I wrote this piece for a friend a little while ago — she didn't ask for it, by the way, I just really enjoy making her sad all the time because I'm an asshole — so this is for her. Thank you, Elena, for existing and reading my shit and crying over TV shows with me.
Anyway, this one-shot is Spencer-centric and really, really angsty. It also deals with the topic of abortion and various pregnancy related stuff so if that's triggering for you or if it makes you uncomfortable, please proceed with caution.
She'd had plans for her life. Strict plans, in fact. Plans she had intended to follow through with. Finish grad school, take a road trip through Europe, come back, find a job, get married, buy a house, have two kids (one girl, one boy, in that order), go back to work, get another PhD, buy a beach house, send her kids off to college, settle down...and maybe, if she feels extra spontaneous and there is enough time left, do something entirely different in-between: for example, finally learn how to play the guitar that has been collecting dust bunnies since her 23rd birthday party or go to the Chinese restaurant right around the corner like she has been meaning to do for the last four and a half months.
But this?
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Not to her. Not to them. Not ever. Not at all.
When she emerges from the bathroom, she finds him sitting on the hardwood floor, back against the wall, one foot unconsciously tapping along to the beat of the loud thumping music their neighbors are blaring; there is a storm in his eyes, blue sky clouding over, but he looks calm enough as he stands up and asks her the question without even moving his lips.
For a moment, all they can do is stand in front of each other wordlessly and she can't focus right now, she can't meet his gaze, she just can't.
So she lets her eyes wander through their small apartment instead and the money is tight, has been tight for a while now, and their apartment is so freakishly small, why hasn't she ever noticed how small it is? There are dirty plates in the sink, they didn't have any time to do the laundry yet so the whole room smells like dirty clothes and she is close to throwing up again. They had never bought a real bed frame either and when Toby eventually suggested that he could make one if she wanted, she had already gotten used to lying almost directly on the floor, huddled against his chest, eating instant noodles they would cook in their coffee pot so she had told him no and it had been okay, it always was, why is it bothering her now?
Because adults have bed frames, Spencer thinks. Adults do the dishes and the laundry on time. Adults don't leave their underwear lying around while they're too distracted having sex in the shower. Adults live in a nice part of the city. Adults don't have leaks in their ceilings. And two people in their mid-20's who still spend their weekends watching reruns of South Park and Game of Thrones and eating Pop Tarts aren't adults, are they?
They shouldn't have to deal with this.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She tries imagining a crib with a pink and wrinkled tiny...something in it, a thought that would have excited her so much in high school, but where would they even put it? Next to the untidy desk where her laptop is currently making loud noises, sounding as exhausted and done as she feels? Maybe in front of the bathroom door...but then she would constantly bump into it because Toby usually doesn't let her turn on the lights when she gets up before he does. She even manages to constantly bang her hip against the kitchen counter. What were they thinking when they rented this stupid, tiny apartment? What were they thinking when they placed their dining table right there, on that ugly carpet? What the hell were they thinking?
Their neighbors turn off their music and start fighting. Right on time, too. It's almost eight.
Spencer wants to curl up in a corner and cry. But there isn't enough room. Not for curling up in corners, not for new yet affordable furniture, not for another human being.
No.
Stop, she tells herself, shakes her head.
Just stop.
"Why is the shelf standing there? We should put it somewhere else," she starts rambling, walks over to it and bumps her hip into the counter on her way there. Right. She blinks the pain away. "We should—we should throw out the plants. Did you know that they eat all our precious oxygen at night? We might suffocate, Toby. Without even knowing. We might die." Toby watches her, slightly confused, as she picks up one of the smaller pots and throws it into the trash. "Why did we buy them? Why didn't we think of that before? Why didn't I think about-"
"Spencer," Toby breathes and suddenly, he is so close, she can nearly feel his eyelashes tickle her skin and his thumb strokes her cheek and she knows what she is shivering, shaking, close to tears—they're just kids, after all, they shouldn't have to go through this, and she doesn't want to look up at him, meet his eyes, doesn't want to, doesn't want to, she can't, she can't, she-
She can't. She can't deal with this right now so she simply thrusts the test into his hands and watches him exhale deeply, slowly, and his expression goes completely blank; he opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, then opens it once more. No sound comes out of it.
"Please don't," she says in a helpless voice. "Please. I don't wanna talk about this. Not now."
They lie on the bed, later, and he puts his arms around her, holds her tight and close, whispering kisses into her hair, brushing his lips against hers and then against her temple, muttering soothing words, and it'll be okay, it'll be okay, it'll be okay, talking to her in a soft voice like he would to...a baby.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Outside, it's raining.
Early next morning, Toby tries to wake her up a few times, kissing her cheeks and stroking her arms lightly but Spencer pretends to be utterly exhausted and drained from all the furious, angry crying she had done the night before and he pretends to not know that she is faking and eventually leaves for work, albeit hesitantly and lingering in the doorway for far too long. A while later, after he is long gone and she crawls out of their bed to run to the bathroom and empty her stomach, she finds a note next to the coffee machine that says, Call me. Love you.
And she takes the phone out of the handbag she had mindlessly thrown onto the dining table yesterday but her first instinct, strangely enough, isn't to dial Toby's number or even Hanna's, Aria's or Emily's. In fact, her first instinct is to call her mother. That and to go back to bed and cry herself to sleep. Again. Maybe she could do both, she muses as she lies back down. Maybe her mother would understand instead of getting mad; maybe she would try to comfort her. Ditch work for a week or five, drive over to New York, cook her some soup and read her a few bedtime stories. That's what mothers are there for, right? That's what mothers do. Even if the Hastings aren't exactly known for their exceptional parenting skills and her mother...
Mother.
A shudder creeps down her spine. Grimacing, she decides to ignore it.
Sadly, it's not her mom who picks up.
"Hey Spence."
Hearing her sister's cheery voice is enough to make Spencer sit up at once, brush the damp curly hair out of her face and wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Oh...hi Melissa. I didn't know you-"
"Well, you never call me, do you? And when I saw your name, I thought—wait, are you crying?"
"No," Spencer says defensively. "I'm just, um, kinda sick. It's been raining all week and..."
"Yes, you are. What's wrong?" Melissa cuts in sternly and if Spencer didn't know better, she would have actually fallen for that worried big sister crap. "Hang on, I'm going upstairs. Mom's friends from the club are here and they look starved for gossip," she adds in a low voice.
"Everything's fine. I just wanna talk to Mom. Please."
"Sure, everything's fine. That's why you're still home at his hour, probably alone, crying your eyes out and calling Mom for the first time in weeks. You know, you can talk to me, too. I'm your sister." This is getting ridiculous. Spencer rolls her eyes. "Did you guys have fight? Did you break up? Is that why you need Mom? I can leave in a few hours and get you. Ask Hanna to stay with you until I'm there."
"No, Melissa, we did not break up," Spencer replies impatiently, watching the raindrops slide down the window one by one. Just like she and her sister would when they were younger, she thinks. She purses her lips and shakes the memory out of her head. "Now can I please talk to Mom?"
"Did you quit school?"
"No."
"Are you having financial problems?"
"No."
"Are you pregnant?"
"No!" She flinches at the loudness of her voice, then pulls another grimace. Way to be subtle. "Stop asking me questions! God! Where is Mom? I don't wanna talk to you, I wanna talk to Mom."
The older Hastings sighs, apparently giving up. Finally. "Look, I'll tell her to call you back when her friends are gone. But if you change your mind and decide that you do wanna talk about-"
"Yeah, trust me, I won't."
"Give me a call."
It surprises her, a little, when her mom doesn't forget and actually calls her back later that day but she doesn't answer, just stares at the letters on her cell phone screen, biting her thumb and going through every possible scenario and outcome in her head (of course, all of them end in numerous fights and screams and tears and you are a disappointment and what were you thinking, Spencer and her father being her...well, her father) and she thinks about Melissa and her niece, about cute little Riley mostly growing up with faceless nannies because her sister is far too busy to be there, physically and emotionally, and she laughs slightly and thinks: maybe history is always bound to repeat itself.
Maybe the Hastings should just stop reproducing, something inside her suggests.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She spends the rest of her morning going through school work on her laptop until her phone buzzes and reminds her of the lunch date with the girls she had agreed on. They meet in some restaurant in Queens Aria has read about in a small travel guide she carries with her every time she comes to New York. Spencer hasn't seen Aria and Emily in a while, a month, maybe two, but she also hasn't slept all night and thrown up twice this morning so all she manages in her current weakened state is a small hug and an even smaller (fake) smile. The girls don't appear to notice, though, because they are deep in conversation, talking about the places they want to visit, the stores they had liked the last time, the hotel they are staying in, and Spencer sits down across from them, facing the doors, not really listening, and pretends to keep an eye out for Hanna who has sent them a text saying she would be late.
In comes a woman a couple of years older than them, wearing a fancy blazer, a simple yet very elegant skirt and her kid as some kind of cheap accessory on her left hand. They sit down at an empty table next to the girls, the woman pulls out her laptop and several colorful binders, pulls out two black phones and starts talking about deadlines and important appointments and the kids just sits there and watches his mother, silently, hopefully, adoringly, with big eyes but he doesn't dare interrupt her, just smiling whenever her hard gaze lands on him, most likely completely by accident, too, and Spencer thinks: is that going to be me?
And that's what continues to happen for the next twenty minutes. Is that going to be me? when a woman enters the restaurant, her roaring twins running in front of her and she looks so, so tired, so bored with life in general and doesn't even flinch when one of her kids repeatedly jams his fork into her leg. Is that going to be me? when a teenage girl tells her mother in a fake whisper that she hates her fucking guts and so wishes that Cassie's mom was hers instead because Cassie's mom cares about her and you don't. Is that going to be me? when a heavily pregnant lets out a sigh full of regrets and unfulfilled dreams as she watches a group of, judging by their attitude, college freshmen leave the restaurant, all giggles and grins. Is that going to be me?
Spencer finally tears her gaze from the door when yet another woman enters, huge baby bump first, and stares longingly at the sandwich that has just arrived. Her stomach grumbles so loud that even Aria comments on it but before she actually starts eating, she stops herself. There are cheeses she isn't allowed to eat, right? She knows that but she can't remember their names. And as she pushes the plate further away from her, a sudden despair filling her veins, she simultaneously reaches for her cup, sips at it—and then, again, all of the useless bits of information she had collected over the span of many, many insomniac nights in Rosewood rush into her head at once: caffeine isn't good for pregnant women either, is it?
But she has been drinking coffee non-stop like she always does.
Oh god, what has she done?
What is going to happen now?
Is she going to give birth to some kind of alien-like monster, grayish dead skin and no eyelids, tiny heart hanging somewhere outside its body, spluttering weird noises and, "Do you love me, Mommy?" and god, she knows that she is panicking for no reason, she is the smart one, she is logical and rational, she knows that things like that don't just happen...but what if? What if? How in the world is she ever going to love that thing? And she hates this, all of it, herself, she hates it so much already, and the ugly feelings of guilt and fear and anxiety steadily washing over her like waves don't make it any better. Because this wasn't supposed to happen.
"Hello? Earth to Spence?"
Looking up from her cup, she catches Aria and Emily watching her curiously. Hanna is next to her, purse in one hand, dripping umbrella in the other.
"Huh?"
"Could you move? I wanna sit down."
"Uh, yeah. Sorry."
"What's up with you?" Aria asks casually as Hanna sits down next to Spencer.
"Nothing," Spencer answers, shrugs. "I just spaced out."
"Yeah..." Hanna says and tries to steal a bite from Emily's plate who scowls and slaps her hand away none too gently. "She has been looking like crap for about...two or three weeks now? Maybe four? Something like that."
Oh no, Spencer thinks.
"Anyway," Hanna merely continues without noticing Spencer's whitening face. Then again, neither do the other two. "I'm so freaking hungry and I literally can't believe you traitors started eating without me."
Pushing her plate towards the blonde whose face lights up instantly, Spencer says, "You can have my sandwich."
"You didn't even touch it," Emily remarks and does her infamous I'm-worried-about-you frown. Clearing her throat, Spencer avoids her gaze and starts playing with her napkin, feigning nonchalance, but the other brunette keeps watching her still.
"Yeah, I know. I'm not that hungry."
At that, and as if to protest, her stomach grumbles and again it's Aria who raises one eyebrow, eying her suspiciously. "Are you sure about that?"
"Guys...could you, like, I don't know...not?" It sounds much angrier than intended. "I'm fine, okay? Let's go back to whatever the hell you were talking about before you all started to interrogate me."
Silence. Then Hanna giggles. "Wow. Someone's all bad-moody."
"I'm on my period," Spencer responds immediately and looks down at her coffee.
"Is that why you and Toby didn't wanna come with us last night?" Aria inquires.
"Yeah," Spencer lies easily, squeezing her eyes shut and trying hard not to think about last night. "We stayed in because I wasn't feeling so well. You know how I get. I'm basically Godzilla's and Hulk's love child. Sorry I wasn't there for your Welcome to New York drinks.
"It's not like you missed anything interesting," Hanna chimes in, now alternating between eating Spencer's sandwich, Emily's fries and Aria's salad. "Aria made us go to that weird bar we accidentally went to, what, five months ago? Remember?" Spencer really doesn't but nods anyway. Emily politely refrains from making a comment. Aria scoffs and throws her napkin at the blonde who then starts laughing. "What? It was extremely boring and weird. We should have hung out at your tiny ass place and ordered pizza instead. Or sushi."
Still staring at her, raised brows and head crooked, and most likely having realized that Spencer is determinedly avoiding her dark browns, Emily rests her chin in her palm and asks, "What did you guys do, anyway?"
"Nothing," Spencer answers quickly.
"Nothing," Hanna mimics in a high-pitched tone, gives a wide grin and nudges Spencer's shoulder. A wave of her floral perfume hits the brunette's nose. "I bet Spence is totally lying. I bet they had crazy sex all night."
The girl in question feels an awkward blush crawl up her chest, to her neck and eventually, her cheeks. Raising her left hand to touch her hot face, she takes in a deep breath, feeling immensely dizzy. Oh god. This isn't a reaction to Hanna's teasing. She is getting sick.
Aria starts snickering. "Oh, look. We're making her uncomfortable."
"Are we making you uncomfortable, Spence?" Hanna questions in an almost innocent voice and winks at her.
"No," Spencer says loudly. Too loudly, in fact. The other customers—even the business woman with her little kid who is sitting there, chewing his lip—look over to their table and the girls stare at her with both confused and highly concerned expressions on their faces. "I mean, yes. But no. Don't." When they exchange a glance with each other and then continue gaping, obviously trying to figure out what is going on in her head, she hastily adds, "Excuse me. I have to use the restroom."
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She is still standing at the sinks and rinsing out her mouth by the time the door opens and Emily steps in. The dark-haired woman looks at her friend for a beat or two, then goes to check if the stalls are empty and returns a few moments later, arms crossed over the NYC part of her I heart NYC shirt. "What is wrong with you?"
"Stomach bug," Spencer murmurs curtly, holds her hands under the cold water and presses them against the back of her neck. It feels good but it's not enough. Unfortunately, Emily doesn't seem to be convinced either.
"Stomach bug, huh? Didn't you say you were on your period?"
"Yeah, well," Spencer responds and her head starts spinning again. Maybe she should have eaten that sandwich after all, alien-like monster babies be damned. "I'm on my period and I've got a stomach bug. Happens all the time."
"To be honest, this doesn't really feel like a stomach bug to me," Emily says and is there a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth or is she merely hallucinating? "You don't look like you've got a stomach bug either."
"When did you become a doctor?"
"When did you start keeping secrets from us again? This isn't Rosewood."
"Yes. Yes, you're absolutely right, Em. This isn't Rosewood. I'm not obligated to tell you every damn thing that is happening in my life." Emily's face falls and Spencer feels as if she is going to puke again. Or maybe it's just remorse. Regret. Whatever. She has a hard time telling emotions apart right now. "Look...I'm sorry, okay, I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just..." Trailing off, she throws up her hands, foolishly hoping that the right worlds will magically appear and make everything easier and better and like it was but they don't. So she starts splashing her face with water instead.
Emily sighs and uncrosses her arms, takes a tentative step forward but doesn't touch her. Her voice is low and incredibly gentle when she speaks. "Didn't you wanna tell us because of Aria's miscarriage? She's better now. She's good. They've even started trying again. You heard her at the table! You don't have to worry about-" Her eyes catch Spencer's horrified expression in the mirror and she stops herself at once, and then there is a sudden flash of understanding in her browns. "Oh."
"No, no, no, Em—it's not like—I don't..."
"Come here," Emily says, grabs her by the shoulders, whirls her around and pulls her into a crushing hug. It's too tight, too warm, too much, too much intimacy, too much of everything, and it's perfect. Burying her head in Emily's neck, Spencer starts sobbing desperately. This feels right. Her friend smells like vanilla body lotion, cinnamon, smells like firewood crackling away in her parents' fireplace, smells like...smells like home. Emily strokes her brown unkempt locks and simply holds her. God, she has missed this so much.
"It's okay," she whispers into her ear. Gently. Always so gentle. "You'll get through this, I promise. You and Toby. No matter what your final decision is, okay? We're here for you."
"It's just a stomach bug."
"Spence..."
Someone pushes against the door a couple of times, then pulls it open angrily. The girls break off their embrace and Spencer hurriedly wipes away her tears. "Okay, what the hell is happening?" Aria says.
Letting out a deep groan, Spencer closes her eyes but Emily just throws Aria an annoyed glare.
"Wow, Em, what's with the look?" Hazels go from one girl to the other. "And why is Spencer crying?"
"I am not crying."
Just as Aria opens her mouth to form a—no doubt—sarcastic reply, Hanna comes in with a huff, probably annoyed that no one told her where all of them were. "What is going on? Why are we holding meetings in public restrooms? Again?"
Spencer leaves the restaurant without a word.
"We could move," Toby suggests and taps his pen against his chin pensively. "Find a bigger place."
He sits in the empty bathtub, bracing one of her black notebooks against the tiled wall next to him, occasionally scribbling down notes about things she doesn't pay much attention to. His hands are shaking, there is an obvious quiver in his voice, and he acts casual and composed but his blues betray him. He is as scared as she is.
Her head lies on the white toilet seat, facing him. She feels hot, she feels cold, she feels like shit but mostly, she feels empty and overwhelmed, all at once. "Where do you wanna live, Tobes? A closet? We are in New York. We don't have enough money," she responds in a distant voice she doesn't recognize. "And I like this apartment. It's ours."
"The other day you said you hated it here."
"Changed my mind."
Spencer can feel his gaze shift to her flat stomach, hidden by one of his shirts she sleeps in; when she looks up, however, he hastily clears his throat and busies himself with the notebook again.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
"Things at work will get better soon, I hope," he continues, light and cheerful, happy, "and if not, I'll take another job and you can still finish school. We'll manage. We can do this."
"No."
A small frown forms on his forehead and he puts the notebook in his lap with a sigh. "Spence," he says in that voice, the one that would normally make her fell all hot and tingly inside, somewhere well below her navel, but right now, it's too much too much too much. "I really don't wanna talk about how me getting two jobs while you don't is somehow enforcing classical gender roles and helping the patriarchy. Besides...we both know that, once you've graduated, I'll work from home and run our little Hastings-Cavanaugh household while you go save the world. I'll look after the baby, make you dinner and run you a bath when you get come...throw in a foot massage every now and then...scrub the floors..."
He smiles at that, just a bit, and raises his eyebrows as if he is expecting her to laugh or chuckle or do something but she can't, now now, not when she has the sinking, dreadful feeling that he is not going to understand.
"I can wear an apron, too, if that's what you want. But not the pink one Hanna bought you."
As he rambles on, lost in a fantasy that doesn't exist, she scoots over to the bathtub, grips the edge so hard her knuckles turn white and upstairs, their neighbors are fighting again and downstairs, a kid is crying frantically for his mother and in front of the bathroom door, she can hear the theme song to her and Toby's favorite TV show playing and there is frustration flaming up inside of her, anger, blazing fury, at herself, at Toby, at life, and she says, louder this time, cutting in, "No." And when he looks into her eyes, so incredibly blue, reminding her of many, many sunny days to come, her anger is gone as quickly as it had appeared and instead she's free-falling, drowning. She cradles his face in her hands and whispers, "I don't wanna be a mom."
And that's all it is.
It takes her a while to figure out that she's crying from relief, not sorrow.
It isn't supposed to go like this.
They have been together for seven years, give or take, and happily so. Sure, they fight, even about the smallest and stupidest things—Spencer is constantly inventing and trying out new recipes she has found on the internet and doesn't clean up after herself and that wouldn't be so bad if her cooking didn't suck ("What? I don't suck at anything! You suck!")—Toby comes in with muddy shoes and drops cookie crumbs all over the floor and when she is stressed about school, the sound of his breathing annoys her so much, like, either go away or stop breathing for a while, I need to concentrate ("I can't just stop breathing! What is wrong with you?")—but they're in love and sometimes, she still has trouble forming a coherent thought when he stands too close to her.
She is in grad school and works part-time; he works full-time and usually comes home late. Often, she is already in bed, only half-awake (and still half-studying), but she turns around when he spoons against her, greets him with a long, sloppy kiss and then they tell each other about their day in hushed voices, stroking each other's skin, the clicking heels and drunken screams in the hallway working as their personal soundtrack, eventually lulling them to sleep.
They want to get a dog or a cat or maybe both and a turtle. And goldfish. They (mostly Spencer) want to see a musical next month, watch another football game live and make out during halftime. They like the double dates with Hanna and Caleb even if they would never ever admit it. He still makes her drool when he takes off his shirt; she still makes him shudder in anticipation when she comes out of the shower without a towel on.
There should be a big celebration. Maybe even a party in the bar Aria had taken the girls to the other day. There should be a squeal of excitement or two, photos of the pregnancy test plastered all over both their Facebook timelines, baby books everywhere, and heated discussions and bets about whether it's going to be Team Blue or Team Pink. Because that's how couples like them deal with unwanted, no, unplanned pregnancies. Because that's what they should be doing.
Instead, they are sitting on the couch and talking about options. Just like that. Options. She is in his lap, chin resting on his shoulder, and he is combing through her hair lightly and they are talking about options.
"I can't even remember the last time I ate something without throwing up right after. I looked it up on the internet and I don't think it's normal. I mean, yeah, morning sickness and stuff but..." Spencer mumbles into his skin tiredly. "It's gotten to the point that Gina realized something is up and you know that Gina doesn't exactly care for anyone but herself. Even Han commented on my appearance the other day. She said I looked like crap."
"You look beautiful to me," Toby assures her and kisses her ear. "You are exhausted is all. And you know that I can tell when you pretend to be asleep, right? You haven't been sleeping for the past two or three days."
"Yeah, well...hey pot, I'm kettle, nice to meet you. 'cuz there is only one way you could have noticed that."
"I can't sleep. It's just..." He breaks off as she tightens her arms around his neck and exhales soundly.
"I know. Believe me, I know."
"Have you told the girls yet?"
She shakes her head. "No. Emily knows, though. Don't ask me how but she does."
At the mention of their mutual friend's name, she feels Toby freeze for a second so small she most likely would have missed it if she didn't know him as well as she does. Sitting up with a scoff, arms on his shoulders, she shoots him a glare. "Toby! You talked to Em about...? Did you tell her?"
"No, I swear, I didn't tell her," he says and puts his hands on her hips, thumbs unconsciously drawing lazy circles on her waist. It makes her hot all over, then it only makes her feel numb. "But yeah, I talked to her...I said we were going through a rough patch. That's not a lie! I mean, she's my friend...and it's not like I didn't wanna talk to you. You kept avoiding me," he adds when she purses her lips.
"What? No, I wasn't—okay, maybe I was. Just a little. I'm sorry. I thought not talking about it would make it...I don't know...go away?" For a beat, she feels immensely terrible and selfish for saying it out loud but his eyes aren't judging. One part of her almost wishes they were.
She sighs, wets her lips. "And now we have been talking about it without actually talking about it for the past hour and the only thing we have concluded so far is that we are not overly happy with...but here's the thing, Tobes: I'm pregnant." The word tastes like vomit on her tongue, and a lot bad, and ugly, and strangely alien. "I'm pregnant," she repeats. But no change. Still weird. Really, really weird.
They both look down at her stomach simultaneously, then meet each other's gaze once more. His fingers continue to draw patterns on her exposed midriff.
"I'm sorry," she then breathes and moves in to touch his face, enjoying the warmth of his cheeks under her cold, cold fingertips, enjoying the way he always instinctively leans into her. Like magnets. "I'm so sorry. But all my life, there was always someone telling me how to live it. My family, -A...god, even Ali. Telling me how to enjoy it, telling me what to do and what not to do. Frightening me. Using me. Manipulating me. Controlling me," she continues softly. He tenses up and she can see all of the not-so-pleasant emotions inside him her monolog, her little trip into the past, has triggered, but he seems to recognize that now is not the time for it and doesn't interrupt her.
"And right now, it's the first time since...well, since ever I actually get to take matters into my own hands, that I do things because I wanna do them. The first time I'm not afraid. Not anymore. At least until..." Spencer trails off, watches the rest of the sentence float into the air above them and gives a shaky smile. "I feel like I'm losing control again. I can't do this."
These are her main reasons but there are other things she doesn't tell him; things she, on a logical and emotional level, knows that she has to share with him one day but she can't. Not now. She doesn't know how to cut herself open, take all those ugly fears out and turn them into pretty words, a few nice metaphors here and there, so that he understands that this painting they would often draw together late at night, this beautiful painting of them growing old in a rocking chair, surrounded by an army of their grandchildren, was just that. A fantasy. He doesn't know that she isn't the kind of girl who eventually grows up to become a loving mother of two, chasing after them with a giggle and peppering their faces with kisses. Because she has seen Melissa and Riley, hasn't she, and she has seen her own parents, and history always repeats itself. History always repeats itself.
She looks down just as her boyfriends blinks away his tears. "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. I am beyond scared but...it's a baby," Toby replies and he sounds so utterly helpless and so desperate, hands going up her ribcage, going down, coming to a rest on her abdomen, caressing it gently. "It's a baby. I mean...it's a little Spencer baby."
Spencer doesn't respond.
Then: "I love you," and he draws her to his chest.
She lets him.
"I love you, too."
"I bought a plane ticket as soon as I got your message," Melissa sighs, put down her umbrella by the door and takes off her coat. "Now...are you finally going to tell me what's going on? What happened?"
"Where is Riley?" Spencer asks, avoiding her sister's question.
"With her father, I think," Melissa answers warily. I think. "Relax. I didn't tell Mom and Dad. I said I was going to visit Heather in Boston."
"Right...Heather...how is Heather?"
Raising her dark eyebrows, Melissa appears to be confused but then she merely shrugs it off and wanders around the apartment, smiling at the sweatshirt with the Eagles logo on it that is draped over the back of the couch. "Good. She's getting married next month." The older Hastings sits down. "You're into football now?"
"Uh, sort of." Holding two steaming mugs of hot chocolate in her hands, Spencer makes her way to her older sister, stepping over a few handbags, some pants and a shawl. "I'm sorry this place is such a mess."
"I know you didn't ask me here to chit-chat, Spence. Something happened. What is going on? Where is your boyfriend?"
"At work."
"And? Why aren't you?"
Taking in a deep breath in preparation, Spencer turns off the TV, reaches for her own cup and takes a small and unsure sip, mostly to buy more time. "You have to promise me that you won't tell Mom and Dad."
Surprisingly, Melissa doesn't miss a beat. "I won't."
"I'm serious. Because when we fight again—and we will, you know that we will—you're gonna hate me and try to make me look bad in front of them and you can use whatever you want but don't ever use this against me."
They were never really affectionate with each other; their last hug had been on the day after Riley's birth, three years ago, almost. So it confuses her somewhat when her sister's hand comes to a rest on her thigh and she gives it an assuring squeeze. It confuses her even more when that squeeze actually helps. "I promise."
"I'm...um...I'm pregnant."
Silence. In the hallway, someone's dog starts barking and behind them, her laptop is making strange noises once more. She can see a wave of emotions passing over her sister's features, disappointment followed by shock followed by something that nearly looks like joy followed by disbelief and eventually...concern?
"How did that happen?" Melissa finally wonders, voice unbelievably soft.
"Are you serious? You got knocked up three times and you ask me how pregnancies happen?"
The concern is immediately replaced by bitterness and remembrance, sweet nostalgia, and Spencer feels insanely sorry for hurting her sister that way. Melissa's hand is still on her thigh, though, and she recovers almost straight away, going back into big sister mode.
"No, that's—aren't you on birth control?" She looks around the apartment as if to search for an explanation herself. "I don't know...don't you guys use condoms or something? This is so unlike you."
"We didn't plan any of this, okay? I got the IUD last year and it was fine. Until a few weeks ago when I started spotting and cramping then it just...I don't know...it just fell out. And then Em and Aria came to town and we wanted to have a few drinks with them but I was late so I said, hmm, maybe I should take a test, just to be sure. And Toby said, I'll buy one, probably just a false alarm, right?" Spencer glares at her sister. "Yeah, no. Not a freaking false alarm. Turns out I'm pregnant."
"Calm down. You're getting angry."
"How could I not get angry? I didn't want this to happen!"
Brown eyes follow her as she snorts, swiftly jumps to her feet, grabs both mugs from the table, even though Melissa opens her mouth to protest, and marches over to the kitchen. The silence between them gets unbearable and suffocatingly heavy by the time Spencer's abrupt emotional outburst has calmed down just enough so she spins around to face her sister, hands both soapy and chocolate-y from the dishwater and the dirty mugs and snaps, "Got nothing to say?"
Sighing, Melissa massages the bridge of her nose. "It's a lot to take in. Have you talked to Toby?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"I don't want this baby."
Again, a very deep sigh. Blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, Spencer goes back to her task.
"Look," Melissa eventually begins slowly. "When Ian and I went to get an abortion that summer and I had an unexpected miscarriage, it was awful. I cried for days. Weeks. I realized too late that I had wanted that baby so much and I don't want you, any of you, to go through the same."
"It's not the same," Spencer replies without gazing up. "You went there because you thought it was the wisest thing to do. The Hastings thing to do. Not because you wanted to. But when I...when I looked at the test, when I saw it, okay, I felt completely empty. I felt numb." Melissa opens her mouth to say something but the younger brunette ignores her. "I just...I'm not...I can't..."
"What about adoption?"
"Melissa, no. I made an appointment for next week."
"Did Toby talk you into this? I don't want you to regret-"
"No, he didn't," Spencer cuts in, slightly mad now, and throws the dish towel onto the counter. "And I won't regret it. We won't regret it. Please stop trying to make me change my mind because I'm not going to."
"I'm not," Melissa says firmly, raising from the couch, and comes closer to her. "I'm not. I'm just trying to help you. You're my baby sister. I know that we don't always get along..." Spencer snorts once more, rolling her eyes. Understatement of the damn century. "...but I do care and I do love you, okay?"
Great, there go the waterworks. She knows that it's most likely all talk and nothing more; they aren't like this with each other, they never were. They don't care about their sister and they don't just share heartfelt I love yous over the phone like they have the most stable and normal relationship in the world. She knows it because she knows her sister, knows herself, knows her whole screwed-up family, and yet, she still can't stop crying although she desperately wishes she could; stop the sobs, the raging anger inside of her, stop everything, even stop being for one tiny second but the tears keep coming, hot against her cheeks. If Melissa notices, she thankfully doesn't comment on it.
"Do you have insurance?"
"It doesn't cover the procedure...and I can't ask Mom and Dad for money. You know how we had this huge fight when I told them I didn't need their support and that Toby and I would manage."
"So that's why you wanted me to come here? For money?" When Spencer doesn't answer and wipes away her tears as subtly as possible, Melissa sighs again, grabs her handbag from the floor and digs out her phone. "Go lie down for a bit. I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm staying longer than expected so I'll have to make some phone calls," Melissa explains patiently and opens the door. "Now go lie down. I'll make you some soup when I get back."
The appointment is on a Wednesday. Wednesdays used to be her favorite day of the week when she was in elementary school, she remembers, but as she looks out of the car window, rain still coming down, and feels Toby nuzzle her hair, his arms around her shoulders, constantly and silently reminding her of where they are driving, what's going to happen, it hits her: this day will never be the same again.
Melissa is in the driver's seat and gives them a little bit of privacy by ignoring their hushed, whispered conversations and the reassuring kisses they keep sharing. Her sister's eyes are warm and her face is free of judgment or any kind of emotion although Spencer knows how she feels about her pregnancy, about all of this.
She is grateful for her the other brunette's support, anyway, and yet...and yet she wishes the girls were here with her, that Aria would be the one driving and Hanna sitting next to her in the passenger seat, cracking stupid jokes in order to take her mind off her worries and make her feel better, to make her laugh; she wishes that Emily held her other hand, the hand Toby isn't currently holding, telling her that she is making the right decision, telling her that it's okay and that they'll go to Taco Bell afterwards if she wants or have a sleepover like they would back in Rosewood. But they aren't here and they can't ever know. Oh god, what are they going to tell Emily? Spencer buries her face in Toby's chest.
In the clinic, she has to face the doctor and the following procedure a couple of hours later completely by herself, alone. Neither her sister nor her boyfriend are allowed in the room with her which is probably for the best, she thinks, because suddenly, Spencer is so terribly afraid and unsure about everything and she doesn't think she could, doesn't know how she would handle both of them, light blues and dark browns, and so full of indecision, indecision that isn't supposed to be there—just like this baby—so close to her.
"There are other options," the nurse tells her in a friendly voice, holding Spencer's hand tightly as she sits on an uncomfortable chair, staring at the white wall and she shakes her head stubbornly and wants to start laughing loudly, bitterly, maybe even tearfully because the woman doesn't understand. None of them do. Not really.
Because history always repeats itself, doesn't it, and she isn't the kind of girl who deserves to be loved, not the kind of girl who deserves to wreck another innocent person's life by not being enough, never being enough, by not knowing how to fix these scars and wounds her family and her past have irreparably left inside her.
She is not the kind of girl to ever be a good mother.
And then there's nothing left to say.
Later, they are both waiting for her in the recovery room when all she feels is small, confused, weak, silent, face pale, and she falls right into Toby's arms the moment he embraces her. Her sister stands next to them, quietly reading and rereading the forms from earlier, not saying a word. Spencer gazes up just as Melissa retracts her hand hastily—and reaches out for it, grasps it, holds it in her own. They let go of each other only a second later but it's...it's something, she supposes.
Somehow it helps, it's strangely and sickeningly comforting even, that the baby is—was—someone they had already loved, that both of them are mourning in their own way, mourning and weeping for something that isn't there anymore because Spencer, no matter how much she tries, cannot. Instead, there is so much relief and regret, and regret and relief, all at once, and they blend together, hugging each other so tightly, so furiously, that she can't tell them apart anymore and all that's left is...pain.
"Thank you," she whispers into Melissa's ear.
"Let's get you home," Toby says in a thick voice.
She doesn't want to go back to their apartment, go back home, not when she knows full well that the test is still somewhere in the bathroom, silently awaiting their return, ready to taunt and mock her for doing the right thing for all the wrong reasons or maybe the wrong thing for all the right reasons, she doesn't know; but it's too early to do anything else and she needs some time to heal, anyway, so she lets Toby guide her into the car and it's only there that she finally gives in, start crying against his shoulder and into his neck for the last time, afraid to meet his eyes, afraid of what she will find there. Afraid that her eyes are holding the very same look.
They lie in their bed in silence, her rubbing his back, him nuzzling her collarbone, inhaling her scent and humming songs into her ear and she thinks that it's the most amazing feeling that every part of her, every single bone and cell, knows...no, is convinced that he will always be there; to guide her through the horrifying darkness that is her mind and to catch her when she falls; that he will always be there, whether she makes a different choice about a different baby one day or not. And hours pass, and it's night, and she has calmed down, finally, is at peace somehow, and she hugs him to her, hugs him closer, as close as humanly possible, and there is no space for heartache in this dark and tiny place of their home.
When they wake up the next morning, her hand is warm from the sunlight breaking through the blinds. Spencer gazes up at the window and Toby plants a sleepy kiss on her nose.