The Book of Strings

7

When I returned to the parked van, I saw Lia perched on the curb next to the it, her knees held to her chest. Her expression was vacant and preoccupied; the busyness behind her eyes was evident.

I walked over to her. 

"What are you doing up?"

She shrugged.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Fair enough."

I sighed and sat down with her.

"I went for a walk. I saw stingrays," I ventured. She looked tired, worn.

"Hm." Her eyes focused gradually, as if she was just then realizing she was speaking to another person. "It's weird being near water," she mumbled.

"Yeah. Hard to get used to. I couldn't sleep with all of this right here," I admitted. "I'm surprised the others could."

Lia sniffed and pushed her hair back from her forehead.

"The world could erupt and those two wouldn't wake up." She snorted halfheartedly at her own attempt at a humorous exchange.

"Your turn," I said. "Why are you up? Is everything okay?"

"I threw up."

"Oh, sorry I didn't get here sooner," I apologized.

She shook her head.

"It's not your fault."

"Can I get you anything?"

In that moment, Lia wore the face of someone who was trapped. Her eyes echoed panic, her breathing was shallow and her shoulders might as well have reached her ears. She shifted her weight uncomfortably and shook her head.

"You've been looking kinda sick since we left. Do you think it's just a stomach thing or what?" I asked.

"No, I know what it is."

"What?"

Her lips parted to release a breath I could tell she'd been holding in anticipation.

"You can't tell Kip. Not yet. Okay?"

"Okay."

There was a pause.

"I'm late."

She looked pained to say it. Here eyes squinted and her mouth pinched in a grimace.

"Really?"

She nodded.

"How long?"

"Three weeks."

"Oh."

I could feel myself beginning to panic, but masked it for her sake.

"Well..." I stuttered. "I guess this explains a lot."

Lia inhaled deeply and put her face in her hands. 

"Oliver, I don't want a kid," she mumbled through a suppressed sob.

She gestured at nothing in particular with an angry expression. "I can't be a mom. I'm eighteen."

"You could abort it, if it comes down to it," I noted.

Lia sniffed and looked up at me.

"I would if I could."

"It's an option if you're ready for it. We're all happy to help you with this," I offered. "Kip would understand."

Her breath was that of a person receiving the worst possible news. The slow exhalation that admitted the recognition of defeat was gently freed from her chest in a declaration of glorious release.