Accidents Will Happen

Chapter Eleven

Sitting on her bed, reading through the printout draft of her history essay on the Great Drought, Elphaba found it difficult to get past the first two paragraphs. It was quiet, she realised. Too quiet. It was the Friday before mid-semester break, and Galinda had gone out with Shennie and Phanphan and the rest of their annoying clique. That in itself wasn't unusual or bad. What really baffled her was the sudden awareness of how awfully unaccustomed she'd become to solitude.

For the past two weeks, their cohabitation hadn't at all been the way it used to be before their big fight, but they'd somehow agreed on an unspoken truce. They were cordial with each other, bordering on friendly, and Elphaba had taken up the chef's hat once again, shopping for and cooking their meals. Dinners were that one time of the day when their conversations, their banter, and all the small interactions between them felt almost normal again. At least until Elphaba eventually returned to her room, and Galinda stayed behind to clean the kitchen before disappearing upstairs.

They hardly spent time in the living room these days, but ran into each other just often enough to not feel lonely. And in between, Elphaba would hear Galinda talking loudly on the phone or listening to music with her speakers on a volume high enough to suggest that it was not on accident. Occasionally, Galinda would find an excuse to poke her head through the ever open door of Elphaba's room and talk to her.

All in all, knowing and feeling that her roomie always was around and keeping tabs on her was shockingly comforting. Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder if that, too, was intentional, and whether Glinda had deliberately put her social life on hold, solely for her benefit. Such a line of thought rather distressed than consoled her though, and she'd simply shake her head at her own overactive imagination and move on. Galinda had already done much more for her than could be expected, but even her benevolence and altruism had limits.

Thinking of extraordinary favours...

Elphaba put her essay aside and reached under the pillow, producing a blue envelope. She still remembered vividly how she'd unsuspectingly opened the loosely tucked in flap after finding it sitting on her desk. She'd been rather confused as she'd pulled out a wad of cash, certainly more than she'd ever physically held in her hands before. Only after hurriedly stuffing the money back whence it came from, had she paid any heed to the sticky note attached to the envelope.

'This is a gift, not a loan.

Don't thank me.

Don't ever speak of it.'

The message had astounded her more than anything, though at a second glance, it definitely made sense. Then, she'd noticed a small, folded piece of paper that seemed to have tumbled out along with the notes. Upon closer inspection, it had revealed the details of a private clinic. A recommendation, she'd supposed. Or an order perhaps, seeing as it was more or less tied to the necessary funds.

But she'd never ended up using any of the money. The initial consultation, as well as the cancellation fee, she'd paid out of her own pocket. After all, she'd accumulated at least some savings from working all those extra hours.

For a short while following her cowardly last minute cop-out, she'd told herself every single morning that she'd call the clinic sometime after school to make a new appointment. Until she'd eventually realised that she never would, and that her change of mind that day had not been cowardly, nor a cop-out. It had been a decision she'd played with all along but never dared to entertain in earnest. The supposed delay had served as a necessary step on her way to accepting that this was what she truly wanted.

Well, mostly, that was. She wasn't entirely or passionately convinced that either option was the best to choose. In fact, both of them probably were the wrong decision to make, with no right path anywhere in sight. It had all gone haywire from the very point when she'd fallen pregnant, and that was something an abortion would not be able to erase. Because she'd never be able to forget, and never not feel like she'd miserably failed this test life had presented her with.