This Fragile Life. Кейт Хьюит
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Название: This Fragile Life
Автор: Кейт Хьюит
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9781472017109
isbn:
No, it damn well doesn’t seem fair, but weirdly I’m glad she’s acknowledged it. “What are you going to do?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t know.”
I feel a little better hearing that, although I’m not sure why. “What about the father?”
“I haven’t contacted him.”
“You’re not—dating?”
She lets out an abrupt laugh and shakes her head. “No.”
“Well.” I sit back. “I want to support you.” This sounds trite, and yet I mean it.
“I thought I was going to get rid of it,” she says in a low voice, not looking at me. “I mean, no-brainer, right? There’s no way I can have a baby.”
I don’t reply to that. “And then what happened?” I ask.
Another shrug. She still won’t look at me. “I don’t know. I keep meaning to call and then I just—don’t.” She glances up at me and I see a surprising welter of pain and confusion in her eyes; I’m so used to seeing Alex seeming laid-back to the point of indifference, the emotion surprises me. “I’ve had two abortions already,” she says and looks away again. I feel a cold ripple of surprise; I didn’t know that, and I’m surprised she didn’t tell me. We’ve been good friends, maybe even best friends, since college. Since that night I showed up on her doorstep and she let me in, no questions asked.
She sighs wearily. “I don’t know. I’m being stupid. I mean, there’s no way I could keep a baby. I don’t even have health insurance. And in any case…” She pauses, lowering her head so her hair falls in front of her face. “I can’t really see me as a mom, can you?”
No, I can’t, but this doesn’t seem like the time to say it, so I just murmur something unintelligible.
“I mean, I’d probably forget it somewhere, I’m that flaky,” she says with a little laugh that still sounds sad. “And you know, babies are so full on, aren’t they? They don’t just go away when you’re tired of them or whatever.” I say nothing and she laughs again and shakes her head. “Listen to me. Just the fact that I’m saying all this proves my point, right?”
I have a terrible feeling that she’s asking this question because she wants me to tell her that it doesn’t, that she’d be a good mom, she can do this. I don’t say any of it. The words bottle in my throat so I can barely swallow, because I know what I want now, and I want it so badly. “You don’t have to keep it,” I hear myself saying, and I sound weird, distant, as if someone else is talking and I am floating up above the table, watching this play out.
Alex stares at me, frowning, clearly waiting for more. And there is more. “You don’t have to keep it,” I say again, firmly now. “But you don’t have to get rid of it either. You could give it to me. Rob and I could adopt the baby, Alex.”
Chapter 4
ALEX
I hear what Martha says and I am both completely shocked and not surprised at all. I stare at her, my thoughts tumbling through my mind in an unholy kaleidoscope, so I can only snatch at fragments: if she adopts this baby, I’’ll see it all the time. We’’ll have to explain to our parents. I’’ll be pregnant and yet I won’’t have anything at the end. Martha will be so happy.
I shake my head. I’m not sure what I want to say or even think. “Martha—”
“Just think it over,” she says quickly. “I know it’s a lot to process, and of course there’s a lot we both need to think over. It’s a big deal.”
Hell, yes. It’s a very big deal. And still I just stare.
“Only if you want to,” she adds. “I mean, if you’re really sure you don’t want to keep it yourself. It’s an option, that’s all.”
An option that changes everything. How can I turn it—her—down? How can I get an abortion now, without seeming totally selfish? And if I did want to keep it, how could this not always be between us? The baby Martha could have had. The baby I shouldn’t have, that I feel as if I don’t deserve because I didn’t want it in the first place. Because I can’’t be a mom.
“Of course,” Martha continues, “Rob and I would make it worth your while.”
“You’d…pay me?”
“No, not pay,” Martha says. A faint blush touches her cheeks. “That’s illegal, in any case. I just mean we’d make sure you were taken care of, Alex. The medical bills and everything. I mean, even maternity clothes can be expensive. You know, the whole thing could kind of be fun. Almost…almost like we’re both pregnant, you know?” She smiles, and for a second I am reminded of years ago, our senior year of college, when we went to Fort Lauderdale together for spring break. We had an amazingly silly, fun time, just the two of us, kicking around on the beach and in bars, goofing off.
That vacation cemented our friendship so much that even when our lives veered in dramatically different directions, we still met up for coffee or dinner or a glass of wine. I was Martha’s maid of honor, even though she had three gorgeous, accomplished friends from Yale who could have easily stepped into those shoes. She told me she asked me because she was going to be tense enough dealing with her mother, and she needed someone to help her relax.
And even though I’ve rolled my eyes at her controlling and OCD tendencies, I’m glad to have someone like her in my life. I’ve needed someone like her in my life, because if I didn’t I’d just flake out completely. And I know, I absolutely know, she’d make a wonderful mom. A little strict maybe, and probably totally by the book, but still, a good mother.
But to my baby?
Martha is still staring at me, waiting for what? An answer, already? “Sorry,” I finally mutter. “I’m still processing all this.”
“Of course you are. I am too. I’m sorry to spring the idea on you like that. It just popped into my mind.” She bites her lip, and for a second she looks more uncertain, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
And I don’t answer, because I’m still reeling, and part of me is thinking, Yeah, maybe you shouldn’’t have.
Martha returns to work a little while later; I don’t remember what the rest of our conversation was like. She talked about some ad account for women’s running shoes she was working on and I just blanked out. I still feel blank as I take the 6 train down to Union Square and then walk across to the Sunflower Café on Third Avenue.
I’ve been working at the Sunflower for ten years; it’s a funky little place with a relaxed atmosphere and a laid-back owner, Julia, who actually cares about her employees, all three of us. It’s me, Jasmine, and Eduardo, and I get along with both of them.
As I walk in I see it’s me and Eduardo on duty today, and I put my bag in the back and slide on my apron without really meeting his eyes. I still feel weirdly blank, and I’m not sure I can manage a normal conversation.
Eduardo СКАЧАТЬ