What Kind of Love? (6 page)

We're really going to do it! I'm so excited. I keep thinking about what to wear, which is really dumb. I wonder if I can still get into the dress I wore to Susie's wedding. I have to try it on.

Friday, August 9

Carrie's having a party for us. Her parents are going to L.A. Monday and won't be home until late. It's sweet of her, although I'm afraid everyone will be freaked out by our getting married. I don't know why I should care so much what other people think, but I do. I wonder whether we should tell them I'm pregnant or just say we're getting married. I guess it would be dumb not to say anything about it. They'll all know soon enough.

I wonder if people can tell yet. I'm not really sticking out very much. I just don't have a waist in front anymore.

Sunday, August 11

Only thirty-eight hours to go, and we'll be married. Peter stopped by the nursery today. He thinks he's found an apartment! It's over a garage and it's tiny. There's a backyard the owners might let us use, though. We'd have to take care of the yard, but that isn't anything. I have my fingers crossed that they'll let us have it.

We have it all planned. I've asked Mrs. Ikura if I can take Tuesday off. In the morning I'll act like I'm going to work. I'll ride my bike over to Carrie's, and Peter will pick me up there. It takes about five hours to drive to Las Vegas from here. Carrie says there are big signs for wedding chapels all over the place, so it will be real easy to find one. We already have the ring, and Carrie's buying the flowers. I packed the dress and shoes I'm going to wear at the wedding and hid them out in the garage.

Monday, August 12

Carrie called. She said Peter was trying to get hold of me last night, but the line was busy and then Mom answered and hung up on him. His mother is watching him like a hawk, so he called Tom and asked him to ask Carrie to keep trying till she got through to me. Peter's father is back from vacation. He's coming here!

Dear God, I'm afraid. Dr. Winder is a horrible man. Even Peter hates him, and he's his father. He could kill Peter—he's that kind of person. Please don't let him come until after we're gone.

I was a nervous wreck all day. Carrie said it was prenuptial jitters, which made me laugh because the way she said the word
prenuptial
made it sound like she was sneezing.

I better stop writing. It's almost five-thirty, and I have to take a shower and get dressed before Carrie comes to pick me up. She says Dianne's coming tonight and so is Mark Miller. Lily isn't sure.

Everything's off. Peter is on his way to Santa Barbara. He called me from a pay phone at a restaurant where they'd stopped, just as I was getting ready to leave. He told me not to worry. He'll be back soon, and he's not going to let anything keep us apart. He loves me.

I hung up the phone and staggered over to a chair and sat down. I felt like I was being strangled. I couldn't catch my breath. All at once everything had changed. One minute I was getting ready to go to a party with my friends to celebrate my wedding, and the next, Peter was gone and I didn't know if I'd ever see him again. I wanted to cry, to scream. It wasn't fair. It couldn't be happening. Not when we had everything planned. And then Mom called from the living room that Carrie was here. I didn't know what to do, so I went with Carrie. It was awful.

There were all of these things around reminding us that we were supposed to be having a party. The table was set with Mrs. Graham's best dishes. There were the flowers and all of this food that none of us could eat. Carrie's “wedding cake” with the bride and groom on top was sitting out on the kitchen counter.

I just couldn't face everyone. I asked Carrie to take me back home.

Tuesday, August 13

I feel so empty and tired, but I can't sleep. All I can think of is that we'd be on our way to Las Vegas now.

I took the wedding ring out of the envelope and put it on my finger. I keep thinking about what Peter said when he gave it to me. He said he didn't need anyone's permission to marry me. He was as married to me as he'll ever be. Is this as married as we'll ever be? I wonder.

Wednesday, August 14

Peter called this morning after Mom left for work. His father was so furious when he heard about us that he got in the car and drove straight here even though he'd just stepped off a plane. He came storming into Peter's room at one o'clock Monday morning. He dragged Peter out of bed, yelling that he'd die before he'd give Peter permission to get married. Peter said he didn't need anyone's permission—he was getting married and no one could stop him. That was like waving a red flag at Dr. Winder. Peter's brother and mother had to pull them apart to keep them from killing each other.

Then Dr. Winder said okay, if Peter wanted to be that way, two could play that game. Either Peter could go with him right now or he would stop sending Mrs. Winder support checks. He blamed her. He said that if she were ever home, Peter wouldn't be in this mess. What could Peter do? He couldn't hurt his mother and his brother.

Peter said I shouldn't worry. He's not going to let anyone keep him from marrying me. He'll be back home as soon as his father has cooled down, because his father's new wife doesn't want him living there.

All the time I've known Peter, he's told me what a mean bastard his father is. I always thought he was exaggerating, but he wasn't. I can't believe he'd make Peter choose between me and his family that way. I'm scared of what he'll do next.

Friday, August 16

Four days since he left. I've called Santa Barbara at least twenty times. I keep getting the answering machine. They must have gone away. I should call Peter's brother—he'll know what's going on.

Saturday, August 17

Peter called from a pay phone somewhere in Massachusetts. His father's trying to enroll him in some prep school, but Peter doesn't think he'll get in because it's too late—their classes are already filled. They are only talking to him to be polite because his father went there. He said he'll be home before school starts. He was telling me that he loves me when the line went dead.

What if he does get into that school? I know he said that everything would be all right, that he'll be back and we'll be together. But I can't help worrying. Nothing has gone right for us so far, has it?

Sunday, August 18

Mrs. Ikura has been looking at me kind of funny. I wonder if she can tell. She hasn't said anything. I've been wearing super loose clothes, so maybe she doesn't know. I can't afford to lose this job now.

I've been working and working on
The Lark,
and it still doesn't sound right. Sometimes I think I should give it up, but I can't. I have to do this. It's a challenge. My music is the only thing in my life that isn't a complete mess.

Monday, August 19

Mom and I went back to see Dr. Price this morning for my five-month checkup.

Although I dreaded going, I have to admit it wasn't so bad. It felt kind of weird—lying there with my belly uncovered, with this man I hardly knew bending over it, listening to my insides with this cold stethoscope. I could feel his breath against my skin. He let me take a turn listening to the baby's heart. I couldn't hear anything that sounded like a heartbeat, but I said I did.

He asked me if I had felt the baby move. I didn't think so, but when he said it felt like a butterfly fluttering, I realized I had. Then I had the ultrasound.

It was incredible! The nurse or technician put some sort of warm goop on my belly and then rubbed this plastic thing back and forth over it, and there it was on this television screen—a tiny baby.
My baby
!

Until the minute I saw it, and its tiny hand moved as if it were waving at us, I had never thought about it as a real baby. It was just something that was causing me trouble. But when I saw it, tears came into my eyes.

The technician was nice. “It really is something to actually see it,” she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to cry.

She asked if I wanted to wait to see if it would move so we could tell if it was a boy or a girl. I wanted to know, and at the same time I didn't. Anyway, the baby never got into a position where we could see. It doesn't matter. It's mine, whatever it is—mine and Peter's.

Now that I know what it's like, I keep feeling the baby move. It hasn't stopped the whole time I've been writing.

My dear little astronaut with your butterfly kicks, I love you.

Tuesday, August 20

Mrs. Ikura asked me if I was pregnant this morning. I
knew
she would let me go as soon as she found out, and she did.

She said she'd thought I might be pregnant for a couple of weeks now, but she wasn't sure. She told me she was sorry to have to let me go because I've been a good worker. But she needs someone who can do a lot of lifting and carrying, and she doesn't feel that she can ask me to do it in “my condition.”

I wanted to beg her to change her mind, but I didn't. I didn't say a word. I just bit my lip and nodded like I understood.

I didn't really like working there that much anyway. But it was a job, and I needed the money. I'm going to need money even more with the baby coming—and who's going to hire me if they know I'm pregnant?

Wow! I just had an idea! What if I could give violin lessons to little kids? Mrs. Rykoff would know, but I'm embarrassed to ask her because I'd have to explain to her why I want to do it.

Wednesday, August 21

Sandy's friend Heather came over. They were talking about what classes they're taking next semester, and I wasn't really listening to them. Out of the blue, Heather turns to me and asks, “Are you going back to school?”

Her saying that made me realize that Mrs. Ikura wasn't the only one. Everyone can tell. I didn't know what to say to her because I haven't been thinking about school at all.

“I don't know,” I said.

“Oh,” Sandy said in that know-it-all way she sometimes has, “of course she's going to school. She can't quit at the end of tenth grade.”

“I don't know.” I said. “I've been thinking about becoming a welfare mother and watching television all day.”

She gave me one of her dirty looks and opened the freezer to see if there was any ice cream.

I forgot that school starts in two weeks. I can just see it now. Me coming into class every day, and everyone watching me get bigger and bigger, pretending they're not really looking. Some of them will feel sorry for me—they're the ones who will try to be nice, but not too nice. Most kids will act like I'm not there, like I'm some kind of subhuman. Wouldn't want to be contaminated by someone like me. I don't think I could stand that. It would be too hard.

Thursday, August 22

I told Mom when we were doing the dishes that I wanted to quit school and get a job. Though I wasn't even talking to him, Daddy blew up. “Isn't it bad enough you got yourself pregnant? Now you're telling us you want to quit school, too.”

First he tells me I have to have an abortion or go away because he can't face people, and now he tells me I have to go to school. He'll throw me out of the house if I quit. “I pay for the roof over your head and the clothes on your back,” he shouted. “And as long as it's me who pays, you are going to finish high school.”

Boy, he brings it up every chance he gets: “I'm supporting you, so you have to do whatever I say.” I wouldn't take a nickel from him if I didn't have to.

It doesn't matter anyway, because I can't quit school until I turn sixteen, which isn't for a month and a half. But they can't make me go back to Irvine High, not even for six weeks. Even Daddy understands that. Mom's taking off work tomorrow to see if I can enroll somewhere else.

Friday, August 23

Saw Mrs. Garnet, my school counselor. It was humiliating. I knew it would be. Mom told her I was “… uh … expecting.” Mrs. Garnet said there was nothing to keep me from coming back to Irvine, but the district has a school-age mothers' program in downtown Santa Ana. I could enroll now, and after the baby came, the school would provide day care while I was in class. There were classes in child development and discussion groups about being pregnant and raising kids, too. It sounded okay to me. But I could tell from the way Mom's cheek muscle was twitching that she didn't like it.

Mom asked about home study, and Mrs. Garnet got all huffy. She said I'd have to have some medical condition that kept me from participating in regular classes and a doctor's letter to be eligible. She admitted that some pregnant girls did home study, but she's against it. “What you don't understand, Mrs. Larch,” she said in that know-it-all way people like her have, “is that in home study, the girls aren't forced to confront the deep intrapsychic needs that made them get pregnant in the first place. It has been my experience that if girls like Valerie don't resolve those needs, they go right out and get pregnant again.”

She made me so mad I stood up to go. But Mom didn't move. She put one hand over mine and made me sit down while Mrs. Garnet went on.

We decided that I would enroll in the school-age mothers' program for the time being.

Mom didn't say a word until we were out in the car. Then she exploded. She said she didn't want me in the program. She said it wasn't academic and I wouldn't learn anything in it. “It's designed for girls who are going to be nothing but mothers.”

“What's wrong with being a mother?” I asked, which made her even madder.

“It's not funny, Valerie,” she snapped at me. “Having a baby doesn't have to mean your life is over. That program is a dead end. It doesn't qualify you to go to college or teach you marketable skills—and take it from me, because I know from bitter experience, you're going to need to earn a living. Eventually you're going to have to be an adult. You can't be a teenager who got pregnant for the rest of your life. You have to look ahead. That's what Daddy and I are trying to tell you. That's why we don't want you to quit school. And that's why you're not going to keep this baby, if we have anything to say about it.”