stepbrother? “Delete it! Now!
Please?” On second thought,
“Wait. Let me answer it.”
I text him back: REALLY CUTE
PIC. THANKS FOR SHARING. DID
YOU KNOW THIS IS MY COUSIN?
How many people did the jerk
send this to? His whole address
book? Must be, otherwise why
would Shane have gotten it?
Holy cow. Did he send it to girls,
too? I’m fricking dying here.
Wait. He’s friends with Chad.
I glance over at him, and his
expression tells me. “You, too?”
He nods. Me, too. Sorry. Want
me to kick his ass? He looks as
embarrassed as I feel—all purple
faced and fidgety. Poor guy.
Poor guy? What about me?
Unreasonably, laughter bubbles
out around the sob stuck in
my throat. Why am I laughing?
Shane and Chad exchange
terrified looks. “I’m crazy, aren’t
I? But don’t worry. I won’t hurt
you. Pretty sure I won’t, anyway.
Lucas, on the other hand . . .
well, if he turns up dead, you won’t
testify against me, will you?” I need
to call him. Make him explain.
It’s Thanksgiving, but he seems
to have an abundance of time
on his hands. “I have to talk to him.
Can you give me a few minutes?”
Shane Nods at Chad
Who follows him toward the door.
When it opens, comforting scents spill
in, and familiar voices, singing
“Little Drummer Boy.” I could lie right
here in Shane’s bed, close my eyes,
fall asleep with Gaga purring in my ear.
But that wouldn’t change things. So
I go ahead and call Lucas, mostly hoping
he doesn’t bother to pick up. He does.
“Uh. . . hi.” Why do I want to chicken
out? “Hey. What’s up with you sending
those pics around? Did I do something?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. No, babe.
It’s just I’m so proud of you being mine.
I wanted to show off my amazing girl.
You’re not really mad at me, are you?
He Wanted to Show Me Off!
How can I possibly be mad about
that? Except, “You know you sent
them to some of my relatives, right?”
People who’ve seen you naked before?
“Uh, not really. Well, maybe when
I was a baby or something.” Or worse,
when I was a chubby little kid.
They’re probably impressed then.
At least Chad never saw me naked
and fat. “It was pretty embarrassing,
Lucas. Did you know Shane is my cousin?”
Gay Shane? Huh. Well, he won’t care.
“I care.” But I find myself caring less,
which is really weird. “Promise not
to do something like that again?”
Okay. So, when can we get together?
Just Like That
I forgive him. Just like that,
I feel good about him wanting
to show me off. Just like that,
I think of a way to see him.
Even though it’s a holiday
weekend, Mom has to work
tomorrow. I’ll tell her I want
to go home with Dad tonight.
Hey, maybe she’ll even get
lucky with Dr. Malik. Anthony.
That’s what he said to call him.
Sounds like it’s getting serious.
It must be, because when I go
back out to the living room,
Mom is standing so close to
Anthony there isn’t a hint of light
between them. I don’t think
she’s missed me at all. Gramps
is singing “So This Is Christmas,”
a fitting last song of the night.
Mom’s All for My Plan
Considering how much she used to hassle
me about going over to Dad’s,
I’d say that means
something. But I don’t
care. If she gets a little, maybe
she’ll lighten up. And, more importantly,
maybe she’ll be more understanding
about me wanting to go out.
Everyone packs up
their dishes and bums
leftovers and thanks Aunt Missy
and Uncle Chris for their hospitality.
It was a really nice Thanksgiving, despite
the nasty cell phone surprise.
We pile into Cassie’s
burping Volvo. It’s a quiet
ride, everyone fighting an overdose
of L-tryptophan, champagne and sugar.
When We Get to the House
Dad and Cassie stay outside
to smoke. Chad and I carry
the stuff in from the car. Spare
turkey, as Dad called it, and
a plate of mixed pie slices.
As we’re putting the food in
the fridge, Chad says, What
did Lucas have to say?
I don’t think he’d understand
the showing-me-off thing, or
why it’s kind of okay. “He said
it was a joke. And he apologized.”
Harley, he huffs. I’d be very
careful of that guy. He reminds
me of my dad, who always said
all the mean crap he pulled was
a joke. Right up until the day he—
“Lucas isn’t like that. He would never
hurt me. But thanks for worrying.”
That reminds me, though. “You haven’t
heard from your father, have you?”
Actually, I have. He showed up
here one day. Said he wanted to
get reacquainted. Even tried
to say he was sorry. I told him
to go fuck himself. Know what he
said? That Mom had poisoned
me toward him. That she lied.
I remember the day we saw him
at the mall. Will never forget
the panic in her eyes. “She didn’t lie.”
I know. When I was a kid, I had
horrible nightmares. He was in
every one of them. Eventually,
they stopped, but lately they’ve
come back again. I don’t want
you to have nightmares, Harl.
Please think about what I said.
That’s the most sincere he’s ever
sounded. “Thanks, Chad. But don’t
worry. I can take care of myself.”
I Don’t Exactly Have a Nightmare
But I do dream
that I am naked
on a sea-drenched
beach, my sun-licked
skin all golden brown
and ocean-beaded.
Lucas is there, selling
tickets. One dollar
for a look-see, pay-
per-view. I tell him
I’m worth twenty times
that. He laughs at me.
But when I get mad,
he comes over, brushes
my hair off my face,
runs his fingertips
down along my body.
The way I like him to.
And, even though I still
believe I’m worth twenty
a pop, pay-per-view,
I forgive him. And I give him. . .
I Carry That with Me All Day
Through Black Friday insanity.
Cassie is the shopaholic queen.
&nbs
p; Fifty percent off anything sends
her into the outer atmosphere.
Black Friday must have been
invented just for her. And I go along!
Then home for football. And more
football. Chad and my dad cheering
and groaning on the couch. Together.
It’s kind of a weird picture. But good,
I guess, in a guy bonding sort of way.
At least they have something in common.
It is all so domestic, so boring, that by
the time Lucas picks me up I practically
run to the door, ignoring the look Chad
gives me—the one that reminds me to be
careful. I jump in the car. “Where are we
going?” Not that I care, as long as it’s away
from here. There’s something in Lucas’s
smile that makes me wonder if I should
have listened to Chad. But when he says,
There’s a party at Ariel’s, I stash all doubt.
Don’t know Ariel. But I’m ready to party.
Turns Out
Ariel is Kurt’s big sister. She lives
in a little house in a dicey neighborhood.
Also turns out Ariel is gone for the weekend,
and the party consists of Kurt, Chloe, Lucas
and me. The place is thick with smoke when
we walk in the door, and Chloe’s eyes are almost
as droopy as the love seat Lucas motions for me
to sit on. I’ll get us something to drink. He pours
a splash of Coke into tumblers of Bacardi
151. We listen to music and swap Thanksgiving
stories. We smoke. And I am halfway through
my second drink when it hits me how hungry I am.
I’ve been up since six a.m., fueled only by
a small bowl of granola. But when I try to ask
if there’s anything to eat, it comes out, “Istherany . . .”
Which cracks everyone up. So, forget food.
I drink instead. And suddenly the room kind
of spins. It must show, because Lucas asks,
Are you okay? Maybe you should lie down?
He leads me into a bedroom and . . .
Lucas
Lead Her into the Bedroom
Barely get her onto the bed
when her lights snuff out.
If I happened to be
a gentleman,
or maybe a little less drunk
myself, the sight of her lying
there, skirt pulled up over
her thighs, panties teasing
a major throbbing boner,
would
maybe not tempt me to take
her this way. But she’s a sweet
little piece of virgin meat, and
I’ve waited patiently. The first
turn
belongs to me, and this is a
prime chance to take it. I climb
up beside her, tug off the baby
blue lace, fling it
away.
Her breath is hot and her skin
is hot, and between her legs
it is wet and hot and the resistance
lasts only a moment.
Mikayla
I Have Resisted
Thinking about the possibility
of a new relationship. For almost
a year, Dylan was the only guy
on my mind. He was an obsession.
After I got pregnant, I believed
he was a necessity, even after he turned
his back, walked (no, ran) away.
Once it became diamond clear
that he wasn’t coming back, I was
sure no one would want me. Not yet
eighteen, I felt used, and used up.
Worthless. Contemptible. Hollow.
Suddenly, there is a flicker—a single
candle—of hope that I can love
and be loved beyond Dylan. Why
Ty would choose to shine for me
now is a total mystery. It’s not like
he can’t get another girl—prettier,
more popular, and a whole lot less
preggo than me. Yet, here he is.
I’ve Known Him
For a long time. Since elementary
school. We’ve hung out together, dated
each other’s friends. Best friends, even.
We’ve stood up for each other. Worried
about each other. Obviously cared very
much for each other. But we’ve never
hooked up. Timing, I guess. Or maybe
on some level we felt like our friendship
might not survive a romance. So, why now?
When I asked, he said simply,
Because you need me now. And
when I asked if he wouldn’t be
afraid of what people thought,
he said, If I was, what kind of person
would that make me? I kissed him
then. I couldn’t help it. And he
kissed me back, so sweetly I knew
he meant it when he said, I love you.
It Was a Surreal Moment
Because in that candid declaration,
there was no promise. But there
was limitless possibility, and that
is better because promises fuel
heartbreak. All around me, I see
tattered commitments. Vows in shreds.
And yet, this “maybe,” when I need
it most, means everything to me.
I have a future without Dylan.
What’s less certain is whether or not
a baby belongs there. This baby, anyway.
Christmas is coming and everywhere
there are advertisements for toys
and games and clothes and holiday
things for children. Pseudo Santa
surprises. Memories in the making.
But how would she remember me
if all I could give her were hand-
me-downs beneath a Charlie Brown
Christmas tree? She deserves more.
Why is it so hard to admit that?
Pride? Conceit? Selfishness?
I’d like to think it has everything
to do with watching Mom struggle
with not knowing where she came from.
The pain of searching for the connection
most people take for granted. When
I talked to Ty about it, he asked,
Is she happier now that she knows?
When I said I think maybe, he asked,
Would her life really have been better
if her birth mother had kept her,
and tried to raise her all on her own?
Tougher question. One I keep trying
to answer. For Mom. And for my baby.
One Thing I Do Know
Is that I’m currently eating for two.
And both of us are hungry right now.
Thanksgiving leftovers are calling.
As I pass by Mom’s room on my way
to the kitchen, I notice the door isn’t all
the way closed. She is talking on the phone.
Vegas sounds really fun, but I can’t get
away till after Christmas. It will probably
be our last one together. I’m not looking
forward to splitting holidays with Jace.
Why do I have to hear these things?
It’s not like I try to tune into conversations
not meant for my ears. The last time,
I happened to hear Mom and Andrea talking
about me, and about poor Mrs. Trask,
trying to replace little Shelby via in-vitro
fertilization. That must have been what
she was doing at Dr. Ortega’s that day.
God, she looked so
sad, and yet she tried
to be happy for me and. . .
I am reaching for the mayonnaise
when the proverbial lightbulb switches
all the way to bright. Would she. . . ?
Could I. . . ? If. . . Wow. Bread. Mayo.
Turkey. Cranberry sauce. Making a sandwich
is logical. Making a giant decision is emotional.
Relief. Fear. Sadness. Joy. Not that anything,
really, has been decided. But this is a possible
answer. Possibilities, again. Chew, chew, swallow.
Chew, chew, swallow. My stomach fills with food
and butterflies. I finish the sandwich. Wash it
down with water. Go knock on Mom’s door.
It’s Such an Adult Idea
Mom can hardly believe it came
from me. But after all the initial
“are you sure’s” (no) and “have you
really thought about this’s” (not
exactly), her relief is obvious.
Her relief. Which is weird, but
whatever. Guess she thought
a grandchild would put a crimp
in her lifestyle. The one she’s
planning on after the holidays.
It just might work out, Mikki.
Should we talk to your dad first?
“What for? He doesn’t want a baby
around here any more than you do.”
It’s not about not wanting her.
It’s about what’s best for her.
This could really be win-win, I think.
But there would be legalities.
“If we get that far, of course.
But let’s talk to Mrs. Trask first.”
Mom calls her friend, Andrea, who
happens to have a sister who lost
a little girl and wanted another and may
jump at the chance to adopt the one
growing inside me. Still a part of me.
While we wait for the phone calls
that will relay my offer, I go do some
online research about open adoption.
Had I done so first, I might not have
considered it a viable option. So many
stories, not all of them positive! Most
of the negative ones regard jealousy.
On both sides. Birth parents changing
their minds. Court battles. Back child
support. Yikes! Better get Dad involved.
But there are good stories, too. Adopted
kids who know the important details—
who and where they came from, and