be reckless with your body and the life of your child?”
“As if you haven’t been?” Elle shoots back. She clasps a hand over her mouth.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Elle huffs and shoves past me, sliding into the passenger seat. In order to keep my cool, I have to lean on the hood of the vehicle to collect my thoughts, too angry to face her. Closing my eyes, I count to ten.
Then twenty.
I take a deep breath as I climb behind the steering wheel, and tears spring to my eyes, my focus blurred as I stare at the road.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Elle murmurs. “I’m really sorry.”
After sitting quietly for a strained interlude, I glare disgustedly at the profile of Elle’s face. “No, you shouldn’t have.”
The tension grows between us as we sit in uncomfortable silence.
“Why did you stay with him?”
“Who?” I’m confused. “Noah?”
“No. Your abusive boyfriend.” She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine letting anyone hurt me if I didn’t have a choice.”
“Do you always have a choice, Elle?”
She considers this for a moment.
“Think about Diane,” I say. “Do you feel like you have control over the situation?”
“No. I feel helpless.”
“Okay, then put yourself in my shoes and walk with me. What if you were in a bad situation, and you didn’t feel you had any power to stop it?”
“But I’m not old enough to move out,” Elle mumbles. “Adults make the decisions for me.”
“That might be true, but sometimes we find ourselves in situations and we forget, or it’s constantly told to us, that we don’t have a choice.” I pause for a break. “Take Justin, for instance. You have no control over how he responds or supports your decision with the baby, do you? Yet you didn’t make the baby alone, did you?”
Elle is an intelligent girl, and I can tell she’s absorbing my words. She finally mumbles something, but it’s barely a whisper, and I have to strain to hear her over the traffic noise. “What did you say?”
“I’m just angry about this whole situation, being pregnant and alone . . .”
“But you’re not alone. We just talked about this last night.” I bite my lip. “And don’t tell me I was reckless, when you weren’t there. I’ve made some dumb mistakes, but I never intended to lose a baby to a staircase.”
She shrinks in her seat when I say this.
Good.
With Elle, I can no longer tiptoe around the subject of how I lost the baby or sugarcoat it by calling it an accident. If she wants to keep implying horrible things, then she needs to hear the disgusting truth out loud.
“I think I’m directing all my anger at you instead of at Justin and Courtney.”
“Any word from him?”
“He unblocked me, and now he wants to talk, said we need to clear the air, whatever that means. He’s all over the place. He’ll never get on board with the baby.” Her shoulders start to shake. “He wants me to have an abortion.”
“You aren’t going to, are you?” I don’t think it’s possible to clamp the steering wheel any tighter than I already am.
“I don’t know,” she groans, “and now he’s got Courtney knocked up. I don’t think I could do that. Justin doesn’t get his way on this, just because he doesn’t want to be a dad or accept responsibility.”