Chapter 36

What was supposed to have been a lunch between Bellamy, Clarke, and Lexa ended up just being a lunch between Bellamy and Lexa on Friday. Not that he minded. Lexa was turning out to be a pretty good friend. The girl was cool, and they had some things in common, like the fact that they both came from lower middle class households, and their shared interest in performing oral sex on women. That particular day, though, the conversation turned serious when he explained why Clarke wasn't there.

"Oh god." Lexa put her silverware down and stopped eating after Bellamy told her about Jake and Alyssa's miscarriage.

"Yeah." It was . . . pretty heavy stuff.

"Nobody deserves that," Lexa said.

"Nope," he agreed. They would've been good parents, too. But Alyssa was young, so at least they could try again someday.

"I'm never gonna be pregnant, never gonna have a baby," Lexa said, "but I feel like . . . like losing one would be worse than losing a limb."

"Probably." Hell, he was never gonna be pregnant, either, and technically it wasn't his child that Clarke was carrying. But the thought of anything bad happening to that baby, ever . . . he couldn't even think about it.

"What's their address?" Lexa asked. "I should send a sympathy card or something."

"I'll text it to you," he said. "Clarke's there right now. She decided to go see her dad today, before classes start back up next week."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

He motioned to his dirty clothes and said, "I had to work. Besides, I think . . . I think it was something she needed to do alone. Just him and her."

...

Clarke felt so bad leaving her dad's house with boxes full of baby supplies. Small but necessary things like burping cloths and teething rings and even something called a nasal aspirator, which she'd never heard of before. He carried everything out to the car for her, and she just felt . . . horribly guilty. Almost like she was taking something great from him, even though he insisted that she go home with almost everything he and Alyssa had already purchased.

"Dad, you really don't have to give me all this stuff," she said.

"No, you have to take it," he said as he set the last box down in the back of her car. "We don't . . . we don't need it anymore, and you do. Besides, seeing it would just be painful. For Alyssa."

"And for you," she said. Miscarriages didn't just affect the women who had them. All day, she'd been paying close attention to her dad, noticing how strong he was trying to be. But there was this sadness in his eyes that he just couldn't mask.

"And for me," he said, shutting the door.

"Are you guys gonna be okay?" she asked, hoping they hadn't just been putting on a brave front for her today.

"We're coping," her father said. "We have each other. That's the most important thing."

All day, Clarke had watched her dad comfort his girlfriend whenever he saw tears in her eyes. She'd watched him put his arm around her, give her hand a squeeze, hug her, and sometimes just rub her shoulder as if to remind her that he was there for her. He'd never been so affectionate with her mom, and Clarke had to admit, even in a time of such sadness, he seemed so happy to be with Alyssa. "You're, like, madly in love with her, aren't you?" she said.

He managed a smile, a genuine one, and said, "I am."

As skeptical as she'd been about it at first, the more she saw those two together, the more she believed in them. And maybe she should have believed and supported him right from the start. After all, she knew very well what it was like to have someone be so openly judgmental about a relationship. "Good for you, Dad," she said. "Will you tell her I said goodbye? I don't wanna wake her up."

"Yeah, she definitely needs some rest," he said. "So do you, I'm sure. This isn't a short drive."

She shrugged. "It's not so bad. I should make it more often." Seeing him around Christmas and seeing him now, even under these less than ideal circumstances . . . it was kind of nice. She'd always been a bit of a Daddy's girl, and it felt good to re-establish that bond with him.

"Or I could come visit you," he offered.

"Yeah. I'd like that." She and Bellamy didn't have a guest room, but Jake had plenty of old friends back in Arkadia. Plus, there was the Arkadia Inn, which was . . . well, sketchy, to say the least, but it would do.

Her father hugged her and said, "Thank you for coming, Clarke. I love you so much."

There had been a time not all that many years ago that they hadn't said those words to each other, not because they didn't feel them, but because things between them had become strained. But time—and maybe a little space—had mended things, it seemed. "I love you, too, Daddy," she said tearfully.

As he let go of her and took a step back, he said, "Do me a favor, though, okay? Promise me you won't spend too much time worrying about me. I'll get through this. You just need to concentrate on your own pregnancy, on staying healthy."

She looked down at her stomach, which she'd tried to conceal with a baggy sweatshirt today, just so that he and Alyssa didn't have to see how pregnant she was.

"Do you promise?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Yeah." At least he was still going to be a grandfather. She could give him that.

"Good," he said, taking a couple seconds to just look at her before he said, "I'm so proud of you, Clarke."

"You are?" That . . . kind of surprised her.

"Oh, god, yes," he said. "I'm so proud that you're having this baby."

She inhaled shakily, more than a little emotional when she heard those words comes out of his mouth. Here she was, an unwed, knocked up college student, and he was proud of her. Because he believed in her and believed that she could do this. He'd always told her she would be a good mom.

...

The benefit about having a bit of a drive home from Baltimore was that it gave Clarke some time to think. She didn't even turn on any music, because her thoughts were . . . kind of important. Big-time thoughts. About her future and stuff. Spending the day with her dad had kind of put things in perspective.

Instead of heading straight home she made a pit-stop at her mom's house. When she walked inside, she found her mom curled up in her favorite chair, in the midst of reading a book, which must have meant she'd either been home for a while or hadn't had to work that day.

"Well, hi, honey," her mom said, bookmarking her page before setting her reading material aside. "What are you doing here?"

"I just got back from Dad's," Clarke replied.

Her mother's eyebrows arched curiously. "You went to your dad's today?"

"Yeah."

"Why's that?"

"To check up on him."

Slowly, her mother rose from her chair. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Clarke had purposefully put off telling her until now, because she'd wanted to talk to her dad first. "He and Alyssa . . ." There was no easy way to say it. "Their baby didn't make it."

Her mom put one hand over her chest and said, "Oh, no. Miscarriage?"

"Yeah." She'd done some reading these past couple days, against her better judgement, and apparently they were a lot more common than people even realized, because sometimes they happened before a woman even knew she was pregnant. But the risk of miscarriage in the second trimester really was a lot smaller. She'd seen different estimates online, some that said one percent, some that said five. Any number was still too high.

"Oh, that's awful," her mom said, and to her credit, she didn't sound clinical and doctor-like; she sounded truly sympathetic. "I have to admit, I wasn't exactly thrilled when he told me they were . . . expecting," she admitted, "but that's tragic. For both of them. And for you. I'm sorry, Clarke."

It totally wasn't about her, so she just downplayed it with a shrug. "I probably wouldn't have been the best big sister anyway."

"That's not true."

Wasn't it, though? Big sisters were supposed to be role models, and . . . well, she wasn't always the best one. "Anyway, I just . . . I wanted to stop by because . . ." The words on the tip of her tongue suddenly became stuck in her throat, but she was determined not to lose the nerve to say them. She'd gone over it in her head repeatedly on the drive home, like an actress memorizing a script. Except she wasn't playing a part; she was being honest. "Look, I've given it some thought," she said, "and . . ." There was no backing out now, so she went ahead and blurted the words, "I don't think I'm gonna go to med school."

Her mom . . . smiled. Which was weird. And then she laughed, almost as if she thought she was hearing a joke. "What?" she said. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not." Other things were just more important.

Her mother's forced smile quickly fell when she realized that Clarke was being serious. Crossing her arms over her chest almost challengingly, she spat, "Since when?"

"It's been on my mind for a while," Clarke admitted.

"You mean since you got pregnant?" Her mom huffed angrily. "Clarke, you have to go to med school if you wanna become a doctor."

Well, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? A part her mom needed to find out about. "I don't . . . wanna become a doctor," she revealed slowly, knowing that she was basically crushing her mom's biggest hope and dream for her. When she was five, her mom had put a stethoscope in her Christmas stocking, even though she'd asked for a paintbrush. A few years later, she'd hung a poster of notable doctors over her bed, removing pictures of her favorite singers to do so.

"You can't possibly be serious," her mom said. "You've always wanted to be a doctor. Always."

"No, that was always what you wanted," Clarke corrected. "It was just the expectation, that I grow up and follow in your footsteps."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No, it's not, but . . . it's just not what I wanna do with my life."

"Well, what do you wanna do then, huh?" Her mom's voice was angrier now, sort of a growl. "Work at the bar like you do now?"

"That's temporary." She wasn't gonna be there forever. "Mom, you know me. I love art and music and . . . maybe I'll have some kind of opportunities there. But even if I don't and I end up doing something else . . . I have to focus on my daughter. I have a bigger priority now, and that's being a mom."

"But being a mom doesn't mean you have to sacrifice your whole future. See, Clarke, this is what I always worried about. This is what I was always afraid of."

"I know. But you don't have to worry," Clarke assured her. She wasn't sacrificing anything. "I'm excited. I like not knowing exactly what the future has in store for me. It's kind of . . . freeing. I can just do what feels right and see where I end up."

"Oh, yes, because the decisions you make when you're just 'doing what feels right' have always been such solid ones," her mom snapped.

That was a low blow. Really low. To bring up the past like that, when it had almost torn them apart once . . . real fucking low. And she wasn't there for that. She'd said what she needed to say, and she didn't need to stick around just to be made to feel worse. So she turned and marched right back out the way she'd come in.

"Clarke, wait," her mom called after her. But there was no point in stopping, no point in waiting. The conversation wasn't going to change. Her mom would continue to lecture her about what a mistake she was making and act like she knew what was best. Just like she always did.

...

From the second he walked in the door that evening, Bellamy knew that Clarke had had a turbulent day. He found her sitting in the middle of the living room floor, cross-legged, eyes closed. The lights were dim, and there were several candles lit around the living room. And she was wearing a red t-shirt that said Keep Calm and Eat for Two.

"Whoa," he said, a bit taken aback by everything he was seeing. "What's this?"

"Shh," she said, not even opening her eyes. "This is a happy place. It's peaceful. It's relaxing. And I don't intend to leave anytime soon."

A voice from her phone calmly instructed, "Take another deep breath. And just scan down the body as you exhale."

Meditation? he realized. She had a meditation app going on her phone. "What happened?" he asked, kicking off his shoes.

Her eyes snapped open, and she spat, "What—nothing happened, Bellamy! I'm just meditating. I meditate now."

Making his way towards her, he couldn't help but wonder, "Why?"

"Because I'm stressed, and . . ." She threw her hands down at her sides, talking over the voice on her app. "Dammit, this isn't a happy place anymore! Do you know how long it took me to get this peaceful? Now I have to start all over."

"You can mediate all you want after you tell me what's going on," he said, sitting down beside her on the floor. "Did something happen with your dad?"

"No," she said, pausing the app. "No, that was great. I mean, it was sad, obviously, but . . . It was good to see him and to see that he's gonna be okay. Alyssa, too. I could tell she'd been crying a lot, but she's hanging in there."

"Then what's wrong?"

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "My mom. As usual."

He'd pretty much figured. There weren't that many people in Clarke's life who could piss her off as much as her mom did. "What'd she do this time?" he asked.

"She got mad when I told her . . . some stuff."

"What stuff?" he prompted.

Clarke paused for a moment, eyes downcast, then mumbled, "That I'm not gonna go to med school."

He felt his eyebrows shoot upward, not because he was surprised by the decision—no, he'd seen that coming a mile away—but because he was surprised she'd decided to spring it on her mom today. "When did you decide that?" he said.

"It's been on my mind," she told him. "But all this stuff with my dad and Alyssa . . . it just makes me realize how important being a mom is. I mean, I'm not gonna be some homemaker, not that there's anything wrong with that. But med school just isn't feasible right now. And to be honest, I don't wanna be a doctor. I never really wanted that."

"You wanna be an artist," he said. "Or a singer. Or both."

She shrugged. "We'll see. I don't really know what I wanna be. But I know I don't wanna be Abby Griffin 2.0."

Fine by him, because Abby Griffin 1.0 was already enough. "I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"Why?"

"Because I feel like you've probably been fighting with your mom more since I've come back." He hadn't meant to drive a wedge between them. That'd never been his intention.

"It's not your fault," she assured him. "It's hers."

Yeah, she could say that, but . . . it was no secret that Clarke and Abby had never seen eye-to-eye when it came to him. Abby probably thought he'd persuaded her into giving up med school. She'd find a way to blame him for it somehow. She always did.

"You know, she's my mom. She's gave birth to me, just like I'm gonna give birth to our daughter," Clarke said. "So I love her, and I'll always love her, but sometimes I really don't like her. You know?"

He almost laughed at that. "Oh, trust me, I know."

"But then there's your mom, and I've always liked her. She's the best. And that's the kind of parent I wanna be," Clarke declared. "Not the kind who pisses her daughter off and makes her feel like the only way to calm down is to download a stupid meditation app." She picked up her phone, shook her head, and closed out of the app altogether.

Personally, he thought it was adorable, seeing her in this Keep Calm shirt, trying so hard to relax when there was just no way an app was going to help her out with that. "There are other ways to calm down," he pointed out, feeling like he was the perfect person to get her mind on . . . other things.

"Such as?" she said, smiling mischievously.

He grinned back at her. Because they both already knew.

Twenty minute later, Clarke was up on the couch, her legs spread as he knelt in between them with his head bent forward to eat her out. Her body started to squirm as her orgasm built up, and when she finally came, she dug her fingers into the throw pillows and let loose the sexiest moans he'd ever heard from a girl. He'd given her a drawn-out, thorough tonguing, going deliberately slowly and taking his time, so his mouth was already saturated with the taste of her. But the small gush of fluid between her legs gave him something even better to devour, and he licked and lapped at her greedily all the way through her climax. So fucking good.

As she came down from it, a blissful smile settled on her face, and his chest swelled with the pride of being able to make her feel that way. Just like he'd thought, oral sex was way better than meditation.

...

Around midnight, Clarke's insatiable appetite got the best of her, and she had to get up and go downstairs to try to find something to eat. That pregnancy pillow, as comfortable as it was, was a pain to get off of. It was so damn huge that she kind of got stuck in it sometimes, and the rounder she got, the more she felt like a turtle on its back. It was getting to the point where Bellamy often had to wake up and help her out of it. After a long day at work, he was exhausted, so he just reached over and gave her a gentle shove this time, and that did the trick.

Once downstairs, she set about eating the remainder of the chocolate chip cookies she'd just picked up in the store yesterday. Then came the Doritos, then a small container of yogurt. She was all set to head back upstairs with a banana when headlights shone in through the window as a car pulled up outside. She peeked through the blinds, and despite how dark it was, she knew it was her mom's car. No one else who would come to visit her would drive a car that nice.

Were they really gonna do this right now?

...

Clarke sat in the principal's office with her mom, arms crossed, legs crossed, her whole body angled in the opposite direction of the woman who seemed so hell-bent on making her life miserable. Not only was this exasperating, but it was humiliating. Her principal didn't need to know about her relationship with Bellamy. None of the adults in that school did. But her mom seemed to think they all needed to know, that they all needed to be aware how "unhealthy" and "damaging" it was.

After comparing Clarke's class schedule with Bellamy's, the principal, Mrs. Sydney, confirmed, "It doesn't look like they have any classes together."

"I didn't think so," Clarke's mom said. "But I just wanted to make sure. You know, I just thought it'd be possible that there was some overlap because Clarke's in some advanced classes for her age, and Bellamy's . . . not."

"He's not an idiot," Clarke snapped.

"I didn't say he was."

She rolled her eyes, because the implication was both obvious and intentional. Her mom thought Bellamy was a stereotypical stupid football player. But he probably knew a lot of things that she didn't know. Just last week, they'd gone to a movie about . . . something. She really couldn't remember because she'd been distracted by how hot he looked. But it'd been the historical fiction kind of movie, and he'd spent the majority of it pointing out all the inaccuracies.

"The only time they might run into each other would be in the hallway or during lunch," the principal said.

"Can that be monitored?" her mother asked.

Monitored, Clarke thought angrily. Like I need a babysitter or something.

"We have staff members who supervise lunch every day," Mrs. Sydney said. "They can monitor that. And we can do our best during the day, but . . ."

"I would appreciate that," Clarke's mom cut in. "Because you know me, Mrs. Sydney. You know what type of parent I am."

"The insufferable kind," Clarke grumbled.

Her mom ignored her and went on, "I don't put up with this kind of behavior. Clarke is facing severe consequences for it at home, but it's meaningless if she doesn't face some consequences here at school, too. I want her to stay away from that boy. He's no good for her."

She grunted, so unbelievably pissed off. "You don't know what you're-"

But once again, her mom just kept on talking, not even hearing her. "Is this something all teachers can be informed about?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," the principal replied.

All of a sudden, Clarke was picturing some teacher meeting where Mrs. Sydney detailed this whole fiasco. She'd be discreet, or at least Clarke hoped she would, but still . . . "This is—this is crazy!" she yelled, knowing for a fact that there were other students the staff members in that school needed to be paying attention to more than her. "Plenty of girls in this school have boyfriends. Plenty of girls in this school go out and get drunk with their boyfriends. Plenty of girls have sex with their boyfriends. Yet I'm the only one getting punished for it."

"Clarke, your mother's just trying to look out for you," Mrs. Sydney said.

"No, she's trying to control me," Clarke corrected.

Her mom actually reached for a tissue from the box on the principal's desk—over-dramatic much?—and said, "Do you see what I've been dealing with? This isn't like her. She's changed."

"How?" Clarke challenged. "I still get good grades; I'm still going to college." So what if she'd grown up a little and was doing more adult things now? She wasn't a little kid anymore.

"You're acting like a spoiled brat," her mom told her, "and your father and I didn't raise you that way."

"A spoiled brat?" Clarke resounded. "For wanting to spend time with my boyfriend while I still can?"

Since the conversation was heating up, Principal Sydney did her best to jump in and diffuse things by suggesting, "Let's go ahead and send Clarke back to class. She's already missed almost all of first period. You and I can continue this conversation on our own."

Fine by me, Clarke thought grumpily. She'd rather be learning about valence electrons than sitting here anyway.

"That sounds good," her mom said.

Mrs. Sydney looked at Clarke and used a way too nice-sounding voice when she asked, "Clarke, do you have any questions about anything we've discussed today?"

Yeah, she had plenty of questions. Like why did this have to happen to her and Bellamy? What had they done to deserve this? Were people in that school seriously going to follow through with keeping them separate, like not even sitting by each other at lunch? How was that fair?

Since not one of those questions was going to provide an answer she wanted to hear, she got up and stormed out of that office.

On her way back to chemistry, she contemplated breaking these rules her mother and the principal had just set out for her. If she took a right at the end of the hallway instead of a left, she could stroll by Bellamy's first period class, where the door was always hanging open. She could make eye contact with him and just give him that look. The horny kind. And then Bellamy would make up some excuse to leave, like he wasn't feeling well or had to go to the bathroom, and he'd meet her in the janitor's closet. Wouldn't have been the first time they'd hooked up there.

"Clarke!"

She spun around when she heard her name. "Wells?" What was her ex-boyfriend doing trotting after her? He was a TA in the office during first period, so . . . had he overheard everything?

"Where you headed?" he asked when he caught up to her.

"Somewhere," she answered vaguely. "Why?"

"Mrs. Sydney asked me to escort you back to class."

Oh, of course she had. The monitoring was starting up already. If they couldn't get a teacher to do it, they'd get a reliable student like Wells Jaha. And Clarke didn't want to get him in trouble for not doing his job, so reluctantly, she trudged down to the end of the hallway with him following behind her, and she took a left. Towards chemistry class.

...

Clarke opened the front door right as her mom was reaching for the doorbell. No need to wake Bellamy up again. Hopefully he'd fallen back asleep.

"What do you want?" she demanded, none too pleased to see her.

Her mother took off her gloves and said, "We need to talk."

"It's late," Clarke pointed out, stepping aside so her mom could, at the very least, come in from the cold.

"We're both awake."

Only because I'm hungry, Clarke thought, looking down at the banana in her hand. She was quickly losing her appetite, though, so she set it down on the coffee table, turned back to her mom, and folded her arms over her chest, waiting for . . . an apology, hopefully. But she wasn't banking on one.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, long seconds, it seemed, until her mom cleared her throat and started in. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier about your decision-making," she said. And that seemed to be the extent of the apology, because the next thing she said was, "But honey, we both know . . ."

"Yes, I know, Mom," Clarke cut in. "You don't have to remind me."

"I just think that something like this is a really big decision, and maybe we should talk about it some more before you just make up your mind."

"We can talk about it all you want, but I'm not gonna change my mind," Clarke told her. "I'm not going to med school. It just is what it is."

Her mom shook her head in dismay, apparently still not willing to accept her decision. "Do you realize what that means?" she said. "That means the past four years of your life have been for nothing. All the time and all the money spent on this education . . . just down the drain."

"I'm still gonna graduate," Clarke pointed out. "I'm still gonna have a degree."

"And what're you gonna do with it?" her mother challenged. "And what about the fact that I've pretty much paid your way through college? Do you even feel the slightest bit bad about that?"

She did, to an extent. But she'd helped out by getting scholarships. "Of course I'm grateful," she said. "But come on, Mom, let's not sit here and pretend money is some huge concern for you. You own two houses."

Her mom managed to seize on that to try to drive home her points even further. "Because I'm a doctor. Because I have a financially-secure job. Don't you want that for yourself? Don't you wanna be self-sufficient?"

"I don't have to be a doctor to do that." Technically, she was self-sufficient even now, with the exception of her mom's assistance with her college expenses. Other than that, she paid all her own bills, paid rent.

"This is Bellamy's influence, isn't it?" her mom said. "He's the one who convinced you . . ."

Her voice rose as she immediately became defensive of him. "Would you stop blaming him for everything? He has nothing to do with this. It's not about him, Mom; it's about me. And I don't wanna follow in your footsteps. At least not when it comes to my career."

A look of hurt flashed through her mother's eyes, and, for a second, Clarke actually felt kind of bad. Her mom wasn't perfect, obviously—hell, nobody really was. But she wasn't the worst mom in the world, either.

"Clarke . . . I know it hasn't always been smooth sailing between us, but please, you have to trust me on this," her mother begged. "I know what I'm talking about. Med school is the next logical step for you. And I know it won't be easy, and it might take a little longer because you'll be raising a child at the same time. That's understandable, and I'll help however I can. But I will not just stand here and let you throw away your future."

Before Clarke could get a word out in response, Bellamy's low voice boomed from the second floor. "So then don't stand here." He came downstairs, hair messy and tousled, t-shirt wrinkled, and he didn't look intimidated in the slightest. "In fact, why don't you just leave?"

Her mom stared at him in disbelief and huffed, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, stepping off the bottom stair. "She doesn't need this from you right now. She sure as hell doesn't deserve it. So she doesn't wanna be a doctor. Get over it. It's her life; she can do what she wants."

Clarke had never seen Bellamy stand up to her mom like this before. Despite all the insults and underhanded jabs she'd flung his way, he'd always tried to put his best foot forward with her. But he must have reached his limit.

"You've got a lot of nerve speaking to me like that under my own roof," she snarled.

"It may be your roof," he said, "but it's our home. And you can leave it."

Oh my god, Clarke thought, her heart pounding. This was . . . awesome.

Her mom must have been taken aback by how blunt and forceful he was being, because she didn't try to drag the conversation out any further. In fact, she didn't say anything else. She calmly put her gloves back on and walked out the door without another word. But judging by the look no her face, she was pissed.

"Oh, shit, that was terrifying," Bellamy said once she was gone.

"You did good," she told him, "but you didn't have to do that. I know you've been trying so hard to get her to like you."

He snorted. "Screw it. I'm not gonna let her lay into you like that. I mean, who does she think she is telling you what to do with your life?"

"My mom." Lots of moms did stuff like this. She just had to make sure she didn't end up doing the same.

"Well, that doesn't give her the right to treat you like shit," he said, moving closer to her so he could put his arms around her waist. "She can come at me all she wants; I'm pretty much used to that. But not you."

She looked up at him sadly, hating how that sounded. He was used to it. At this point, he'd probably given up hope that her mom would ever like him. And that was so unfair to him, especially since it probably had more to do with high school than anything else. Her mom seemed dead-set on holding onto the past. But Clarke just wanted to focus on the future.