WHEN THINGS GO SOUTH

Chapter 2- The End of The Innocence

"Riley Blair, are you pregnant?" Momma announces as we were putting on our faces in the small, shared bathroom mirror, with our cheap drugstore makeup spread out on the small counter.

"Oh God, Momma, no! What? Why are you asking that?" I am pregnant. I know it, but she doesn't. I had taken a test at Nick's house the week before. One we had snuck into his bathroom when his parents were at work. We haven't told anyone. We've been scared and don't know how to.

Momma answers, "Well, Riley Blair, I haven't noticed you have your monthly lately."

I just froze, speechless.

Momma continues, "Daddy left us some money to go shopping. I need some new jeans, and you could use a new jacket."

She hates my blue jean jacket, and ugh, he is not my Daddy; he is Daddy Number Seven. Momma hated that I called them by their number.

Momma pauses from mushing her lips together, spreading her bright red lipstick, "And on the way, we will be stopping by Dr. Bradford's office to take one of those pregnancy tests."

We walk into our family doctor's office. Momma is well known here. Seems to stop by every time she has a headache or a sneeze.

As we shake off the cold and approach the counter, it feels like all eyes are on me, like they know exactly what I am here for. Nurse Sue says to Momma, "Hi Maggie, you here to see Dr. Bradford?"

Momma waves her hand, "Oh no, honey, not today," as she leans over the counter and whispers ever so discreetly, "Riley Blair needs to take a pregnancy test."

As we sit in the exam room in the cold metal chairs with the smell of alcohol filling the tiny room, I look at the canisters filled with cotton balls and bandages and the cold steel bed with what looks to be stirrups; I start feeling nauseous. I am sixteen, barely a teenager. I still have Cabbage Patch dolls and stuffed animals sitting on my bed. I mean, I love babies, always have. I packed every younger cousin I had around on my hip, changing diapers, feeding bottles, but this was different; this one would be mine, all the time. I couldn't just hand it back after playing house and dress up for a couple of hours. And oh Heavens, the pain I had heard the older women talk about, and how my Granny always told me The Bible says the closest pain you will ever feel to death is childbirth.

I can't do this! I still refuse shots when I get my yearly strep throat. Finally, the nurse comes in through the creaking door, dressed in her white dress and little white flossy hat that sat on top of her head; it looks to be made of paper. My shaky hand takes the small clear cup with a yellow lid from her hand. She tells us the results will take a few hours, and we can call back around one o'clock.

Momma and I go about our day shopping. I don't think she thought the test would come back positive. This is apparent when we get to the Winchester Mall, where she buys me a couple of new outfits a size double zero.

I let her, knowing I wouldn't be able to wear them for long. As we are checking out, the lady at the register asks if I would be interested in modeling some clothes at their yearly fashion show, I shyly decline. I won't be modeling clothes in the next few months unless they are maternity, and I don't think Belly Up Boutique around the corner is looking for a sixteen-year-old baby-faced kid to model their maternity line.

As we make our way to the exit, Momma looks at her watch; it's two o'clock.

She makes her way over to the phone tree in the foyer of the mall. Seriously? Here? Now? I am thinking.

I know what the answer on the other end of that phone will be, but if I insist that she wait, she will know I know, and it's best to just let her think she is the Sherlock Holmes in this case.