The Lies I Told(64)

My hand slid over tender breasts to my still-flat stomach. The bigger tits were nice now, but what would become of my body after the kid? All the sit-ups, ab crunches, and planks to get into shape. Jack appreciated a tight body, but how would he feel about me growing wide and pear-shaped? Of course he’d still love me—he’d said he’d meant “for better or worse.” But the baby would change my body—my life—and I wondered if he would still want me sexually. I’d heard enough of the teachers at school complaining in the lounge about how dull their lives had gotten since their babies.

Jack liked dancing close to the edge. He was always looking for the next rush, even if he now found it in business instead of a back-alley deal. Beyond the thrill of this test’s positive result and the baby’s birth, I wondered what would happen in the endless months and years of parenthood. He wasn’t the type to drive a van or cheer at a soccer practice. Would he stick around for the mundane moments? Would our commingled blood in the baby be enough to keep him with me?

“Of course he will,” I whispered. “He wants this baby as much as me.” And we weren’t kids in high school. We were in our thirties. Mature adults.

I’d stared at a similar positive pregnancy test in high school. It had been Clare’s.

She’d gripped it in her hand the afternoon of my New Year’s Eve party, her young, pale face drawn tight with panic. “What am I going to do?”

I had felt myself shrinking inward at the idea of having to face such a choice. At sixteen, I’d heard of other girls at school who’d thought they were pregnant, but I’d never had a front-row seat to this kind of moment.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Should we tell Brit or Marisa?”

“God no,” she said. “I don’t need Brit hovering and shaking her head in disapproval. I can almost hear her now: ‘I’d expect this from Marisa, not you.’”

“I’ll always stick with you,” I said. “I’ve got your back.”

Tears rolled down Clare’s cheeks. “They’ll hate me. They’ll think I’m such a loser.”

“Look, you aren’t the first to have this problem,” I said. “And you won’t be the last. This can be fixed.” The minute the comment came out of my mouth, I regretted it. I sounded like my own mother. Your problems aren’t that special.

Clare looked at me, her cheeks flushed from vomiting. “Great.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

Clare smiled and shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

“When did this happen?”

“About six weeks ago,” she said.

“Who’s the father? Kurt?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

My mind ticked back through the days and weeks. We’d both been here, home for the fall break. I mentally profiled the boys at school, trying to replay who’d shown interest in Clare. Her flaming-red hair made her impossible to miss.

“You have to have an idea?” I asked.

“His name is Jeff. But beyond that I don’t know much.”

“I know everyone in the school,” I insisted.

“Not this guy.” She squared her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

“And you don’t want to tell this Jeff guy? He should at least pay for the clinic visit.”

“I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“I can talk to him.”

“No. Don’t do that.” Clare carefully wrapped the test strip in toilet paper and set it in the trash can.

“I’m glad you came to me with this. Reminds me of the days we shared everything.”

“Me too.”

I hugged her, holding her close, knowing I’d never tell a soul. This was our secret. “You still coming to the party tonight?”

Clare drew back. “I need to talk to Marisa. I’ve got to tell her something important anyway. After that, if all hell doesn’t break loose, I’ll come.”

“What do you have to tell Marisa?” I asked.

“It’s between us right now.”

“We’re sisters, too,” I insisted.

“I know. But I have to tell Marisa first.”

I hid my disappointment with a smile. In friend groupings of three, someone is always left out. “Sure.”

Clare stood, smoothed her hands over her jeans. “I’m going home to change. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Are you telling Marisa about the baby, too?”

“Later. Maybe tomorrow.”

I pushed down another tide of jealousy. Clare was my friend. I’d do anything for her. And still she always defaulted to Marisa. Blood was thicker than water.

“You sure you’re okay?” I pressed.

Clare’s smile was only half-hearted this time as she moved to the door. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. We’ll talk about this next week. Nothing to be done about it now.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Clare sniffed, raised her chin. “Okay. See you soon.”

Clare had been in such a state, she’d forgotten her coat. Though I’d been tempted to take it to her, I decided she could get it when she came back. If she wasn’t going to really open up to me, then she could wait for her coat.