Smashing Kyle Swanson's windshield with his golf club hadn't been the problem. Or at least it hadn't been the only problem. Vomiting on the smashed-up remains of his car was. At 9 am. In front of the entire school. And when you're a teenage girl, and you throw up publicly, it's assumed to be for one of two reasons—you're drunk or you're pregnant. I would argue the inaccuracy and misogyny of this reductive view, but in my case, it just happened to be true. I was pregnant. And as I stood there, wiping vomit from my chin, I realised every single person I knew was about to put the pieces together and realise it.
I'd fallen still as I felt their wide, glassy eyes burn into me through the windows of classrooms. As a deafening silence fell across the car park, across the grounds, and across the school. Only Kyle's wails as he tugged on his hair, leapt around, shrieking about his car, broke the unbearable silence. And I knew then, with an earth-shattering certainty, that everything I'd worked for, strived for, suffered for, had just turned to dust. My life as I knew it, scattered along the pavement with glittering shards of windscreen and the contents of my stomach.
I lean back into the soft leather seat of Mum's jeep, my arms folded tightly across my chest. Every now and then, she peers at me, her lips pursed tightly. We're sitting unmoving in the afternoon traffic, cars on either side of us. Mum revs the engine, though we can't go anywhere. The radio plays a cheerful pop tune, making our dark moods darker.
"I can't believe you're making me do this."
Mum purses her lips. Her hands grip the steering wheel so tight I can see the bones of her knuckles through her fake tan.
"You didn't really leave me with any other options after this morning's theatrics, did you?" I huff and turn away.
I hadn't planned on telling Kyle yet—the words had just slipped out of my mouth as we were getting out of his car. He'd insisted it couldn't be his, even though, immaculate conception aside, there were no other options. We'd both been virgins before the night of my seventeenth birthday. I'd hadn't had sex with anyone, not even him since. I was mad, humiliated, but I'd swallowed this as the desperate plea of a dying man. What had made me so furious, so enraged I'd dragged the golf club from the backseat was when he admitted the condom had split. That he'd just been too embarrassed to tell me.
Smashing up his car was certainly more pleasurable than the sex.
I wouldn't miss Kyle. We'd been together nearly a year, but it was not like we cared much for one another. Not really. We just made sense. It was easy, and it was expected. We didn't have a spark, or a connection, or chemistry. Not that I believe in those things, anyway. The only connections I'm interested in are the ones that get you places. And Kyle's parents have connections. But I'm pretty sure if the four-hour screaming match in my headteacher's office was anything to go by, my connection with them was officially severed.
"We could have had a little more time, at least told Stephen in a way where I could have... prepared him. But no, you decided it would be more fun to make a spectacle of yourself and smash up a Lamborghini." She hisses, hitting her horn as a car cuts her up on the ring road. I sigh and sink deeper. My stomach is finally settling, and the gnawing emptiness that grows after the morning sickness passes has returned.
"It was a Porsche," I mumble and she practically snarls.
"You are lucky the Swansons aren't pressing charges. You owe Stephen a major thanks for that."
"Yeah, because it had nothing to do with them being terrified of people finding out their future heart surgeon got a girl pregnant and sent to prison."
"That may be true, but Stephen..."
"He didn't do it for me and you know it. He doesn't give a damn about me."
"He's put a roof over your head. Fed you, clothed you, paid your tuition. He does enough. He's a good stepdad, Annabel." She doesn't pretend he cares - we both know he doesn't. At best, I'm tolerated. Or I am as long as I tow the line and contribute to his image as the perfect family man. But by being seventeen and pregnant, I had officially smashed the line into pieces. With a golf club.
"And you're taking his side? Stephen's side? You actually think this is right and not some kind of 1950s bullshit? Let's all go hide the pregnant girl in some dark hole so no one can see her infinite shame!"
Mum has the good sense to look a little sheepish.
"What do you expect me to do, Annabel? It's his house. And he's just thinking about the girls."
"Because I'm such a corrupting influence. They'll take one look at me and start shoplifting and snorting cocaine."
She growls under her breath, changing gears with enough rage, the engine growls in protest.
"Enough! But I have to think of them too. They're my daughters too. And your sisters."
"Half-sisters," I mumble under my breath. The fact that I shared fifty per cent of my DNA with those little demons was a constant source of horror. We're driving through the centre now. Our part of the city behind us, the side with green fields, and neat pavements and grand houses, has faded into grey. Into tagged walls, and dark concrete and empty shopfronts. Into the side of the city I haven't been to since I was about six. "This is humiliating."
"I think this could be a good thing. Time to think. Time to decide what you're going to do..." She glances down at my stomach like I'm carrying a ticking time bomb instead of a bundle of cells. Mum had figured it out only days after I'd started putting the pieces together myself. When the stomach bug that only hit me in the mornings didn't shift, and the scent of coffee turned my stomach. She bought me the test, and wept after I'd taken it as I sat there, holding the stick so tightly my hand ached. As if I stared at it long enough, the line might go away.
But it didn't go away.
"You don't have forever."
"I'm aware." I snap. My head's hurting. The burst of anger and adrenalin from this morning was now fading into aching bones and a throbbing head. The hours of heated discussions about me as if I wasn't even there hadn't helped, either. "I've just been focussing on my application."
"Annabel..." She looks at me with a potent mix of pity and sadness. A wave of fear washes over me—a feeling I don't have time for. Twenty thousand people apply to Oxford University every year, and they only accept three thousand. I don't have time for feelings.
Mum pulls into a familiar street. The houses here are all chipped paint, broken fences and unkept lawns. Built so close together, I wasn't sure how people knew where theirs began and the next ended. I see Mum's body tense. Her eyes go a little wide. I sit up sharply. The house, my old home, slowly comes into view. This place seems familiar and unfamiliar. I remember playing in that garden; I remember riding my bike along that pavement. But it also feels like I've never been here before.
The house next door has a woman dozing before her open front door, her head thrown back, a can of cider in the cupholder of her camping chair. I grimace. She's wearing a bright pink vest and denim shorts. Her skin is the colour and texture of a shrivelled-up tangerine. A girl emerges from the door, another cider can in her hand, which she hands over with a sardonic smile. When I see the familiar tight ponytail, and the narrow piercing eyes my stomach lurches, and I plunge deeper into my seat. I knew seeing Sarah was a possibility, but I can't help feeling like this is another punishment on top of the pile of shit I'm already under. I turn back to Mum.
"I don't know him. He's a stranger. Please... don't make me do this."
"He's your dad. And I called him earlier. He's expecting you. It's good of him to let you stay for a while."
"Yeah." I spit. "What a saint."
She pulls into the driveway, her lips tight, and breathing hard. We sit there for a moment, the engine still running, neither of us attempting to leave the car.
"This isn't fair." I hear the crack in my voice, a weakness I hate. For the first time, her eyes soften.
"You're about to learn that there's a lot in this life that's unfair. You're going to need to get used to that."
***
Mum is swearing down the phone, her voice low but her temper high. Dad had to work last minute, meaning I'd be here alone for a few days. He'd left a note on the fridge—he didn't even have the guts to call. So Mum called him. As she yells down the phone in the kitchen, I wander through the house.
It's small. So much smaller than our townhouse. In fact, the entire ground floor could fit into my bedroom. It's neat though, well kept. I hadn't expected that. In my head, I imagined a dark and gloomy hovel. But the space is painted in pale colours, making the small rooms seem airy. Dad doesn't have a lot of things. A settee, TV, and a dining table that looks like it's never been used. There are no photos or paintings on the wall. Just a bookcase of wrinkled paperbacks and a lone photo of the three of us. With my arms wrapped around myself, I stare at a moment frozen in time. I don't remember it. I look around three, but Mum and Dad are grinning. Mum's dark blonde hair is minus its highlights and voluminous blow dry. She looks happy—she glows with it. Dad has the same colouring as me—dark auburn hair, freckled skin and grey eyes. I only vaguely remember him, and in my memories, he never looks like this. I wonder whether it was time or anger that had clouded my memories. Mum walks into the room, her face flushed and jaw clenched.
"He's had to take a last-minute job. He couldn't say no... I could, I could kill him. He'll be back Thursday."
"What did you expect? He's ignored me for the past ten years. Why start now, even if I am imprisoned in his house..." Mum rolls her eyes, a hand going to her hip.
"Don't be so dramatic."
I turn back to the room, not really knowing what to do with myself. The alien smells of recently fried food and aftershave linger in the air.
"And what am I supposed to do until then? What am I supposed to eat?"
Mum isn't listening. She's scanning the room and I can see the memories crushing her down. I see her shrinking under the weight of them. She wraps her arms across herself like she can protect herself from it.
"Mum?" Her eyes fix on me and for a moment she's staring blankly like she'd forgotten I was here.
"He's ordered food. It will be here later. And you're not helpless, Annabel. You can survive a few days alone. It might be a good thing. Give you time to think..."
I'm about to argue when I see her face shift, a silent gasp on her lips. I can't see what she's seeing. She moves towards the stone fireplace, an extravagance out of place with the simplicity of the rest of the room.
"I always wanted one of these. I asked and asked and he never..." She freezes, her hand brushing the stone. She closes her eyes, and I suddenly feel small. I don't understand what's happening. What it means. How much about my parent's marriage do I not understand?
"I need to go. I can't... will you be OK?" She backs away like she's been burned. Her voice is shaky, her eyes are glazed as she looks around the room before settling on me with purpose. "I can stay if you need me..." It's clear there's nothing she'd like to do less than stay. I'm not sure I'm ready for her to leave, but I don't think I can handle any more emotions than my own swirling vortex.
"It's fine. Go."
She doesn't argue, though she looks a little lost standing in front of me. And for a moment, we just stare at each other. Too angry, too disappointed in the other to move. She breaks first, rushing forward and hugging me.
"You were a baby in this house. My baby girl. I'm so sorry this is happening to you, Annabel." She squeezes so hard I can't breathe, I'm choking on the scent of her Redken shampoo and Chanel perfume. I don't hug back, my arms don't move. Anger stiffens my bones. "Whatever you choose, whatever you decide... I wish I could protect you from what comes next."
I freeze. Mum moves away, wiping the tears from her face. She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. And I try to pretend the expression on her face doesn't sting - she doesn't look sad because she's about to leave me, she looks like she's already lost me.
Word Count - 2286