What You Always Wanted (28 page)

“My friend's high school is doing
Sweeney Todd
next month,” Rica continues, sitting so close to the edge of her seat I find myself wishing she'd fall off and smash her shapely little nose on the floor. “You could talk to them about what they're doing to raise money. Like, you know how Sweeney kills people with his razor and the lady downstairs makes meat pies out of the bodies? Well, they're going to sell these tiny pies at intermission along w—”

“Thank you, Rica.” Mrs. Morales stops her, not a second too soon. “I'm well informed about what the other schools nearby are working on.”

Brian leans close to me and whispers, “That musical sounds
awesome
. We should do it next year.”

I scrunch up my face. “It sounds abhorrent.”

He rolls his eyes and bumps my leg with his knee. “Don't be so stuck up.”

Brian and I are lost in our own joke world for only a minute, but it's enough that I miss the office assistant slipping into the room and pulling Mrs. Morales aside. They chat briefly, and then Mrs. Morales leaves her by the door and approaches . . . me?

“Maddie,” she says quietly, her voice smooth, calm. “Will you take your things with you and go with Miss Foley to the office?”

My pulse pounds in my ears as my mind runs through various scenarios. Am I in trouble? Not likely. Did something happen to Rider? To Ma? Dad?

I open my mouth to ask what this is about, but Brian speaks up first.

“Should I go with her?” Brian asks, and his concern sends an extra wave of anxiety through me.

Mrs. Morales must've nodded or something, because in an instant Brian has his backpack on and he hoists mine over a shoulder and we're sweeping out the door in a fog.

“What's going on?” I ask once we're in the hallway.

“Everything's okay,” Miss Foley's quick to say, but I don't relax. She leads us toward the front of the school. “I've got your father on the office phone. This way.”

“What? Why?” I ask in a panic. “What's going on?”

“You just need to talk with him, sweetheart.”

Brian shifts my bag to his other shoulder and clasps my hand. I squeeze it like I'll disappear if I don't hold on to something. I don't know what's going on, but at this moment I'm so grateful for his friendship.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Mom went into premature labor. Doctors are doing what they can to stop it. Everything will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

Brian offers to give me a ride to the hospital, and I don't hesitate. The drive is short, but it feels like an eternity with all the doubt clawing through my head.

Fear.

What if Ma's life is in danger?

Anger.

Don't they know what causes pregnancy in the first place?

Worry.

What about the baby?

Anger.

They're so old!

Fear.

What am I going to do if she dies? If they both die . . . ?

There's so much I want to say to my parents, want to yell. It's all bubbling and mixing together in my stomach, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

But the sourness dissolves into sympathy as soon as I see my mom asleep in the hospital bed, connected to tubes and flashing monitors and machines that beep. Dad leaves the room so we can be alone and I take slow steps toward her until I'm close enough to grab her hand, but I don't want to wake her. My eyes study everything about her, from her messy hair to the extra creases near her eyes. I've never noticed before how naked her ears look without the small diamond studs Dad gave her that she always wears.

Suddenly I'm worried about the earrings. Where are they? Did someone take them off her?

In a tizzy, I scan the bedside table for them, simultaneously searching my recent memories to figure out if she's even had them on lately. But I've been so annoyed with all the pregnancy stuff I didn't want to know about—heightened sense of smell, nosebleeds, bigger boobs—that I've spent most of my time at home
not
looking at her. Not even being in the same room with her.

What if something happens to her and I've missed all that time by being angry just because they're having a baby at an unusual age? What if—

“Oh. Maddie. You didn't have to come here.” Ma's voice is quiet. She reaches a hand out for me, then winces at the tug from the IV in her arm.

I clasp her hand, and she squeezes with more strength than I thought she'd have right now. All my acting experience
fails me as I try to stay strong for her. I would hate for her to think of the worry on my face as a reflection of how she looks.

“How are you feeling?” I finally manage to ask.

“Much better now.” She presses a button on a clunky remote and the head of the bed buzzes as it lifts her into an almost sitting position. The machine hooked up to her beeps, but she ignores it.

Too many sounds. Too many blinkies. Too many wires.

“Dad said you're going to have to be on bed rest or something?”

“They just want me to take it easy, so I'll have to stay home and relax. I can still walk around when I need to; it's not like I'm going to need a bedpan or anything. Yet, at least,” she adds with a laugh that I struggle to return.

I stare at the gray floor and try to imagine lying in bed for two months. Not being able to go anywhere, getting up only to pee or eat meals. I shudder.

“I may need to borrow from your extensive movie collection,” she says. “So all your boyfriends can sing to me while you're at school and your dad's at work.”

“Of course you can watch them.” Despite the smile on my face, my bottom lip trembles. “You paid for most of them, anyway.” I glance at the ceiling to keep my eyes from welling over.

“Hey,” she says, pulling me closer, “none of that. I'm fine, the baby's fine.”

“Why did this happen? What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. They're not always sure why things like this happen, sweetheart. Maybe he was just a little anxious to
get here, that's all. But they stopped it in time, and he can cook in there a while longer.”

“Did you find out for sure it's a boy?” I ask, tears dripping down my cheeks through silent laughter at my own ridiculousness.

She shakes her head, then shifts away from me so there's space on the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

Careful not to disconnect her from any tubes or cords, I finagle myself to lie next to her and rest my head on her shoulder. As soon as both of her arms are around me, the tears really start to flow.

“I'm sorry,” I say, barely audible.

“Shhh,” she coos like the wonderful mother she's always been to me.

Suddenly I'm six years old, being pacified after a nightmare or during a thunderstorm, or when Dad's out of town and my little brain doesn't understand why I can't see him.

I'm basically whimpering into her neck. “I've been such a brat. So horrible to you. And Dad. I don't know how you even put up with me ignoring you like I have. That's not me. It's not us, not the way we are.”

Stroking my arm, she says, “It hasn't been easy, I'm not going to lie, but I understand. I really do. You're already dealing with being a teenager, which isn't always a walk in the park. Then we uproot you to a new state, new school, where you have to make new friends. You started a job, you got a part in a musical you have to practice for nearly every day. Then there's the new boyfriend.” I can feel her smile at that. “Throw a pregnant mom into the mix . . .”

“And you get one certifiable hot mess,” I finish, sniffling and swiping at my eyes.

She laughs. “Ah, but you're
my
hot mess. And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I choke out.

“My girls,” Dad's voice calls from behind me. He leans down and kisses each of us on the head. “Everyone all right here?”

“We're perfect,” Ma answers, taking her turn to kiss my forehead.

There's a brief moment of silence where I imagine them exchanging a look. Maybe I've earned back the one that says
We have such a great kid, why can't everyone be more like her?
I hope so.

“You have a visitor,” Dad says.

“What?” Ma asks, tensing and reaching for her hair.

“Not you,” he says, then lays a hand on my shoulder. “Jesse's in the waiting room. He said he could take you home when you're ready.”

Jesse. I completely forgot to text him to let him know where I'd be when he got out of practice. Tingles spread through me at the thought of him finding me anyway.

“I'm going to stay here with your mom tonight,” Dad says.

“You'll be okay without us?” Ma asks me as I slide off the bed and wrap my arms around Dad's middle. “Maybe you could stay with Angela? I can call Sherri and see if it's okay.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” I say. “I'll take care of it. You just rest.”

They promise they'll be home tomorrow and remind me I can call to check in anytime. After a final round of hugs, reassurances, and I-love-yous, I grab my backpack and turn to leave.

“I like that boy,” I hear Dad say to Ma before the door closes. “Very respectful.”

Some girls might not appreciate parental approval of their boyfriends, but I find myself stretching taller, proud that my dad trusts my judgment.

I find Jesse with his butt balanced on the outer edge of his chair, head leaning back on the top of the backrest, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over his stomach, legs spread wide, one of them bouncing like crazy. He's exchanged his cleats for sneakers, but it occurs to me this is the first time I've seen him in baseball attire. It's not an official uniform, though he looks awfully adorable wearing white socks streaked with clay and pulled up to his knees, dark blue athletic shorts that give me a glimpse of his bare thighs, which have been hiding since warmer weather, and a white, long-sleeve T-shirt with “Fernwood Panthers Varsity Baseball” printed in blue across the chest.

I walk over to him and kick the shoe of his bouncing leg. “Nervous about something?”

He startles and springs to his feet before pulling me into a hug and resting his head on top of mine.

“You okay?” he asks in my ear.

“I'm okay.” His shirt's damp against my face, and I inhale the lingering odor of sweat. “Smells like you had a good practice.”

“It was fine.” His laugh blows a breeze through my hair. “How's your mom? Your dad told me a little bit, but I felt weird asking too many questions.” He takes a step back to look at me.

“I think everything's fine now.” My eyebrows tense. “How did you know I was here, anyway?”

Jesse clears his throat and links arms with me, turning us toward the exit. “Brian called me.”

“Oh. Wow.” I realize I never said good-bye to Brian. I don't even remember when he left. “That was nice of him.”

“He also said you were zombie-ish and thought I might want to come up here to be with you.”

I laugh. Zombie-ish. “Of course he did.”

Jesse opens the passenger door of his truck and I climb in, letting my bag thud to the floorboard.

He slides his hands around my waist and leans against my seat. “You tell me what you want to do. We can go somewhere to eat, go home, drive around. What do you need?”

My heart warms as I stare into his green eyes. “Home, maybe? I don't know. I'm not sure I could eat anything right now. Oh, but you're probably starving, aren't you? We can go somewhere if you want.”

“Don't worry about me, I'll find something at the house.”

I take a deep breath and slouch into the seat back. “I'm really glad you came here for me.” My chin threatens to quiver and I close my eyes tightly, as if shutting out one of the senses will keep me from falling apart.

He doesn't reply, only touches his lips to my temple ever so gently, then closes the door.