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Chase picked me up at noon.
Pale, shaky, I climbed
in beside him.
Hi. You look awful.
I smiled. “Whose fault is that?”
We laughed at the not-funny joke
and headed into town.
Are you okay?
I shook my head. “I’m pregnant,
remember?” I leaned into
my hands, let the tears flow.
Please don’t cry. I’m here for you.
Here? He was going off to sunny
Southern California. I didn’t need
him anyway. Did I?
I love you. More than I realized.
“I love you, too. But I’m scared,
Chase.” He pulled to the side
of the road.
I’ll take care of you. The baby, too.
Was he giving me another choice?
Could I make that decision?
I was only 17.
Marry me, Kristina.
My knees buckled. My stomach
churned. Chase had stepped up to the plate.
The pitch was up to me.
Planned Parenthood
was a cinder-block
nightmare. It felt
