Father Knows Best Part 8

She huffed, sounding utterly miserable. "Yeah, right. I'm just great. I'm knocked up, exhausted, and my b.o.o.bs totally hurt. Senior year is ruined, my parents are so utterly disappointed with me that you'd think it was World War Three in our house, and my so-called friends are talking about me behind my back. I'm just peachy, Mary," she said, with heavy sarcasm. "My life is one big F-ing party."

A renewed tense silence stretched between us. I guess it had been a pretty inane question now that I thought about it, but she didn't have to be so b.i.t.c.hy. "Meryl," I said, finally.

"Huh?"

"My name is Meryl, not Mary."

"Oh."

No apology, just more silence. I cleared my throat. "So, what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"About the baby."

She hiked one shoulder. "Have it. I guess. What else is there to do? You can't exactly clench up and keep it in."

I didn't feel like it was my place to point out all the various options. This whole conversation was weird enough already. "Is everything progressing...normally?"

"I guess." She glanced over at me then, her narrowed eyes laced with suspicion.

I expected her to grill me about invading her personal business, but she didn't. I remained silent, giving her the next opportunity to speak.

"You work there?" she asked, hiking her chin toward the pretty purple facade of Inner Power.

"Yes."

She studied me from head to toe. "You're not a witch, are you? I heard that was some kind of a witch store."

I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. Obviously she'd never been inside, but then again, why would she? We didn't carry designer purses. "It's a metaphysical shop. There's a Wiccan section, but there's more to the shop than that. It's very cool, actually."

She nodded, then crinkled her nose. "Yeah, but isn't it run by a couple of lesbians?"

Okay, line crossed. The back of my neck p.r.i.c.kled at her judgmental tone, and I stiffened, immediately second-guessing my decision to be the bigger person and come out here. Pick on me all you want, but don't judge my friends. "Reese and Kelly have been together since college. They're one of the most loving, stable couples I know. Yeah, they're two women," I added, in a snappish tone. "So what? This is the twenty-first century, in case you haven't noticed."

My uncharacteristic las.h.i.+ng out seemed to subdue her. After a moment, she said, "I suppose you're right. I'm not exactly in the position to question other people's choices, am I?" She shrugged. "After all, if I'd chosen to be a lesbian instead of a post-breakup s.l.u.t, I wouldn't be in this predicament, would I?"

I didn't bother launching into the "h.o.m.os.e.xuality isn't a choice" lecture. That's what I believe, but she could believe whatever she wanted as long as she didn't bash people I care about in my presence. "You're not a s.l.u.t just because you happen to be pregnant," I said instead. Speaking of judgmental. I hate the c.r.a.p society piles on women. What about the guy? Was he a s.l.u.t?

"Well, you're the only person who thinks that," she muttered.

I took a deep breath. "What are you doing out here?"

A beat pa.s.sed. "Sitting."

Queen of the obvious, this girl. She was s.h.i.+vering violently, I noticed, and her fingers were white. Her normally perfect manicure consisted of chipped purple polish and nails bit to the quick. My (irritating) compa.s.sionate side returned. I silently forgave her for the ignorant comments about Reese and Kelly, even though my annoyance about it still lingered. With a sigh of resignation, I said, "You know, it's cold out here."

"Gee, really? You should be a meteorologist."

My face flamed again, but I told myself her snotty tone was a self-protective measure and ignored it as best I could. "Well, if you're just sitting, why don't you come inside the shop?"

"What do you mean?"

"There are some comfy chairs. I'll make tea. You can stay as long as you like and no one will bother you. We're that kind of shop. Inclusive."

"Are you serious?"

I nodded. "You know us lesbian witches. Sweet to the core," I said, in as sarcastic a tone as I could ever manage, which wasn't saying much. Lila, now she was president of the Snark and Sarcasm Society. I wasn't even an a.s.sociate member.

Jennifer flicked a surprised glance my way. "Are you-? Oh. No." She shook off the notion. "You're dating that Bosnian guy."

"They actually name their children in Bosnia now."

"Huh?"

I sighed. Subtlety was totally lost on Jennifer. "His name is Ismet, not 'that Bosnian guy,' and yeah, I was only kidding. But you're more than welcome to come in the shop. Everyone is," I added, hoping she'd get the gist that we didn't discriminate, and maybe she should follow suit.

She hesitated, lifting her eyes to study the storefront again.

"Look, it's just an offer. I can understand you wanting to get out of the house, be alone, but there's no reason for you to stay outside."

After a moment, she asked in a low tone, "Why?"

"Um, because it's pouring rain?"

"No. I mean, why are you being nice to me?" She met my gaze steadily.

Good question, but unexpected. "I-"

"Face it, we both know I've never been the least bit nice to you. In fact, I've treated you like dirt for years."

True enough. A triumphant thrill rushed through me from the simple fact of her acknowledging what a witch (ha ha) she's always been, but I maintained my composure. And I told her the truth. "Because you're alone. You're sad. And you're sitting in a downpour right in front of the shop where I can see you." I paused. "I know you don't like me, and that's fine. I have all the friends I need. But, like you said, I also know what it feels like to constantly be treated like dirt."

Her face reddened.

"I can't stand by and watch you s.h.i.+vering and miserable out here." I spread my arms. "Think what you will about me, but I'm not a mean person like that."

"No," she said, softly. Almost too softly for me to hear. "You aren't."

Those three simple words melted my iciness. I jostled her shoulder with mine. "So, what do you say?"

She shrugged, but her voice came out watery sounding, like she could barely hold back tears. "Whatever."

I stood, then waited.

After a moment, Jennifer stood, too.

As we crossed the street, curiosity got the better of me. I asked, "So, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you mean what you said about...um...your b.o.o.bs really hurting?"

"Pain like you wouldn't believe," she said, rolling her eyes toward the sky. "Imagine pre-period soreness and then magnify it about a hundred times. And they're getting ugly stretch marks on the sides, which is probably more than you wanted to hear. I guess it's a normal part of pregnancy."

"Yikes."

"Yeah. The pain keeps me awake at night. That and the peeing every five seconds. This baby stuff just...sucks."

I nodded. "Have you thought about adoption?"

Her eyebrow furrowed. "Why would I adopt? I'm already pregnant."

I laughed that time-just couldn't help it. The Society of the Profoundly Obtuse has a poster child, apparently, and her name is Jennifer Hamilton. "No. I meant about giving the baby up for adoption."

"Oh. Duh. Of course." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I haven't been sleeping well."

"Because of...the b.o.o.b thing?"

"That, and the constant worry." She shrugged. "My brain doesn't seem to work right on sleep deprivation."

"No one's does." I pulled the door to the shop open and the bell jangled. "It's me, Reese!" I called out.

"Okay, hon," she hollered back, distractedly.

"Reese," Jennifer said. "Is she one of the-?"

"Owners," I said sharply, cutting off whatever ignorant comment she was about to make, because I truly didn't want to punch a pregnant girl, even if she pushed me to the edge. "Yes, she is."

The warmth and soothing vibe of Inner Power wrapped around us like a hug. I watched Jennifer rubbing her hands together, taking it all in. She looked pleasantly surprised that we weren't sacrificing goats or virgins or something in here. Oh-I guess I should've left that virgin part off, just to be sensitive to the situation. "So? Adoption?" I prompted, since she hadn't answered.

She unzipped her soaked hoodie and shook it over the entrance mat, the water droplets making little ploppity-plop sounds as they hit the rubber.

I pointed toward the totally cool coat tree fas.h.i.+oned out of real tree branches, and she hung it up. I did the same with my slicker.

"Well, since my parents are threatening me hourly unless I do put the baby up for adoption, yeah, I've thought about it. But they're just being such jerks, always hammering it into my head that I'm a disappointment." Her chin quivered. She pressed her lips together until it stopped, and I extended her the courtesy of acting like I hadn't seen. "That fact alone makes me want to do the opposite of what they want," she finished, her tone bitter.

"Yeah, but be realistic. Are you ready to be a mom?"

She blew out a sigh. "No. No way."

"Then forget rebelling against your parents and think about what you want to do." I raised my palms. "I mean, do you really want to pull an 'I'll show you' with your parents and wind up with a baby at seventeen?"

"No, you're right. It all just sucks. I'm overwhelmed and just...overwhelmed." She hiked her shoulders and let them fall. "I don't know another word for it."

I decided to drop the subject. Instead, I spread my arms to encompa.s.s the cozy store. "So, this is the place."

She peered around again. "It's cute. And it smells good in here."

"Essential oils. And candles." I gestured toward the super-comfy chairs in one corner of the book section. "Feel free to look around, but if you want to just sit, those chairs are the primo spot."

"I'll sit for now. I'm so exhausted."

"I guess that's normal, too. Right?"

She nodded. "Especially in the first trimester."

"Do you want some herbal tea?"

Her nose crinkled. "Do you have hot chocolate?"

I nodded. "My own private stash. Marshmallows?"

"Sure." A small, pensive look strained the corners of her mouth. "Meryl, wait."

I stopped. Turned. Crossed my arms.

"Let me just...say something."

She hesitated, and I have to say it's the first time I've ever seen Jennifer looking genuine, free of agendas or meanness. It softened her sharp edges and actually made her look pretty-no makeup, dressed like a slob, bad dye job and everything.

She cleared her throat. "I still don't fully understand why you'd be this nice to me after...everything. I mean"-pain and, dare I say, embarra.s.sment? tightened her eyes-"it's definitely not how I'd react if the situation was reversed, which says a lot about my personality, I guess. But...thank you. I mean it."

I chose my words carefully. "Some people don't see the point in being nasty for nasty's sake," I said, before heading to the back for the cocoa.

Just remember how nice I'm being once your trauma ends.

And how good it feels when people aren't evil to you.

I wished I could say it out loud, but that's Jennifer's life lesson to learn in her own time. The best I can do is lead by example, I suppose.

Two hours later, Jennifer was sound asleep in one of the narcolepsy chairs (my pet name for them, because they were soooo comfortable) with alternative birthing books piled up around her. I tiptoed over and glanced at the open one on her lap. I'm always curious about what other people are reading.

Bending down, I read a few lines.

Well, well. Jennifer "isn't that a witch store?" Hamilton was reading up on the ancient Navajo Blessingway ceremony to celebrate a woman's transition into motherhood, which isn't exactly mainstream fare. Interesting. The Navajos say, "Whatever happens here on earth must first be dreamed," and that's what a Blessingway's all about. It made me wonder if she was considering keeping the baby. And that made me think about Lila, and what she would think if she walked into the store right this very second.

My chest tightened.

Gosh, this being a good person vs. being a loyal friend stuff is super difficult. Really, it shouldn't be mutually exclusive, but that all depends on who's the father of Jennifer's baby. If it is Dylan, I can't blame Lila for her feelings. I should just ask Jennifer, but I was afraid to hear the answer.

Awful.

I went crossed to the cash wrap area and plunked my elbows onto the countertop, then rested my forehead in my hands. I was going to have to tell Lila about Jennifer. If only I knew how. Just then, Reese emerged from the back room in mid-comment about placing an order for some new soy candles or something.

I glanced up and laid a finger across my lips, then pointed toward Jennifer. Reese raised her perfectly arched eyebrows, then tilted her head toward the back room. I followed her.