Those Girls (18 page)

“You’re doing great,” she said. “Not much longer now.” She’d said that hours ago.

“Is Courtney here yet?”

“She’s going to come later.”

Even in my haze of pain and drugs, I knew what that meant. She didn’t want to see the baby.

The contractions came in waves, urging my body forward. The nurses gripped my legs apart and told me to push. I bore down hard, felt something tearing.

They ordered me into different positions, rested my feet against a metal bar. I wanted it over, wanted it all to be over, begged them to help me, to make it stop. They urged me on. Dani gripped my hand, rubbed my forehead, whispering into my ear, “It’s okay, hang on, just push.”

The agony went on. I writhed on the bed, pleading for relief.

“Please, I can’t do it.
Just get it out!
”

Then I felt something breaking free, a release of pressure from my body, and they were putting the baby on my chest.

“It’s a girl!” the doctor said.

The baby was crying, her mouth open, searching. I gave her my pinkie finger, felt her little mouth latch on, marveling at the sensation. They took her away, examined her, weighed her, and cleaned us both up. I watched from the bed, her wails making me want to get up and hold her. The nurse brought her back and placed her on my chest again.

“She doesn’t want to feed it,” Dani said.

I was already guiding the baby to my nipple.

“I just want to see what it feels like,” I said, even though the adoption lady was waiting outside for me to make my final decision on a family. Dani, who had called her from the hospital, stood back, her face scared.

The nurse came over, stroked the baby’s head, adjusted her so her chin tilted back and her mouth opened.

“You’re doing great. You’re a natural mother.”

I was a mother. I stared in awe at the baby, her tiny mouth suckling at my breast, her perfect eyebrows, her damp, dark hair.

“I’ll get you something to eat.” The nurse left us alone.

“You can’t keep it,” Dani said.

I looked up at her. “I know.”

“Then what are you
doing
?”

“I just needed to feed her.”

“They have bottles.”

“You don’t get it.” I was crying now, my body weak from pushing the baby out, the emotions running through me, tearing me open again. “Once I give her away, I’ll never know if she’s okay.”

“It’s better that way.”

“For who?”

“For everyone. You’re fifteen years old, Jess. Think of the baby. She deserves someone who can take care of her.”

I felt a hot stab of anger. “I’d take good care of her.”

“You don’t have any money.”

I looked down at the baby again, blinking back tears. “I’ll do it in the morning.”

“If you wait, it will just be harder.”

“You don’t know,” I said, my voice rising almost to a shout. “You don’t know what’s best all the time. This is my baby—not yours.” The words hung between us. The baby mewled. Dani looked at it, tears in her eyes.

“I can stay at the hospital with you.” Her voice sounded sad, defeated.

“I just want to be alone.”

Now Dani looked hurt. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

She got her stuff together, stood by the doorway for a moment looking like she wanted to say something else, then turned and walked out the door.

*   *   *

The nurse brought me dinner. I ate with the baby still against my chest, a warm lump. The nurse told me to get some rest, and I nodded, but I stayed awake for a while, looking out the hospital window at the skyline. The world was so big. I looked down at the baby, her tiny fingernails, the soft hair on her forehead. I studied her features, looking for him. But I just saw a baby, a fragile little baby. I thought about her alone in the world, hated the helpless feeling it gave me
.
Who would protect her? Who would make sure she didn’t get hurt?

In the morning
, I reminded myself.
I have to decide in the morning.

PART TWO

SKYLAR

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

J
ULY
2015

It was slow at the gym, just the occasional clang of barbells in the background, music pumping over the speakers, but I didn’t mind. It gave me a chance to search SoundCloud for some new beats—Patrick was cool with my using my laptop at the front desk as long as I greeted everyone. And it was better than sitting at home with nothing but the TV for company. Sometimes I came in on my days off to hang out. I loved talking with the regulars at the smoothie bar, hearing about their boyfriends or girlfriends, their work problems. One of them was signing in now, a guy named Dave who I thought had a crush on Dallas, but she never even looked at him.

“Have a good workout!” I said.

“Thanks, Skylar,” he said. “That mix you made for Dallas’s spin class was great. Think you could burn me a DVD?”

“Totally!”

I couldn’t play at bars or clubs yet, but I’d been sharing my mixes on SoundCloud and YouTube and was getting a following. I even had a DJ name, “Lark,” because my mom used to call me “Skylark” when I was little. It was fun, remixing popular songs or making mash-ups. I liked taking something already good and finding a new way for people to hear it.

I’d been working on a set list for the last hour, planning my next YouTube video, but now I was just doodling little stick figures all over a notepad. I needed to keep my hands busy all the time or I felt like I was going crazy. When I was a kid, Mom had taught me how to make origami birds because I drove
her
crazy with all my fidgeting—she’d grab my hands, try to hold them still.

I glanced up at a couple of boys sparring in one of the rings. One of them, Aaron, was always trying to talk to me. He caught me watching.

“Hey, Skylar! Why don’t you come be my water girl?” He pretended to pose, showing off his muscles with a big grin.

I rolled my eyes and looked away. He was cute, in a street kind of way, with a shaved head and tattoos and this awesome scar that stretched across the side of his face, but no way was I going to let him know I thought so, plus he wasn’t my type. Too macho, and definitely too full of himself.

I was dying to ask him where he got his scar from but that would be rude. Plus, he might think I was interested in him or something stupid like that.

I stared down at my stick figures again, drew biceps on the arms and gave them bulging quads, added a couple of double-D’s to some of them. I heard the door open and glanced up. It was my aunt Crystal. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes, probably from partying the night before. She was a bartender at a bar near Kitsilano Beach and often went out after work with the other waitresses.

“Hey, Sky. Is Dallas around?”

“She’s in the gym.”

“Thanks.” She leaned over, looked down at my stick figures. “Nice.”

“Work out every day and you too can look this good.”

She laughed. “I’m too lazy.”

“You’re prettier than most of the girls who come here anyway.”

She smiled. “And that’s why you’re my favorite niece.” She grabbed a protein bar off the counter, ripped open the wrapper, nibbled on the corner.

“I’m your only niece.” I smiled back. I was happy to see she was in a good mood today. You never knew with Crystal. Sometimes she’d get into these funks where she was, like, really down, or she’d come into the gym acting all crazy and laughing too loud and pissing off Dallas and my mom.

“Wicked shirt,” she said.

“Thanks.” I glanced down at it. It was a retro Bruce Springsteen concert T-shirt Mom had found at the thrift store, which I was wearing with leggings. I didn’t like jeans because my legs were so long and it was hard to find a good fit.

“Is your mom working?” Crystal said, looking around.

“She’s at the hotel today.”

Dallas was walking by the front desk, carrying a box of sweatshirts. She looked at the protein bar in Crystal’s hand.

“You pay for that?” She said it like she was joking, but I could tell by the look on her face she was pissed. Crystal was always helping herself to stuff.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Crystal said, tossing her hair back. Now I could see the scar on her jaw where Mom burned her as a kid. When I asked Mom about it years ago she said it had been an accident with a pan, but I always figured they must’ve been fighting or something because she’d looked really guilty, her face flushing, and she asked me not to mention it to Crystal.

Dallas handed me the box of sweatshirts. “Can you put these up, please? The large ones go in the back, the small ones—”

“In the front, I know.”

Dallas gave me a look.

“Sorry,” I said, hating that my aunt could make me feel like I was five years old in two seconds. She didn’t smile often and she was one of the toughest woman boxers at the gym, but she was always there for me. If Mom was working late, it was Dallas who picked me up from school. When I was younger she’d looked after me a lot. I never messed around or tested her like I did with my mom—if she said it was bedtime, I hauled ass and got into bed.

“I have a class starting in a few minutes,” she told Crystal.

“It’s important,” Crystal said. “Please, Dallas.”

Dallas still looked annoyed but said, “Let’s go to my office.” So Crystal was in trouble again. I wondered what it was this time—she got fired from jobs, broke up with her boyfriends, got evicted, and took off for days. Although I liked hanging out with Crystal, it was still pretty new, ever since I got into DJing. We started talking about different bands, and I’d drop by her place after school just to hang out and listen to music. But she didn’t really talk to me about her problems.

Dallas turned to me. “When you’re done with the shirts, can you clean the mirrors?”

“Sure, Dallas.”

Dallas and Crystal went into Dallas’s office, which had a window that looked out onto the main floor. I tried to see what was going on while I hung the shirts. Crystal was talking, then she leaned her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands like she was really upset. Dallas was shaking her head and talking. I figured she was lecturing Crystal.

Dallas disappeared for a minute, then came back and handed Crystal an envelope. Crystal stood up and gave her a hug. Dallas looked like she was still lecturing, and Crystal was nodding. She must’ve been borrowing money for rent again. When I was little we lived above the gym with Dallas and Crystal. Then Crystal moved in with her boyfriend at the time, and Mom and I found an apartment a couple of blocks away. Dallas still lived above the gym.

I wondered how much money was in the envelope, daydreamed about what I’d do with an envelope full of cash. I had a digital mixer and some Rokit speakers on hold at the pawnshop, had to beg the owner a million times to let me put them on layaway. I went by after work sometimes just to look at them.

I’d wanted to pick up some extra shifts waitressing and asked Mom if she could get me a job. She worked at an expensive hotel downtown and had to take two buses to get there but she made great tips, especially in the summer. She’d said it was too far for me to go at night, though. I think she just wanted to keep an eye on me. At least when I was at the gym she didn’t send me as many of her just-saying-hi-and-making-sure-you’re-okay-and-don’t-forget-to-lock-the-door texts.

Dallas came out of the office, and I focused back on the shirts, watching from the corner of my eye as she walked deeper into the gym.

Crystal came to the front counter.

“I’ve gotta run,” she said, grabbing a Gatorade out of the fridge.

“Everything okay?” I said.

“Sure.” She gave me a smile but she still looked kind of stressed. “See you Sunday.” She was already pushing out the front door. She climbed into the passenger side of a blue car that had been waiting in the parking lot and took off. I got a brief glimpse of the man behind the wheel, sunglasses and a shaved head.

I glanced back into the gym. Dallas had turned around and was watching the car drive off with a worried expression.

*   *   *

For as long as I could remember, we had dinner over at Patrick and Karen’s on the first Sunday of every month. Mom was late getting off work and when we finally got to their house that night, Dallas was already in the kitchen helping Karen, who was stirring something at the stove. I picked up a cat winding its way around my feet, and gave Karen a kiss on the cheek.

“How are you, sweetie?” she said.

“Good.” Karen didn’t spend as much time in the gym anymore, preferring to do her crafts at home, but she still worked out a few times a week with Patrick.

Now Mom came over and gave Karen a kiss.

Karen gave her a look. “You’re working too much again, baby.”

“I’m fine, just hot.” She waved a hand in the air, brushing away Karen’s worry. Mom did look tired, and I’d heard her walking around the apartment the night before. She wasn’t a good sleeper at the best of times, often getting up in the middle of the night to watch TV, but in the summer she barely slept and hated being in the apartment on hot days, was always trying to drag me out somewhere.

“Can I help with something?” she said.

“We’ve got it,” Dallas said.

I glanced up at them from my perch in the living room, two cats on my lap while I flipped through TV channels. Mom was leaning against the counter, laughing at something. I knew she thought Crystal was the beautiful one, but I thought Mom was just as pretty. We didn’t look alike, though. She had cute freckles, green eyes, and chocolate brown hair that was really shiny—my hair was crazy, long black curls that fell to the middle of my back and around my face. Her lips were a nice shape. I touched mine, hating my small mouth. She could get a tan in five minutes and I could spend all summer out in the sun and barely change color. We had the same nose, straight with a bit of a flare at the nostrils, but her face was rounder. Everything on my mom was curvier, same with my aunts, and they were a lot shorter. I was really tall—like, five-ten already.

Patrick came in from outside. “Hey, sugar, I’ve got a new movie for us tonight.”