"I hope you are aware that I've had to cancel a meeting and two appointments with clients this morning."
"I know. You've mentioned it a couple times," I answer, leaning my head against the passenger side window of Mom's car.
"Don't get smart with me, Shannon Louisa Kilbourne," Mom snaps.
It's Tuesday morning, eight o' clock and we're on our way to Stoneybrook General. That's where Dr. Wallingford's office is located. Dr. Wallingford is Mom's gynecologist and I guess now he's mine, too. Mom called him at his home last night and after much ranting and raving on Mom's part, he agreed to squeeze me in first thing this morning. Mom always said it's good to have important friends.
"Are you ready to tell me who did this to you?" Mom asks for the twentieth time since last night.
"No."
"He's going to pay for your abortion."
"I don't want an abortion."
"You don't have a choice."
Mom pulls into the northside parking lot of Stoneybrook General. We don't walk together. Mom doesn't put her arm around my shoulders and her hand on my back. She walks in front of me, like she doesn't really know me. And she doesn't. Not really.
Inside Dr. Wallingford's office, Mom signs me in and the receptionist hands me a clipboard with forms to fill out. Mom and I sit down in the waiting room with a chair between us. We stack our coats and purses there. It's a physical, tangible barrier to match the unseen one between us, the one that has built up slowly over the years until it became so high we can't see over onto the other's side. I wish I had another mother. I wish I had anyone else for a mother.
Mom helps me fill out the paperwork. She does so rather testily like I'm supposed to know on my own if our family has a history of high blood pressure and diabetes. She checks her watch a lot. I am such an inconvenience. We wait for forty-five minutes, much to Mom's displeasure, before a nurse calls me back. Surprisingly, Mom follows. She leans against a wall inside the office while the nurse draws my blood, weighs me, and takes my blood pressure. Then Mom and I are led into an exam room. The nurse gives me a paper gown and instructs me to strip completely. She says Dr. Wallingford will be in shortly, then she leaves.
I change out of my jeans and sweater and hand them to Mom, who folds them and sets them on the counter. Then I slip out of my panties and bra, too, and put on the gown. I sit on the exam table and wait. I want to cry. I want to throw up. Mom checks her watch. I can't do either in front of my mother. So, I bite my lip and hold it all in.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Wallingford comes in. He's older than I expected, probably late-fifties, maybe even sixty. He's not very tall and doesn't have much hair. What he does have is in frizzy white tufts. I notice his hands are very big. That scares me.
"Hello, Kathy," he greets Mom, warmly, and shakes her hand.
"Thank you for fitting us in, Jim," Mom says, sweetly. "I'd like to get this little problem taken care of as soon as possible."
"Of course," he says and turns to me. "And you're Shannon." He holds out his hand. I shake it limply. "All right, let's see what we have here." Dr. Wallingford sits down on a stool beside the exam table and picks up a clipboard off the counter. It's the paperwork I filled out in the waiting room. He flips through the forms and begins reviewing the information with me. He asks about my menstrual cycle and how late I am. Behind him, Mom checks her watch.
"And you've taken two pregnancy tests and both were positive?" Dr. Wallingford asks.
"Yes," I answer, softly.
"Okay," he says and lays the clipboard back on the counter. "I'm going to do a breast exam and then we'll begin the pelvic exam." He stands up and comes closer to me. "Lie back, please. I'm going to put my hand inside your gown, all right?"
I nod and lie back onto the table.
"I apologize if I have cold hands," he says and slips his right hand inside the front of the paper gown. His hands aren't that cold after all. But it's still awkward and uncomfortable, his fingers feeling my breasts. "Do you give yourself breast exams?" he asks.
"No."
"You should. I'll give you some information about self-examinations before you leave," he says and moves his hands away. "Now for the pelvic exam. Let me get my nurse." He crosses to the exam room door and peeks out into the hallway. "Can you come in here, please?" he asks someone.
A nurse slips into the room. She's early-twenties, tiny with yellow-blonde hair parted down the center. She's wearing very cheery scrubs. Red pants with a white scrub top that has red and pink hearts all over it. She looks like a Valentine. It makes me want to cry.
"Shannon, this is my nurse, Chelsea. She'll stay in the room during the exam."
"Hello, Shannon," the nurse chirps and comes to stand on my right.
My head rolls to the right so I can look up with her. Oh, dear Lord. Is this the Chelsea? The infamous nurse Chelsea who slept with the entire male ER staff and broke Wes' heart? Can there possibly be many nurses named Chelsea working at Stoneybrook General? Oh, dear Lord. Another girl who broke Wes' heart standing right here beside me, smiling down at me. I would ask her if Mom wasn't here.
Chelsea covers my lap with a cloth and Dr. Wallingford instructs me to slide my feet into the stirrups at the end of the table and scoot down. I follow his instructions while biting my lip. I've never felt so exposed. And the casual, cheerful way Dr. Wallingford and his nurse give all their instructions really doesn't help.
Dr. Wallingford sits back down on his stool. I hear his latex gloves snap on. "Relax, Shannon," he tells me. "This will only take a few minutes. Keep your knees bent, please. Try to relax. Now, I'm going to do a quick external exam first. I'm just going to…"
His voice drones on. I stop listening. All I am aware of is his fingers poking at me. I can barely see Mom at the other end of the room. I see part of her head. I bet she's checking her watch. She should be holding my hand.
When Dr. Wallingford holds up a metal duckbill-looking instrument, I almost scream.
"You're not putting that inside me!" I cry.
"Yes," he answers, simply. "This is a speculum. I'll insert it inside your vagina and open it to separate the vaginal walls. It will allow me to view your cervix. Do you know what your cervix is?"
No.
"Yes."
"All right. There will be very little discomfort," he says and I feel the speculum going inside me.
I move my knees together.
"Knees to the sides, please, Shannon."
I move them closer together.
"You need to relax," says Dr. Wallingford. "Move your knees apart and relax. If you're too tense, I can't finish the exam."
That's the point.
"It's not that bad," Chelsea assures me.
"Oh, for God's sake," Mom cries in exasperation. She stands and crosses toward me. She comes to stand on my left. "God, Shannon, it's not like it's going into uncharted territory!"
Chelsea's eyes sort of bug out.
"No, no. It's completely understandable, Kathy," Dr. Wallingford tells Mom. "This isn't unusual. Take a few deep breaths, Shannon."
I take the breaths. They don't help. I keep my knees clamped together.
"You're being ridiculous," Mom informs me. She grabs my left knee and jerks it to the side. "It's not like this is the first time you've spread your legs for a man."
Chelsea's jaw drops for a moment. Then she takes my other knee and pulls it gently to the side.
"Now, Kathy, that isn't necessary," Dr. Wallingford says, lightly, and I have to wonder if anything bothers him too much. "Perhaps it is best to hold her knees apart though. Are you all right, Shannon?"
No.
"Yes."
The speculum slides inside me. I continue biting my lip. Mom doesn't look at me. She watches Dr. Wallingford. Chelsea catches me catching her gazing at me pityingly. She turns and watches Dr. Wallingford, too. I'm glad they're looking away because then they don't notice the tears leaking from my eyes.
Dr. Wallingford takes a Pap smear and I pretend to know what that is. Then he uses a cotton swab to take a sample for STD testing. When he removes the speculum, he begins another exam. He presses one hand on my abdomen and with his other hand, slips his fingers inside me. He explains he's checking my uterus and ovaries. I wonder if he can feel my baby. I feel too stupid to ask.
"Well?" Mom asks when Dr. Wallingford has finished.
He removes his gloves and tosses them into the wastebasket. "Well…I don't want to say anything for certain until we get the results of the blood test," he answers.
I sit up. "What? Then why did I just go through all that?" I demand. "Can't you tell?"
"It's a little early to tell conclusively. You're only a few weeks along."
"So, she is pregnant?" Mom asks.
"Yes," he says. "With two positive pregnancy tests and the pelvic exam, I have to say, yes. Of course, we can't be one hundred percent certain until we hear from the lab."
"When will that be? Today?" Mom wants to know.
Dr. Wallingford turns to Chelsea. "Go call out to the lab. See if we can get the results by this afternoon," he tells her, then turns back to Mom and I. "Yes," he says.
Chelsea smiles vaguely at me and slips out of the room. I'm sorry I didn't get to ask her if she is Wes' Chelsea. I don't know why it matters. But she doesn't look like a slut. But then, I don't necessarily look like all the things I've become either.
"Should we make the appointment for her abortion today?" Mom asks Dr. Wallingford.
He finally looks surprised by something Mom has said. He turns to me. "Is that what you want, Shannon?" he asks me.
I shrug.
"There are counselors at the Stoneybrook Health Clinic who can help you make an informed decision. You and your mother should make an appointment with them. They'll go over all your options with you."
"Jim, I really don't have time for that," Mom tells him. "This has come at the worst possible time. There is no option but an abortion. She won't even tell me who did this to her. She may not even know."
"I know who he is!" I exclaim and wrap my arms around myself. I won't cry.
"Well, where is he now?" Mom demands, then turns back to Dr. Wallingford. "She doesn't need parental consent, right? I don't need to sign anything or be there, right?"
I almost cry. She isn't going to go with me? I have to do this by myself?
"Sadly, parental consent is not required," Dr. Wallingford answers and he really does look sad about it. "Kathy, let's step into the hall and allow Shannon to dress. We can talk." He holds the door open for Mom. They leave.
I sit on the exam table in my paper gown and cry.
"Why won't you go with me?" I ask Mom when we're in the car.
"Go with you where?" Mom asks.
"To get an abortion."
"Because my flight leaves tonight."
Startled, I glance over at her. Her flight? Where is she going? "What are you talking about?" I ask.
Mom sighs. "Honestly, Shannon, do you ever listen to anything anyone tells you? The agency's annual meeting in Hawaii. We go every December. You know that. Reg already paid everyone's airfare and hotel expenses. I'm not missing out on a free trip to Hawaii just because you didn't make some horny teenage boy put on a condom!"
"He wore a condom! He wore one every time!"
"I figured it happened more than once. Is this why you forgot to pay the electric bill? You were busy mating like a rabbit in the backseat of some boy's car?" Mom replies. "Now you can't have an abortion at the Stoneybrook Health Clinic. Who knows who might see you? I'll make an appointment for you at the clinic in Stamford. Someone will have to drive you, I suppose. Ask Greer or that Stevenson girl. I want this taken care of by the time I get back." Mom pulls to a stop at the light on Main Street. "Now, are you hungry? We can stop and get you something to go at Renwick's."
Am I hungry? Am I hungry? She orders me to kill my baby, then offers me an early lunch? I stare at her, my mouth agape. "Who are you?" I demand.
Mom stares back at me. "What are you talking about?"
"You're supposed to be my mother!"
"Well, I'm a little tired of being a mother," Mom snaps. "I am more than that, you know. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to have my own life. Excuse me for not being fulfilled sitting around the house, twiddling my thumbs, and waiting for you and your sisters to acknowledge me with more than an eye roll or look of exasperation. You don't need me, Shannon, you made that clear long ago."
"I need you now!"
"Well, it's a little too late," Mom replies and slams her foot on the gas, sending us sailing through the intersection.
At home, I lie down on my bed while Mom calls the clinic in Stamford. I listen to her make my appointment. Then I listen to her packing her suitcase. Packing to leave me like everyone else. She'll go to Hawaii. She'll go to a luau. She'll drink a mai tai. She'll scuba dive and learn to surf. I'll stay home and have an abortion.
My phone rings at exactly twelve-thirty. I know who it is.
"Hello, Greer," I say into the receiver.
"Shannon, where are you?" Greer asks.
"I had to go see Dr. Wallingford. He's a gynecologist."
"I go to him, too!" Greer cries, like it's a great coincidence. "Isn't he nice? His hair cracks me up. Oh…why did you have to see him?"
"Mom made me go. I told her last night. About the baby."
"What did she say?"
"She slapped me."
Greer gasps. I hear her hand cover the receiver and the faint hum of whispers. She's telling Sally. Do I have no secrets from either anymore? I guess it doesn't matter.
Greer comes back on the line. "So, is it definite that you are…?"
"The blood test hasn't come back yet, but Dr. Wallingford pretty much confirmed it. Mom made me an appointment to have an abortion. She says I have to do it. She's leaving for Hawaii tonight. I'm not supposed to be pregnant when she comes back."
There's a long silence on the other end.
"Omigawsh," Greer finally gasps. "You know what? Come over to my house this evening and you can talk to my mom. She's really good with this type of thing. And she won't slap you. I promise."
"No thanks," I reply, even though I like Mrs. Carson and have known her all my life.
"Well…think about it, okay?" Greer says. "Oh, Sally wants to talk to you."
I hear the phone exchange hands.
"Are you all right?" Sally asks. "Is that a stupid question?"
I actually laugh.
"Your mom's a bitch," Sally informs me in that matter-of-fact way of hers.
"I know," I say, quietly. "What did I miss so far at school?" I almost miss being there.
"You missed me almost murdering Meg Jardin. I had to partner with her during Italian. She spent the entire period blubbering about how her mom won't let her go to some dance at Stoneybrook High because girls get pregnant at dances or something. Oh, sorry about that. But Meg's boyfriend invited some other girl and Meg's upset about it, but didn't tell him. Instead she told me. Again and again. And you know the most annoying part? That twit speaks better Italian than me."
"Sally, I don't think Shannon wants to hear about that now," I hear Greer say.
"No, it's okay," I insist. "What else happened today?"
"Kat's absent," Sally replies. "Abigross told me that some friend of Pigtail's died last night and Kat went to be with her. With Pigtails, not the dead girl."
My heart stops. "Who died?" I gasp. "Was it Stacey McGill?" Stacey's a diabetic. I think she almost died a couple years ago.
"Uh…" I hear Sally whisper something to Greer that's inaudible. "No," Sally says to me. "Greer says it wasn't Stacey. Whoever Stacey is. Some other girl. Abigross said she - Abby, that is - didn't know her too well."
Oh, then it's no one I know. "That's too bad," I say and wonder if I should call Mary Anne, even though she told me to stay away from her.
I talk to Sally for a while longer and then to Greer again. When we hang up, I wonder when they became my only friends. I wonder when Sally White became my friend at all. But I guess that's what she is. And Greer…now all my earlier reasons for being angry with her seem stupid and shallow. She called me a prude. But she apologized. I didn't listen. She went on a date with Mick. But she did it to make me mad. It was petty and silly, but…I guess I may be petty and silly, too.
Mom comes into my room. She holds out a piece of white paper. It's letterhead from the real estate agency. "This is your appointment. I wrote down the time and address. You'll go on Friday afternoon. You have to have some sort of counseling session, where they'll probably try to talk you out of it. Don't listen. You'll be there several hours. I don't know why it'll take so long. I want you to make the boy give you the money. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Get it from him."
I stare down at the paper. I am numb.
"I have to go to Bellair's," Mom informs me. "Last minute shopping before my flight. Do you need anything while I'm out?"
I shake my head.
"Don't lose that," Mom says, then turns and leaves.
I curl up on my bed and sob until I fall asleep. When I open my eyes, it's several hours later. When I open my eyes, the paper is staring back at me. I bite my lip so I don't cry again. Then I fold the paper and slip it into my wallet.
There's a knock on my door.
"Come in," I call out and for some reason, I actually hope it's Mom.
It isn't.
"Hey," Tiffany says, poking her head in.
"Hello," I answer, dully. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed with my hands on my knees. I'm not doing anything at all.
Tiffany steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. "Is it true?" she asks.
"Is what true?"
"That you're pregnant."
I don't have the energy for any sort of reaction. "Yes," I confirm. I am very tired.
"Mom told me. She said she thought it would be me."
"I guess I beat you to it."
Tiffany sits down next to me on the bed. "Mom says you're having an abortion."
I shrug.
"We won't tell Maria," Tiffany says, then she slips her arm around me.