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“That’s not what I said,” Dad objects.
“You didn’t have to. I know how to read between the lines,” I assure him.
“We’re just trying to look out for you, honey,” Mom insists as I make my way toward the door.
“I’m going to speak to the front desk about meeting with a counselor who can tell me what to do to ease my morning sickness. Are you coming?” I ask.
They hesitate by the exam table, their expressions reticent.
Then my mom strides across the room. “Come sit back down, Dani. I’ll inquire about a counselor. But promise me that once we get home, we can discuss your options further.”
“I don’t see anything else to discuss. I have two options. Keep the baby or not. And I’ve already made my decision.”
The meeting with the counselor proves far more positive than my experience with the doctor and far more productive than my conversation with my parents. And by the time we leave the hospital, I’m well stocked with prenatal vitamins along with a long list of recommended ways to ease my nausea and what food will help me and the baby stay healthy.
The ride home is rather frigid, me unwilling to broach the conversation with my parents once again as they try to keep things light, avoiding the topic of my pregnancy entirely. That’s fine with me. I would prefer their denial to having to argue about an abortion anymore.
Still, when we do finally get home, my first stop is my bathroom. To look at my birth control pills. I suppose in all the chaos my life has become these last few months, it’s possible I skipped a day. Though I still find it unlikely.
The sting of my mom suggesting that I would skip my birth control intentionally still nags at me, making me want to prove her wrong. And as I count out the pills in the container, I find I’m at the appropriate pill for the current date. I hadn’t even stopped taking them in my grief-induced stupor this past week, though I clearly wouldn’t be needing them.
And as I fiddle with the package, wondering what I’m supposed to do with the pills if I’m not taking them anymore, something catches my eye. The tiny black date stamped along one corner of the package.
I squint, pulling it closer to my face just to be sure I’m reading it correctly.
Holy shit.
These pills are over two years past their expiration date.
I scoff in disbelief as I stare at the mistake. How have I never noticed the pills had an expiration date before? And more than that, how could the pharmacy have possibly sold them to me?
The irony is not lost on me that my mom’s failsafe strategy to keep me from getting knocked up is what led to my pregnancy. I didn’t even think twice about a condom with Efrem because I was sure my birth control would work.
And yet here we are.
I could almost laugh at the turn of events. If I weren’t so scared about where I’m supposed to go from here.
I can’t keep looking back. I know that. The only way to move from here is forward. Though what that might entail, I have no clue.
I know I need to be strong for the baby, but I have no idea what to do. I can’t turn to Silvia after Pyotr’s warning to stay away. Though I’m sure Silvia—and Pyotr—would help me, he’s right. They’re surrounded by violence and death, and as much as I might love them, I don’t want to expose my unborn child to that kind of danger.
No, I need to take this baby far away if I’m going to protect it. But how I’m going to do that when I have no job, no money, no college degree, that’s beyond me. Still, I need to try. For Efrem and for our child.
36
DANI
“Your father and I have discussed it, and you have one week,” Mom says, her expression hard, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“That’s unreasonable,” I insist, my heart pounding as we go around for what must be the twentieth time in three days. And in those three days, they’ve made one thing abundantly clear. If I refuse to get an abortion, then I can expect no help from them.
“No, what’s unreasonable is for you to decide you’re a grown-up before promptly falling into bed with a man who had done nothing but screw up your life, and then come crying back to us once he knocks you up and leaves you to fend for yourself,” she says, crossing her arms as she stands in the doorway to my room.
Against the soft, calming purples and blues that decorate my space, her fury looks torrential.
“God, you sure know how to twist things with your words, don’t you?” I sneer. “I’ve been home for weeks now—long before I knew Efrem knocked me up, and I’m not asking for indefinite support or anything. I just need a roof over my head until I’ve saved up enough to start somewhere new.”
“Yeah, well, I hope you know you won’t be leaving town with that car your father and I gave you. The title’s in his name, and it’s staying with us. We refuse to support this self-destructive path you’re on.”
