It Was Us Read online

  “That day?”

  She nodded.

  I tried to pull up more memories, tried to picture my fourteen year-old sister five months pregnant, tried to figure out how the hell I'd missed the signs. It wasn't like either of us were big girls—we weren't tall, we weren't fat. We were just...average.

  “I wore sweats a lot,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Why you didn't know,” she said. “I mean, I didn't know either for those first couple of months. My clothes got a little tighter and I thought I was gaining weight. So I stopped eating for a couple of weeks but my jeans just kept getting tighter.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs, like she was trying to warm herself up. “I finally realized it might be something else. Bought a test.” She hesitated. “I started wearing sweats. And sweatshirts.”

  I remembered. She'd had sweats in every color. Red. Blue. Gray. She mixed and matched the tops and the bottoms, bought cute Converse high-tops to match. A bunch of girls had mimicked her. My stomach twisted into knots. She'd been trying to hide a pregnancy, not trying to start a new fashion trend.

  “So, anyway. That one was a little long. A little more involved.” She repositioned herself on my bed, crossing her legs. “The second one was no big deal. I was about where you are now. Took a couple of hours.”

  “And when was that one?”

  “Last year,” she said. “Just being careless.”

  “The Pill?”

  She nodded. “I forgot to pick up my prescription. Started it a couple of days later than I should have.”

  “Who's was it?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  I opened my mouth to say something but thought better of it. My sister didn't pretend to be anything other than what she was. No words I could speak would change that. She liked guys and she liked sex. Period.

  “Anyway,” she said. “Like I said, it's no big deal. Easy in and out. If that's what you want to do.”

  I didn't say anything, just stared at the wall.

  “Abby?”

  I looked at her.

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  I didn't answer. Because I still didn't know.

  EIGHTEEN

  WEST

  The knocking wouldn't go away. I rolled over in bed and slammed the pillow over my head. Stupid goddamn neighbors. It sounded like they were hanging a million pictures in their living room. All at once.

  My phone buzzed.

  Jesus.

  I fumbled for my cell and glanced at it with bleary eyes. Abby. I swiped the screen.

  Wake up.

  I sat up in bed. The knocking sounded again. But this time, I realized it wasn't coming from next door. There was someone at the front door. Pounding.

  I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled down the hallway. Griffin was nowhere to be found. I opened the door. Abby was standing there, her arms folded across her chest, a frown on her face.

  “Why are you still sleeping?” she asked.

  “Uh, because it's morning?” And because, for once, coach had decided to give us a weekend morning off from practice.

  “It's nine o'clock.”

  I yawned. “Right. Nine o'clock. A.M. Morning.”

  She lifted her sunglasses and propped them on top of her head. “Can I come in?”

  I grabbed her around the waist and yanked her over the threshold. “Yes, you idiot,” I said, nuzzling her neck. “Of course you can come in.”

  She leaned into me for a second and I breathed her in, the smell of her shampoo still fresh on her almost-damp hair.

  “Why didn't you just come in?” I asked her, my lips against her ear. “You have a key. You could have surprised me. In bed.”

  I felt the smile that moved across her face and I felt a wave of desire wash over me. We still hadn't resolved anything but that didn't matter. I still wanted her. More than ever.

  “I don't know,” she said. “I didn't know if you were out or something.”

  “Where would I be?”

  “School. The field. Running. I don't know.”

  “Coach gave us the morning off.” I leaned down and kissed her. “And I gave you the key for a reason.”

  She pulled away. “I know.” She walked over to the couch and sat down, but not before peering down the hallway. “Is Griffin here?”

  “I don't know,” I said, then yelled, “Griffin!”

  No response.

  “Guessing he's out surfing.” I sat down next to her. “What's wrong?”

  She looked at me, surprised. “Why do you think something's wrong? I mean, other than the obvious thing that's wrong.”

  “You're distracted,” I said. “You pulled away when I kissed you. You never do that. And you want to know if my roommate is around. All very un-Abby like.”

  Her cheeks colored. “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't apologize,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Just tell me what's going on.”

  Her hand was limp in mine and she blinked several times before she spoke. “I made an appointment.”

  Something hard settled in my gut. “An appointment?”

  “Just a consultation,” Abby said quickly. “With Planned Parenthood. Just to...I don't know.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay.”

  “It's in an hour,” she said.

  “Today?” I had no idea they'd be open on a Saturday.

  She nodded.

  I was caught off-guard. I thought back to the other night, when we'd really started talking about options. I knew what she'd been leaning towards but I hadn't felt like we'd come to any definitive decision. I knew a consultation wasn't a decision but it felt like she'd jumped a step ahead without me.

  “Alright,” I said. “I'll shower and get dressed.”

  Her face darkened. “No. I'm going by myself.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “I'm serious, West,” she said, pulling her hand from mine. “I'm going by myself. I'm not going to decide anything. I wouldn't do that. But I want to go by myself.”

  Anger flared in my chest. “Why? Why don't you want me to go?”

  She wrapped her arms around her like she was cold. “I...I don't know. I just need to. I just want to ask questions and find out what's involved. I'm not going to do anything. And I just feel like it needs to be me that goes.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek and looked away from her. I was pissed. I knew that whatever decision we made, it would affect her more. I understood that. She would either have to go through pregnancy and have the baby or she'd have to have an abortion. There was nothing I could do to insert myself into that equation. But I also didn't expect to be left on the outside.

  “Don't be mad,” she said.

  “Too late for that,” I said.

  “West. Come on.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Now you want me to go?”

  She didn't say anything.

  “Okay,” I said, shrugging. I shifted away from her on the couch. “Well, thanks for letting me know. I guess let me know how it goes. If you want.”

  “Stop,” she said, frowning at me.

  “Stop what?” I asked. “You don't want me to come. So I'm on the outside.”

  “No, you aren't.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  We sat there in silence for a minute. I could see the tears forming in her eyes and my instinct was to reach out for her, to hold her and tell her it would be alright. But I was angry. And hurt.

  So I didn't move.

  She wiped at her eyes and stood. “It's just a consult, West. That's it. I'd never decide anything without you. You know that. But this...” Her lips tightened and she looked like she was going to burst into tears. And then it passed. “But this first step? I need to do it by myself. Has nothing to do with you. I'm sorry I can't explain it better.”

  I didn't say anything as she walked to the door.

  “And West?” she said, as she opened it.

  I looked at her, but kept my
mouth closed.

  She stood there in the doorway, the morning sunlight streaming in behind her. Her eyes were wet.

  “I love you,” she said.

  She waited a moment for me to respond.

  I sat there, silent.

  She gave a little half-laugh, shook her head, stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her.

  I picked up the remote control and fired it at the wall.

  NINETEEN

  ABBY

  I could barely see through my tears but I jammed the key into the ignition and peeled away from the curb. The tears slipped down my cheeks but I didn't wipe them away, just clutched the steering wheel, my knuckles white.

  I knew West was angry. But I was pissed, too. He'd been supportive through the last couple of weeks but the weight of everything still sat squarely on my shoulders. He'd tried to help, over and over again, but there was nothing he could do because the decision was ultimately mine to make. And that's what he didn't get. I knew he would listen, knew he would agree with whatever I decided to do. I knew he'd offer up guarded opinions—he'd already done this—but I needed someone neutral, someone on the outside, to talk things over with. It couldn't be Tana and it couldn't be my sister and it couldn't be West.

  It needed to be someone I didn't know. And I needed to do it alone.

  The parking lot was already half-full and, for some reason, this surprised me. I'd driven by the office countless times over the years but I'd never really noticed it. I glanced at Rubio's, just across the street, their tiny parking lot virtually empty. It was hard to believe I'd been sitting there with West just a day earlier, trying to talk things over and make a decision.

  I got out of my car and hurried to the door of the clinic, hoping the cars that were driving by on Mission were filled with people I didn't know. I didn't want anyone to see me walking into the office. I pulled open the door and forced my feet to move, to propel me toward the desk area where a middle-aged receptionist checked me in. The waiting room was nearly full and I tried not to make eye contact with anyone as I made my way to one of the empty chairs.

  Nervously, I reached for a magazine from the end table and flipped it open. I scanned the pages, not seeing anything, and thought about the conversation I'd had with West the night before. We'd talked about abortion. I'd told him I was considering it; that, based on the circumstances, it might be what made the most sense. And he'd seemed to agree. But I knew what I saw in his expression. It was the same thing that had hardened in my gut when we'd talked about it. Dismay.

  I turned the page of the magazine—some healthy eating one I'd never heard of—and stopped short. An ad for diapers. A smiling baby with blue eyes that looked exactly like West's. Perfect fingers and perfect toes, a toothless, gummy smile.

  I slammed the magazine shut and tossed it back on to the table.

  It was the last thing I wanted to see.

  TWENTY

  WEST

  I dropped the ball.

  I was playing long toss in the outfield with Mark. It was a light practice day—some throwing, some batting practice and lifting. That was it. A good day for that kind of practice when my mind was elsewhere.

  But I kept dropping the damn ball.

  “Jeez, Montgomery,” Mark yelled across the outfield grass. “How much oil you put in that glove?”

  I picked up the ball and fired it back at him. He caught it easily and grinned at me.

  We continued throwing back and forth and I managed to hold onto the ball. But my mind was still wandering. I was still pissed at Abby for going to the consultation without me, but I was wondering what she learned, too. I didn't know anything about abortion. Well, nothing except for what I'd read or seen on TV. I figured that wasn't worth much. I didn't know what was involved. I didn't know what it cost. I didn't know a damn thing.

  “You hear me?” Mark yelled, firing a strike right into my glove from fifty yards.

  “No,” I yelled back. “What?”

  He shook his head, frustrated with me. “I asked how you did on the econ test last week.”

  “Oh,” I said, taking a step and launching the ball at him. “I don't know. Okay, I guess.”

  “Grades are posted,” he said, catching the ball in his glove and transferring it to his throwing hand. “Went up last night. I pulled an eighty three.” He threw it back.

  “Nice,” I said, the ball popping in my glove. “I'll have to check tonight.”

  But I knew I wouldn't. I knew I'd be preoccupied with other things, things that mattered a bit more than a test score.

  Before I could throw the ball back, the coaches rotated us and our group was in the cage. I was first up and I put the helmet on, grabbed my bat and stepped into the cage. We were using the pitching machine and Coach Klein signaled that I'd see fastballs first. He held up the first ball and I nodded. He dropped it between the two spinning tires and a moment later, it came at me, a straight, fast, white blur. I waited, kept my weight back, then turned my hips and swung. I caught the ball right on the barrel and it leapt off the bat, soaring up and over the fence in left-center.

  I should've been focused on how solidly I'd struck the ball, focused on trying to replicate the same swing, driving the ball to the same spot on the next pitch.

  But I was thinking about Abby.

  What if she'd decided to make the decision without me? If she could go to the consult without me, there was no reason she couldn't decide without me.

  The next pitch came hurtling at me and I was late with my swing, barely making contact and dribbling it down the first base line.

  I stepped out of the box for a second and took a deep breath.

  “Let's go, Montgomery,” Coach Klein said from behind the machine. “Get back in there. We're looking for reps here.”

  I stepped back into the chalk rectangle and exhaled.

  And missed on the next two swings. Like, whiffed. Nothing but air.

  I couldn't remember the last time that had happened in practice.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered, shuffling my cleats against the dirt.

  “Relax, Montgomery,” Coach Klein said. “You can't put everything in the parking lot. Make contact first, then worry about where it goes.”

  All of which I knew. It was the shit you learned in Little League. See the ball, hit the ball.

  But the only thing I could see was Abby.

  My timing was screwed up. I was lunging at the ball. Nothing was smooth. I looked like I had no clue what I was doing.

  “Jesus, Montgomery!” Coach Klein yelled after ten more minutes of my futility. “Get out of there and let's let someone in the box who actually wants to hit!”

  I stood there for a second.

  “Now!” Klein yelled.

  “Come on, dude,” Mark said, coming up behind me. “Before he flips completely. Chill and then get back up here and mash.”

  I nodded and walked back behind the screen to the dugout. I put my bat back in the rack and jammed my helmet into the small cubby. I leaned on the chain link fence, my hands white against the metal.

  I should've been pissed that I'd just flailed at the plate, but it wasn't even registering with me. All I could think about was Abby. I wasn't thinking about getting better or our next game or getting drafted. All I wanted to know was if she was okay. And if we were going to have a baby.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ABBY

  I opened the door to the office and stopped in surprise. Both my parents were behind their desks in their office, working. My mom looked up at me and smiled. She still came into the office but not with any regularity.

  “Was wondering if you were coming in today,” my dad said, his eyes still glued to his computer screen.

  “Sorry,” I said. I hitched my purse higher on my shoulder. “I had an errand to run.”

  “I need some stuff printed for the Open House tomorrow,” he said. “And we need to call Carlos. Schedule two more shoots with him, then contact the sellers. I'd like to get them d
own early next week. Monday, if he's available.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  My mom stretched in her chair and yawned. “Let her get in before you start barking orders at her.”

  My dad looked at me, then back at my mom, his eyebrows raised. “I was expecting her here this morning. It's almost noon.”

  I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “Sorry.”

  “Doug.” My mother's voice was firm. “Leave her alone.” She smiled reassuringly at me. “It's alright, sweetheart.”

  “It would be alright if you'd called,” my dad said, a frown settling on his face. “If I'd known. But you're always here Saturday morning. I even saw you at breakfast. And there wasn't a word about being late.”

  I pressed my lips together and nodded. “I know,” I finally said. “Something sort of came up. I'm sorry.”

  It was a partial truth. I'd called Planned Parenthood on impulse when I'd woken up, not really expecting they'd be able to see me so quickly. And then, when the lady on the phone had suggested coming in at ten o'clock, I didn't know how to say no. And I certainly hadn't known how to tell my parents.

  “Everything okay?” my mom asked.

  No, I wanted to say. Everything was not okay. I'd gone for a consultation for an abortion and had left more confused and undecided than ever. I looked at my mom. Her smile was over-bright, her eyes wide, and I froze. Not because I was worried about what was going on with me. I glanced at her again. Her eyes were still fixed on me, a fierce smile etched into her features. It was like she needed to hear it from me, needed to hear me say that things were fine. I felt a tingle run down my spine because I'd seen that look before.

  When she'd first told us about the illness.

  “Honey?” she said. “You alright?”

  I swallowed, hard, even though a ball of fear had lodged itself in my throat. “Everything's fine.”

  I didn't say anything more, just crossed the front room and headed toward my tiny office. I sank down in the chair and tossed my purse on to the desk. My heart beat erratically and I felt the moisture on my palms. I rubbed my hands down the front of my shorts and tried to get myself under control.