In addition to every other woman, and some of the men, Morgan had imagined telling her mother. I had sex with Brody. We used a condom but maybe it broke or maybe he put it on wrong but I’m pregnant. And I can’t have a baby. I can’t.
She could imagine saying all of that. The problem was, Morgan could also imagine exactly what her mother would say. It’s a baby, Morgan. From the moment of conception, it’s a whole new life. And I can’t let you kill a baby!
That was what her parents had taught her. That was what they believed. Morgan knew that she was on her own with this. You could get an abortion in Ohio, as long as you did it before your twenty-first week, but you needed a parent or guardian’s permission if you were under eighteen, and Morgan knew there was no way—no way at all—that either of her parents would consent. She guessed she was lucky that they had the bike trip planned. She’d gone over the itinerary, using the school’s computer to look things up, and she’d found a Planned Parenthood in Syracuse, one of the cities where they’d spend the night.
Olivia had been with her when Morgan had bought the pregnancy test. She’d taken it in Olivia’s bathroom, and she’d called the clinic from Olivia’s bedroom, when both of her friend’s mothers were at work. The lady on the other end had asked questions: What’s your date of birth? When was your last period? Is your cycle regular? Were you using birth control?
The lady had explained that a doctor would examine Morgan and determine how far along she was. Once they knew, they’d decide whether she’d have to have a surgical abortion, or a medical one.
“What does that mean?” Morgan asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“For a medical abortion, the doctor would give you two different kinds of medication to take, and usually within a few hours, the contents of your uterus would empty.”
The contents of my uterus. Morgan could imagine her father repeating those words, scornfully, from his pulpit. Oh, they’ve got all kinds of pretty words to hide it, but what they’re really talking about is a baby, he would say. A baby they’d be happy to murder, to tear, limb from limb, right up to the moment the mother gives birth.
“Will it hurt?” she whispered.
“It depends. The cramping can be intense for some women, and the bleeding can be very heavy. For some women, it’s not much worse than a regular period.”
“Will I be able to ride my bike, after it’s over?”
The woman chuckled a little. “No. You’re going to want to spend the next day in bed, resting,” the lady told her. But Morgan knew that wasn’t an option. She’d just have to push through it, to keep her secret. She could handle pain, blood, cramps. She could handle whatever she had to handle, as long as her mom and dad didn’t find out what she’d done.
All day long, with every rotation of her bike’s wheels, Morgan thought about her secret. She reviewed the plans she’d made—how she’d hang toward the back of the group and then ride her bike to the clinic. She still didn’t know what would happen there, and all the woman could tell her was We’ll examine you and see how far along you are. Then we can discuss your options. It had been Olivia’s idea to buy a cheap burner phone at the drugstore two suburbs away. Morgan thought it was unnecessary until Olivia had shown her a story about a seventeen-year-old girl in Nebraska and her mother who’d been charged with a felony after the police had gotten access to Facebook messages where the mom was instructing her daughter on how to take the pills that had ended her pregnancy. If they got her messages, they can get your phone, and they can see who you’ve been calling, Olivia had said. So they’d bought the phone at the drugstore, and had sat on Olivia’s bed to make the call, once the bedroom door was locked.
“Can you just send me the pills?” Morgan had asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“There are places you can find online that will do that, and they’ll send you instructions about how to use them,” the woman said, carefully. “That isn’t a service we offer.” She paused. “You’re how old?”
“Fifteen,” Morgan said.
The woman paused again. “I won’t tell you what to do, or that you shouldn’t just go ahead and order the pills. That’s an option, and it’s your choice. But I will say that, because of your age, for your own safety, I’d feel better if a doctor could examine you, if you can get here quickly. If that’s feasible.” The woman paused, and what she said next made Morgan sure about her choice. “If you were my daughter, that’s what I’d want.”