17 year old Callie is at her lowest point. Alone and depressed most of the summer, she feels fat and ugly-and school starts Monday. Her mother Michelle is about to have a baby, and won't tell anyone who the father is. The reality TV show that Michel...
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Michelle made a stink about getting into the ambulance to go to the hospital, which mystified Zam. She would not get on the gurney, and insisted on walking out to the ambulance herself, though she did allow a fireman on either side to support her by the arms. Was she hiding something from the neighbors? They could hardly miss an eight- foot-tall ambulance with flashing lights. In fact, there was already a small, casual crowd at the end of the driveway, in which Zam recognized one of the bullet-headed punks who jammed their cars into the small driveway of the house across the street. So what was Michelle's motive in walking to the ambulance? Misdirected pride? Sarah Conner toughness? Britney Spears inappropriateness?
While they helped Michelle up the steps of the ambulance, Callie grabbed Zam and pulled him back into the deserted kitchen. She stared at him from under jagged eyebrows. "No tell, no text, no tattle."
"Why?"
"I'll tell you later."
"It's the show, isn't it?" Zam knew Callie's mom was trying out for a reality show. He had never heard of the show, which was on some obscure cable channel.
Callie nodded. "Of course, it's the show."
"That's why you didn't tell me."
"Of course." It was nice that she thought to put a note of pleading in her voice. "I was
sworn."
He felt a little less lied to. A joke occurred to him. "Hey, it's your birth. Ya know? Like it's your funeral only..." Callie smiled, and Zam thought, oh, what the fnork. He grabbed her hand. "I might be an emo twit, but you can count on me. I love to withhold information. Any information, from anybody. But..." He glanced around. No one was paying attention to them. "Why is the baby a secret?"
"It's not a secret." Callie tapped his forehead once, softly, with her forefinger. "It's private."
Zam considered this baffling statement. Was there some kind of Zen meaning to it, or just a bullshit meaning? At the moment he could not say.
***
Michelle lay on the bed in the cool semi-darkness, the blinds and curtains drawn against the sun. Home from the hospital at midnight, exhausted, but constantly aware of every move and breath the baby made, she hadn't really been able to sleep all night, but dropped into tiny naps while her mind kept racing and twirling. Finally, at mid-morning, they all slept quietly for a couple of hours.
Now Callie sat by her feet, holding the baby, staring down at him. Michelle wanted to hold him, but she didn't dare. Because he had to go soon. She should have called the adoption agency from the hospital, but didn't, making excuses to herself. She had insisted they give the baby formula despite her engorged breasts, and she insisted on a small pack of Pampers. Now she really had to call the adoption lady. She glanced again at the phone in its charger on the nightstand,and began to cry.
"What are you crying for?" Callie kept her gaze on the boy.
"I'm not crying," said Michelle, dabbing at her cheeks. "I've got to call the adoption place."
"Oh." Callie snuggled him a little. "Say we don't?"
Michelle would not be tempted. "We shouldn't get too close. It'll make it hard."
"We're already too close." Callie cooed at the baby. "Little tosser. Little git."
Michelle stared up at the ceiling, fear and hopelessness clawing at her. "It's the only thing I can do."
Callie's voice rose sharply. "You can do? What about Edouard?"
Michelle hoped to cut off the subject. "He would never understand."
"He wouldn't understand that you secretly had his baby, and you had it adopted without his knowledge?" Callie rolled her eyes. "What is wrong with the man?"
"No, he can't know." Michelle shook her head. She wasn't ready to tell Callie the whole truth. Maybe she could get by with half. "If there is no father, it's easier."
"You think he won't notice that there's a baby in the house?"
"There isn't going to be a baby in the house."
The baby gurgled and his little fists waved. Callie bounced him softly. The perfection of the two of them, the moving together so easily, reduced Michelle's resolve to tapioca. She had to call right now, or she never would.
"So, Edouard is not the father?" said Callie.
"I didn't say that."
"But you're not going to marry him. At least I was willing to try to get to like him. But giving the baby away is a much worse idea. And there has to be a father."
"Not if he abandoned me."
"Who abandoned you?"
"The father."
"Who was that?" Callie gave her a disbelieving look. She had never asked her mother that question throughout the whole pregnancy.
"He abandoned me." Michelle searched her memory banks for a suitable fictional father. "Leaving nothing but a braided chain. He was a sailor."
"A whated who? A sailor?" Callie laughed. "In Phoenix? Have ye gone quite daft, woman?"
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Michelle shrugged. She could not say more. She was caught in a cast-iron pickle. At the hospital, the doctor had confirmed what Michelle had struggled for months to deny. The baby was not premature. He was full term. That meant his conception had come almost a month earlier than Michelle had been telling Callie and trying desperately to believe herself. She had insisted the doctor keep this information to herself, but she needn't have bothered. She was just a staff doctor, and once she left the room, Michelle never saw her again.
So the baby came right on time, not early. And that means that Edouard is not the father. So who is it? Comments welcome.
