The Other Side(75)
Now here I am feeling guilty on top of everything else.
And scared because not only am I letting my mom down, but I’m letting my grandma down too. In her eyes, I’m perfect. Always have been. If she finds out what really happened, she’ll never look at me the same way again. That would destroy me.
The washer is in the middle of its noisy spin cycle, so it’s not until he’s at the foot of the stairs that I see him, and it’s too late to wipe my eyes and try to compose myself. So much for hiding, I can’t even do that tonight.
Toby doesn’t talk much. I’ve always liked that about him. He pays attention and he listens. He figures people out. People who don’t know him think he’s detached and unfriendly, but if there’s ever an apocalypse, Toby is the first person I would pick to be on my team. Because he always has your back.
His hands are tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes are tucked deep into the disheartenment permeating my being. He’s trying to school his features, but when his head tilts a few degrees to the right, concern siphons in. I don’t know how to explain it, but when Toby looks at you like this, you feel seen to the marrow of your bones.
I’m just realizing how much I need that right now.
He raises his eyebrows, and paired with the worry in his bright green eyes, he asks, Are you okay? without saying a word.
I can’t look at him when I answer, “I’m pregnant.”
He lowers himself to sit on the stairs and drops his face into his hands, scrubs it twice, and then raises it to catch me looking at him expectantly. I don’t know what I need him to say because there’s nothing that will make this better.
“Have you been to a doctor?” he asks quietly. Toby’s always been soft-spoken. You’d think that would contradict his tall physical stature, but his gentle nature complements it.
I shake my head.
Elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped loosely in front of him, he drops his eyes to the floor and nods slowly. After an extended pause he asks, “Does your grandma know?”
Knowing I won’t answer him verbally, he glances up in my direction and I shake my head again. But then I add, “She’ll kick me out when she finds out who the father is.” Trying to blink back tears doesn’t keep them at bay.
His eyes begin to aimlessly roam the room, he’s thinking.
I let him.
“You can still go to the police,” he whispers. He doesn’t want to bring it up because it will upset me, but that doesn’t stop the burn of embarrassment from creeping up my neck and the bile to rise in my throat.
I shake my head fiercely and my tone gets defensive. “No, that’s not an option.”
“Why not? He’s a professor and he took advantage of you,” he pleads.
“Exactly,” I say exasperatedly. “He’s my professor and no one would believe me.” My words have dissolved into a torrent of tears. “I went out to dinner with him when he asked me to. I let him kiss me in his office at school knowing he was married—”
“You also said no when it mattered most,” he cuts me off to gently remind me.
I’m shaking my head again. I don’t know if it’s to ward off the awful memory of what happened or to get him to stop talking. “I shouldn’t have been there to begin with.”
He stands and walks toward me slowly. When he’s directly in front of me, he stops and says, “He raped you. That will never be your fault.”
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I was in shock, numb, when I came home and I couldn’t go to our apartment because I couldn’t bear the thought of facing my grandma. Going through something like that changes a person: physically, emotionally, psychologically. I felt like she would be able to tell what happened with one look at me, and things between us would never be the same again. My shame drove me downstairs to the basement of the house instead of upstairs to our apartment. That’s where Toby found me crying, shattered. He’s probably the only person in the world who could’ve gotten me to tell the truth that night about what happened, because for some reason, I knew he wouldn’t judge me. Toby might be a loner and have no one, but I think he’s also one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever known. He’s perpetually melancholy and that somehow translates into being perpetually in need of taking sadness from others, like he’s willing to harbor sadness for the world so others have a chance at happiness because he thinks he doesn’t.
Covering my face with my hands because I’ve always believed I was strong and I hate feeling weak, I say, “I could lose my scholarship if I reported him, Toby. You don’t understand. My parents had nothing. My grandma has nothing. I have nothing. This degree is my only hope to change that. It was my mom’s dream for me to go to college. I want to make a difference someday. That’s not going to happen if I tell the world my English professor raped me and I’m having his baby.” This feels like a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.
“Are you keeping the baby?” Toby asks.
The thought never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t. Abortion isn’t something I can do and adoption isn’t either. Half of this baby is mine, no matter how it was conceived.
“It’s mine,” I plead soberly, like that should explain everything.
He nods thoughtfully. “Do you really think your grandma would kick you out if she found out?”