Giftchild (17 page)

Mom gripped the arm of the couch, while Rodney looked at me warily.

"Oh," Rodney's dad said. "Well, good."

I looked at Mom, who was still picking at the upholstery in exactly the way she always told us not to do. I should have told her the truth before, so she wouldn't have to hear it in front of everyone.

But I couldn't let everyone treat Rodney like he was anything but the victim. And for once, I was going to put him first. "But it's not really fair to him, because—"

Rodney's hand clamped down on my arm, and I stumbled over my words.

"What I don't understand," Rodney said, "is why we're talking about whose fault it is. There's nothing any of us can do about the situation. So shouldn't we focus on what happens now?"

I choked on the lump in my throat. Rodney reached out to save me from what I'd done, like it was nothing. But I'd been trying to save
him
. Why couldn't he let me?

Why couldn't I ever manage to put his needs first?

Both Rodney's parents stared at him, while my mom nodded vigorously. But my eyes were on my dad, who looked from me, to Rodney, and then finally back to me. His cheeks tensed slightly, like he was settling things in his mind.

Like he saw what Rodney had just done for me.

Like he was putting all the pieces together.

I bit down hard on my lip. Would
he
out me?

"I think that's a good idea," Mom said, turning to Rodney's parents. "Don't you?"

Rodney's mom nodded. "I think part of what John was trying to say was that if it's a question of money, we'd of course be willing to pay for a solution."

Rodney closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one hand. Smart of him. He didn't have to see the horrified look on my mother's face when his mom's meaning sunk in.

"No," my mother said, at the same time that my father said, "Well—"

My parents looked at each other, and Mom nodded, letting Dad fall on the grenade.

"We've been trying to adopt anyway," Dad said. "So we're not just able, but willing to care for the baby." He cleared his throat. "And, it's . . .
customary
for the adoptive parents to pay for the medical expenses."

Rodney's mom's mouth dropped open. "Oh," Rodney's mom said. "Oh, of course."

She and Rodney's dad exchanged looks. We were having a very different conversation than they thought we'd be having. Which meant that Rodney didn't tell her about the adoption, either. But at least Dad had given her the out. She could pretend she was talking about my childbirth expenses all along, and not about abortion.

So maybe Rodney had cut the conversation short for his own reasons, as well.

Rodney's mom turned to me. "And adoption is what you want?" she asked.

"I think," I said, looking sideways at Rodney, "I think that would be best."

Jeez. I sounded like a commercial. But I really did believe that. Mom and Dad would be way more capable as parents than I would be. I'd never intended to parent this baby. The whole point was for Mom to be, well, the mom.

But I still felt like I was sinking farther and farther into my own trap, and no matter how hard I clawed, I wasn't gaining ground.

In Rodney's earshot, it all sounded like betrayal.

My dad leaned toward Rodney. "And you?" he asked.

Rodney shrugged. "We can talk all we want about responsibility, but ultimately, this is Penny's call, isn't it?"

Rodney's mom gave him a frustrated look. "He's asking for your opinion."

Rodney looked at me. And I saw his opinion loud and clear. It was written all over his face.

He wanted this not to be happening at all.

"It's fine," he said. "It's not like I was planning to be a father."

My face turned red, and all four of our parents found something else to look at. I was sure they were thinking about the two of us having sex, which was bad enough, but since Rodney had covered for me, none of them heard what he really meant to say.

I was the planner. Not him.

Dad's eyes were boring into my skull, and if I looked at him, I was going to cry. "I'm sorry," I said. I aimed the comment at the room, because really, it applied to everyone.

Mom straightened, and I wished I could end the conversation right there. Adoption, check. Problem solved. No need for her to tell Rodney she wanted him gone.

But Rodney loved me. He said he needed time, not to break up. He wouldn't listen to her. He wouldn't.

Mom charged ahead, into the part of the conversation she'd been planning. "If Rodney isn't going to be involved in the baby's life," she said, "it's probably best to limit the amount of time they spend together. Starting now."

She looked at Rodney's parents. Not Rodney. Not me. Dad kept looking from Rodney to me, and shifted uncomfortably. And I could swear that for a second, I saw something in his eyes.

Guilt.

Like he knew how much it hurt me to drive Rodney away.

But still his hand stayed locked into Mom's.

Rodney was the one who responded to Mom. "I understand," he said. Now he was looking Mom straight in the eye, like he wasn't afraid of anything. "I'll stay away."

Roaring filled my ears, so loud I was sure I hadn't heard right. "What?" I said.

And Rodney finally looked at me, and I thought the pain that was buried in them would swallow me whole. "That's how adoption goes, right? I'm not a part of it."

Mom gave a sharp nod. And I opened my mouth to tell Rodney that he had rights, that he could demonstrate a commitment, but really, what would I be saying? That I wanted him to fight my mother for this baby?

I didn't want that. I wanted him to stay a part of my life. Mine, not the baby's.

Why didn't anyone else want that but me?

Dad clapped his hands together. "So we all agree, then?"

Rodney's dad gave a sharp nod and stood, reaching to shake Dad's hand. "Thanks for making the best of a bad situation," he said to my mother.

My body felt numb. On what planet was
this
the best outcome for this situation?

Mom nodded, and shook his hand after Dad did. And then Rodney's parents ushered him up and toward the front door. He walked away with them, like that was it. Like he was just going to leave without a word.

I stood and took involuntary steps toward him. Once Rodney walked out the door, was he gone forever? My hands shook. I couldn't let that happen.

As Rodney moved for the door, I touched his arm. "Wait," I said. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Before you go?"

Rodney's mother gave me a wary look, and his father squirmed. But Rodney nodded. "Sure," he said. He looked at his mother. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Mom opened her mouth to protest, but Dad put a hand on her arm, holding her back, and as I stepped out the door, she didn't stop me. I went with Rodney onto the porch, and shut the door behind me. Rodney's parents filed off to the car, and his mother only looked over her shoulder at us twice. I was pretty sure that was a show of great restraint.

Rodney stood inches away. The porch was dark, but as we stood there, Mom flipped on the light, which reflected in his eyes. "What is it?" Rodney asked.

I waved my arms at him. "Why'd you stop me from telling them?" I asked. "You can blame all this on me. It's my
fault
."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I don't want to hear it," he said. "From my parents, I mean. I don't want to listen to them badmouth you."

My mouth filled with taffy. He had every right to trash talk me, maybe not to our friends, but at least to his parents. And he didn't want to? "I—um—I," I said.

"Don't read into it too deeply," he said.

But how could I not? "Thank you," I said finally.

Rodney sighed. "You're welcome." He turned to go.

Terror clawed at my chest. I couldn't let him walk away without knowing that he had rights. I didn't want him to fight me, but I also didn't want to manipulate him anymore. I'd told him I loved him, and love meant putting him first. Even if I was irredeemably bad at it, I had to try.

I put a hand on his arm.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I said. "If you demonstrate a commitment now, you have a right to the baby."

Rodney took a step back. "A commitment," he said.

"Yeah," I said. I couldn't believe I was bringing this up, but it had to be said. "Like when you asked me to marry you."

Rodney shook his head, and in a low voice, he said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to fight you."

He took another step closer to the driveway. Closer to walking out of my life, maybe forever.

I could feel my life crashing down around me. "Is this really what you want?" I asked. "No contact? You didn't say. You just let our parents decide."

He looked up at the sky. An airplane flew overhead, like an overly-bright, migrating star. "I think they're right," he said. "If I'm not going to be part of this baby's life, it makes sense for me to be out of yours."

I felt a stabbing sensation in my gut, as sure as if I'd been knifed. "You can't really want that," I said.

He looked at me, and I could see that he'd made up his mind, maybe before he even came over tonight. "I do," he said.

My traitor eyes welled up. Before, he'd said that he needed time. Time to think was a stay of execution, but now I could feel the guillotine falling.

Could he mean it? This was the end?

I looked down at his shoes, waiting for him to turn to go, but instead his hand reached under my chin, bringing my face up to look at him.

My chin trembled. Tears leaked from the corner of my eye, ran down to my jaw, and soaked his hand. He looked at me, and I was certain of this: he still cared.

Without warning, he pulled me into a hug. I crushed against him, wiping my eyes on his shoulder. And I waited for him to tell me that he didn't mean it. He'd only said it to hurt me. He would never leave me alone. He couldn't.

His breath was warm on my ear. "Penny," he said, "you're going to be fine."

My chest cracked open as Rodney pulled away and walked down my front steps. He went with purpose, not turning to look behind him.

I stood on the porch, swallowed up by the sudden emptiness of being fully, truly alone, and it was all I could do not to chase after him and beg him not to go.

Chapter Thirteen

Weeks Five through Seven

I sat alone on the porch swing, numb to the cold and the darkness. I tucked my legs underneath me, so the swing held entirely still. I'd almost bawled in front of Rodney, but now that I was alone, my eyes were empty, as if he'd taken all my tears with him.

Did he really believe I'd be okay? Because I didn't believe him. Not one bit. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like he had been trying to convince himself, as well.

The front door opened, and Dad stepped out onto the porch. "Can I join you?" he asked.

I leaned my head against the back of the swing. "Okay," I said. If he figured out what I'd done to Rodney, he was going to confront me with it sooner or later. Might as well do it now, when I had no energy left to fight back. "Shouldn't you be with Mom?" I asked.

He shook his head. "She went to lie down."

I nodded. The conversation with Rodney's parents had been stressful for her, too.

Dad sat down next to me on the swing, his feet planted on the ground. His mouth set in a firm line, like he was getting ready to say something.

I let him bring it up first. Maybe he hadn't really picked up on anything. Maybe I'd imagined it.

"You did this on purpose," Dad said. "You got pregnant for your mother." His tone was even. He wasn't even really asking me, just stating a fact.

But he also didn't sound angry. Not yet.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"When did Rodney know?" he asked.

I cringed, tears threatening me again. Maybe I wasn't entirely empty. "Not until after."

Dad leaned his head back on the swing, and turned to look at me. "I don't have to tell you how unfair that was to him."

Another statement. I waited for the lecture about what a horrible person I was, but it didn't come. Maybe Dad didn't just realize what I'd done. Maybe he saw how I felt about it, too.

"Why didn't you say something?" I asked, "when Rodney didn't?"

Dad looked up at the moon cresting over the edge of the roof. "He was protecting my daughter," he said. "I wasn't going to argue with that."

My nose began to run. "I don't deserve protecting," I said.

"You're stuck with it," Dad said. "From me, at least."

From both of them, it seemed. If only I could convince Rodney that protecting me didn't mean walking out of my life. "Does Mom know?" I asked.

Dad shook his head. "She hasn't put it together."

"But you're going to tell her," I said.

Dad shook his head again. I waited for him to tell me that I was the one who had to tell her. I had to march upstairs this minute and do the right thing. But instead, he just sighed the sigh of a man exhausted to his core. "I think your mother feels bad enough as it is."

I turned to face Dad. "She does?"

"Of course she does," Dad said. "She's your mother. She'll feel responsible for everything you do, whether it's actually about her or not."

Ugh. And in this case, it was, which would only make it worse. "I get it," I said. "I won't tell her."

"Not tonight," Dad said. "But you can't leave the secret between you forever."

I nodded. "Okay," I said. "I'll wait for the right moment." Once Mom had a baby in her arms, she wouldn't care how that child got there.

Then, I'd tell her. Only then.

The next morning, I woke up to a gag reflex that pumped my stomach bile into the toilet for ten minutes straight. If I couldn't eat before, I certainly wasn't going to try now.

I'd turned my phone off last night and shoved it in the bottom of my desk drawer, so I wouldn't keep expecting it to ring, expecting Rodney to call and tell me he'd changed his mind. Turning the phone off only helped until I fell asleep. Then I dreamed on repeat about the phone ringing deep in the bottom of the drawer, and no matter how fast I emptied it, I could never dig it out.