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the baggy shirts I’ve taken to wearing

won’t hide my belly bulge. I might

as well spill to my friends first.

Find out if they are, in fact, friends.

Today being Nevada Day, it’s a no-

school Monday, so I wait until after

eleven to call Emily. “What’s up?”

Not much. Going to the carnival

in Carson later. Want to come?

Rides? Don’t think so. “Nah.

Been to one carnival, you’ve been

to pretty much all of them, you know?”

I Almost Invent an Excuse

To hang up. I used to feel close

to Em, but recent distractions

have lodged us apart. She only

asked about Dylan once and I kind

of went off. Okay, totally went off.

We haven’t talked much since.

“Listen. First, I apologize about

the Dylan thing. I was just so pissed.”

Hey. It’s okay. I would be pissed, too.

Can’t believe he broke up with you.

“There’s more. I . . . I’m pregnant.

That’s why he broke up with me.”

Silence. One-one thousand. Two . . .

Wow. I’m kind of speechless. What . . .

“I’m keeping the baby. Dylan wanted

me to get an abortion. But I couldn’t.”

Wow. But how . . . ? I mean, I thought

you were getting on birth control.

“I was going to. But I hadn’t made

the appointment, and we were out

one night and he didn’t bring

a rubber and he swore it would

be fine. That he’d pull out. And he

did, but not soon enough, I guess.”

Wow. I’m sorry. Or, I’m happy for

you. I don’t know. What should I be?

Good question. “Don’t be sorry.

Not about the baby. You can be

sorry about Dylan if you want.”

Just please don’t say
wow
again.

We talk for a while, and by the time

we hang up, I’m glad I told her.

I can’t do this alone. I really need

support from my family and friends.

Courage Bolstered

Now I want to fess up to everyone

else I think should know. I send

an email to Sarah Hill, ask her to share

my good news with Aunt Tia. If I keep

thinking of it as good news, will that

make it less scary? I’ll have to tell

my other grandparents in person.

I go find Mom, who is in the guest

room, which is now her bedroom.

She told Trace, Bri and me it’s because

Dad snores, but we know that’s bullshit.

My parents are on the verge of divorce.

And I’m partially to blame. Mom

defended me, which only drove

Dad further away. They barely talk

at all, and when they do, every word

is hard-edged and hurtful. Dad stays

at work later and later. Mom runs.

Lifts. Spends hours at her computer,

writing. Building her own career.

I Knock on the Door

And her terse
Come in
says I’ve

interrupted her train of thought.

But I can’t stop now. “I wanted

you to know that I emailed Sarah

and told her about the baby.”

Mom turns to me.
That’s good.

But, by the way, she already knows.

How? “You told her? Because

that really wasn’t your place.”

Anger crackles like lightning.

I didn’t tell her. She guessed. Maybe

she’s psychic, or maybe it had to do

with all those questions you asked.

“Oh. Sorry.” A day for apologies.

And confessions. “I want to tell

Grandma and Grandpa Carlisle.”

She considers.
Talk to your father

first. He should go with you.

Dad took Trace and Bri to the Nevada

Day parade. And, “I don’t want to wait.

Will you come with me? Please?”

I wait for her to refuse. Instead,

she says,
Okay. If they’re home. But

I would not anticipate it going well.

She calls. They’re home. Expecting

us, but most definitely not what I have

to tell them. It’s a short drive, with

butterflies dancing around in my

stomach. Wait. That’s not butterflies.

“Mom. I just felt the baby move. I think

it was the baby, anyway.” Alive and

kicking, as the old saying goes, even

if this is a whole different context.

Mom actually smiles.
Babies

have a way of doing that. Just wait

until she starts doing push-ups.

She?

I kind of thought it might be

a boy. Masculine like its daddy.

She. What if it’s a girl like me?

Thinking in such concrete terms

makes me even more determined

to admit to the world I’m pregnant.

We arrive at my grandparents’

monstrous home. Why do they need

such a big place for the two of

them? Some people, I’m sure, find

it beautiful, with its marble floors

and giant columns, outside and in.

It reminds me of a mausoleum.

Not that I’ve ever admitted such

a thing to anyone. Not even Mom,

who I’m pretty sure feels the same,

if not about the house, about

the people who live inside it. I love

my grandparents. But they’ve never

exactly been affectionate to Mom.

Curly and Larry

Announce our arrival with gruff

Newfoundland barks. The dogs

are big and slobbery, but puppies

at heart. I want a dog someday.

Mom says they’re too much work,

and maybe they are. But I want one

anyway. Just not a hundred-fifty-

pound behemoth like these two.

Grandma Carlisle opens the door

before we reach it. She scopes out

Mom’s running shorts. Scowls.
Come

on in, then. Henry! They’re here.

She leads us into the family room.

The living room is reserved for special

guests—ones who won’t stain the white

carpet and furniture. Grandpa appears

like a magician’s assistant, from thin

air, it seems. He waves us to the leather

sofa.
Make yourselves at home. Can

I get you something to drink?
Pretty sure

Mom would like something
strong

to drink, and I would, too. A giant

glass of alcoholic courage. But both

of us shake our heads. “No thanks.”

Grandma gets right to the point.

Okay, then. Tell us. What is this

important news?
She looks at Mom,

who looks at me with a silent
It’s

not my place.
And she’s right.

I clear my throat. “Ahem. I don’t

know how to say this except to come

straight out with it. I’m pregnant.”

Grandpa turns the color of pickled

beets. Grandma goes more toward

blanched almonds. Their heads rotate—

toward each other. Away. Toward Mom.

Away. But neither can quite look

at me. “I’m five months along, and

I have decided to keep the baby

and I wanted you two to know.”

Sixty Seconds