Out On a Limb(41)

It rings only once before she picks up.

“She lives,” my mother declares as a form of greeting.

“Hey, Mom. Sorry. Things have been really busy lately. I’ve missed you.”

“Sarah said that too. She didn’t say much else, though. Keeping your secrets, as always. I assume that’s why you’re calling? She didn’t want to play middleman?”

“No! Well, yes, she did tell me you called. But things really have been busy. And yes—there is something I need to tell you.” I look up to the ceiling, willing the words to come. Or, alternatively, willing the well-timed beginning of an alien invasion or apocalyptic event. “I’m pregnant,” I say.

Two words. That’s it. Simple. Out there now. No taking it back.

The line goes quiet. Painfully quiet.

“Mom?”

“I’m here.”

“Did—did you hear me?”

“Hear what? Sorry, my show is on.”

“La Reina del Sur? Mom, it’s on Netflix—just pause it.” Some traditions, like Sunday night telenovelas, never die. That’s probably what Sarah is doing in bed right now too. That was always their thing, and sometimes Marcie and I were invited to join. Only if we didn’t ask too many questions like: Wasn’t he dead? Who is that? When did she have time for an affair between the murdering sprees? Isn’t that her stepfather?

She grumbles, her chair squeaking as she reaches for the remote. “Fine, fine, fine. Just, you caught me during a juicy bit. Teresa just called—”

“I’m pregnant,” I interrupt.

“You?” she says abruptly, accompanied by a stunned laugh.

I don’t know why her surprise offends me, but it does. “Yes, me.”

She makes a sound like sputtering. It’s half amusement, partial shock. “Well… who’s the guy?”

Of course. No how are you feeling? Or how far along? Or—okay, I suppose the next question might be who’s the guy, but the first two matter more. “His name is Bo. He’s a friend of mine. We got caught up at a party, and… you know the rest.” Not a complete fabrication. My mom doesn’t need to know I fucked the guy the same day I met him. Some things don’t need to be shared with the woman who began preaching abstinence-above-all to me when I was ten.

“Birth control zero; McNulty women two,” I joke flatly.

“And? Is he a loser or a decent man?”

I look around the nice bedroom in his house while sitting on my new bed that he provided and nod to myself. “A decent man. We’ve, uh, we’ve actually moved in together.”

I hear a whimper down the phone. A happy sort of relief mixed with a contented sigh. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Winnie. Truly, truly wonderful.”

I probably should have mentioned the context in which we are moving in together, but why bother now? I’m not going to set myself up for a more difficult conversation if I don’t have to. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier; it’s been a whirlwind. I’ve been really sick, and—”

“What’s he like?”

“Yikes,” I respond before I can help it.

“What?” she snips back.

“Mom,” I try to sound less agitated than I feel. “I was just telling you I’ve been throwing my guts up every day, and you interrupt to ask me about him. Bo is fine. He’s great. But your daughter could use some maternal advice.”

“Sorry, you’re right. I was so sick with you too, chickie. It’s awful, but someday soon, it’ll all be worth it.”

“Any tips?”

“The only thing that worked for me was consuming my weight in root beer and salted pretzels daily. Doctors would probably warn you against that method these days.”

“Think that’s how I got my hand?”

“Winnifred June!”

I giggle into the phone. My mom does too, but she’s fighting it as she always attempts to.

“I’m due July twenty-fourth,” I tell her once our giggles soften.

“Oh, wow. So… you’re a few months along.” There’s an unmistakable twinge of hurt in her voice that I obviously put there. I hate that she’s upset, but I also can’t say I wish I had called earlier. If I hadn’t waited, if I’d told her before deciding to move in with Bo, this conversation would be a lecture and a series of disappointment-filled platitudes.

I thought you’d have learned from my mistakes. I raised you better than this. How exactly are you going to provide for this baby on your own while working at a café? What man will want you now?

And, sure, I’m using Bo as an unknowing safety net by allowing my mom to think we’re together romantically. But what neither of them don’t know won’t hurt them.

“I’m fifteen weeks along, as of yesterday.” I pause, feeling a tinge of guilt. “It really has been busy. I promise.”

“Well, thanks for telling me now, I guess.”

“I am sorry, Mom. I think I got in my head about telling you. I wasn’t ready for it to feel real yet.”

“Does it feel real now?” she asks.

“No,” I answer honestly.

She sighs, some compassion returning to her humming tone. “I felt that way too. Up until they put a teeny, screaming you in my arms, it all felt a bit made up.”