Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1) (20 page)

"See you at lunch?"

"Of course," I say, but I can't get out of there fast enough.  I drive home, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, dread slowly consuming me.  Dad is leaving as I go inside.

"Good surf?" he asks.

"Yep."  I rush to my room, strip in the bathroom, look in the mirror, front on, side on, other side.  My belly is big, round.  I shower quickly, trying to think.  When was my last period?  Did I have it on holiday?  Have I had it at school?  How many times did Flynn and I have sex without using a condom?  I already know the answers.

I drive to the drugstore, drive home again.  I should be at school.  Dad will be getting a phone call soon.  I take the test, wait the agonizing two minutes, praying, begging for it not to be a plus sign.  But it is.  My brain is frantic, what to do?

It feels like I'm on automatic, robotic, going through motions without any thought process.  I phone Antonia and when she answers, when I hear her voice, it's like the calmness deserts me.

"I just did a pregnancy test," I sob.  There's a pause.

"Honey?" Her voice sounds far away, as if she needs me to repeat it.

"It's positive," I say, and the waterworks flow, knowing that I am seventeen, pregnant and without a boyfriend.

Antonia handles everything for me - doctor, midwife, scans, Flynn's parents.  Everything but Flynn.

She and Dad seemed shocked that I am pregnant to Flynn, didn't know we had been that serious. 

She said that Flynn's parents were shocked too.  I'm betting disappointed as well.  I feel dread at having to face them, especially his Mom.  I keep delaying telling Flynn.  I tell everyone I'll do it in the break, after exams, that I don't want to disrupt his study.  They give me a deadline, Sunday.  I am already six months pregnant and starting to show.

I thought that telling Cassian I was pregnant was going to be worse than telling Dad.  I didn't have the luxury of delaying it, because I was already so far along.  Dad told me if I didn't tell him today, then he would.  He didn't want all this whispering, gossiping and lying going on.  God knows there were enough secrets in the family, he said.  I think he was referring to Cassian's girlfriend, who he had supposedly broken up with.  I never did get the full story.  Jakey had been true to his word and never spilled the beans.  Though Cash was playing as much tennis as he ever did, so perhaps he was still carrying on with her.

It was Sunday evening and Cash didn't get back till late.  I don't know where he'd been, but I had gone downstairs and checked his room a few times only to find it empty.  That's when I checked his closet and took his 49ers shirt.  I hadn't seen him wear it for ages, so figured I could borrow it.  I put it on then and there.  When I returned later, after nine, I could hear him in his shower, so I laid down on his bed, waiting for him.  When he came out, he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

"Fuck Magdala," he yelled, "what are you doing?" He just had a towel around his hips, his hair was dripping.  "What if I came out naked?"  He seemed quite irritated.

"Just as well you didn't," I smirked.  I picked up a piece of Lego which was on his bed stand, it was a made into a little house with a garden and a wall around it.   He went back into his bathroom and returned with another towel to dry his hair.  "Do you still play with Lego?"  I held up his creation.

"Leave that alone," he snapped and he plucked it from my hand and took it across to his bookcase, sitting it next to the photo of his mother.  "What do you want?" he asked impatiently and seeing me in his shirt added, "Why have you got my shirt on?"  He went across the room to his walk-in closet.

"Because I can't fit my clothes," I said.  He emerged in some boxers and a towel around his neck and carrying his other towel. 

"What?"  His tone was still hostile. I pulled up the 49ers shirt, pulled down the top of my leggings and revealed my belly.  He stared, at my belly and then at me.  I moved myself back into a sitting position, so I was leaning against his pillows.  He came and sat on the bed.

"Are you pregnant?" There was disbelief in his voice, like he was seeing it, saying it, but not comprehending it.  I could only nod, telling myself I mustn't cry.

"Who to?" he asked, as if he was absolutely clueless.  I wondered how many boys he'd thought I'd ever slept with.

"Flynn," I said, defensively, and like he needed an explanation, added, "he's been my only boyfriend."

Cash shook his head.  "Shit for a minute there I thought you were going to say Devon."  It seemed he preferred it to be Flynn, than Devon.  "Does he know?"

I shook my head.  "I'll tell him after exams.  But Dad already told Dr Surridge.  And I've never done anything with Devon I'll have you know."  My last comment was purposely scathing.

He looked relieved and asked, "Do you talk to Flynn?" I shook my head again. "Shit.  How far along are you?"

"Six months."

"Shit."  I'd never heard him swear so much. He removed the towel from his neck and tossed it onto the floor along with the one he was still holding, very unlike him.  He slid along the bed and took me in his arms and hugged me.  "Are you okay?"  I nodded.  "Really?"

I nodded again.  I had no choice but to be okay.  The baby was going to come whether I wanted it to or not.  That's what Dad had said.  There was no time to be pondering good or bad, right or wrong, the baby was coming regardless.  All we had to do was prepare for it.  Dad's approach was practical and no-nonsense, he didn't allow any room for drama and emotion.  That's what I told Cash.  He laughed.  "Dad's gonna be a grandad, it's probably freaking him out.  And I'm gonna be an uncle."  He seemed to be proud.  I thought then maybe things might be all right, that I could cope with this.  "That's gonna be so cool."

"Really? You're not disappointed in me?

"No," he said.  "It's definitely unexpected, but you will be a great Mom." 

"Really?  You think so?"

"I know so," he said confidently and I felt so full of love for him.  I took out my phone and showed him the scan.  He smiled and made me send it to his phone.  "Magdala, I want to be there when it's born," he said, studying the picture of my unborn baby.  I gave him a quizzical look.  "I'm going to be a doctor one day," he laughed, "it'll be good to get some early experience.  Do you feel it?"

"Yes it kicks," I said and I pulled my shirt up again and he reached his hand on it.  There was no movement so he shifted himself to sit next to me, then placed his hand back on, moving it round, trying to feel.  "It might be asleep," I offered.

"Can you stay here awhile?" he asked.  "I want to feel it."

I told him I'd be back, that I needed to clean my teeth and wash my face.  When I came back he'd folded over the sheet so I could sleep on one side, but be in my own blanket, and we talked and laughed and about half an hour later he was rewarded when the baby started to kick.  And I stayed there all night.   Cassian's attitude changed everything for me.  I didn't need to be afraid, whatever happened, he'd have my back, but I knew it still wasn't going to make telling Flynn any easier.

Exams have finished, it's the week before Christmas.  I text Flynn:  I need to talk to you.  He texts back:  why?  Me:  can I come over.  He doesn't  respond straight away, it takes him three minutes, by which time I am already in my car.  His reply: yeah.

I'm shaking as I ring the doorbell and I'm expecting him to answer, but it's his father, and I feel shame, keep my eyes down.  He calls Flynn, who comes to the door, barely greets me, just raises his eyebrows, but seems to take note that I'm wearing Cassian's 49ers shirt, which almost reaches my knees.  He leads me to his bedroom, body language clearly indicating that I'm an inconvenience.  I wonder what he's been doing that I'm now interrupting.  He sits on his computer chair, half swivels around, doesn't offer me a seat. I'm standing awkwardly in the centre of the room.  There's an uneasy silence.

"How have you been doing?" I finally say, my pre-rehearsed lines forgotten.

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" His voice is full of derision, condescension, cruelty.  I've never heard that tone before, never guessed he could be so hurtful, so hating.  I feel my chin quiver, and I want to turn and run, but I know I can't.

"I'm pregnant," I say, the words like fire on my tongue, needing to be hastily spat out.  He stares at me momentarily, then his eyes drop to my belly, to the oversized football shirt.  He continues to stare, and his mouth opens, but no words come out.

The silence is deafening.  "Did you hear me?"  I say, my voice louder, "I'm pregnant."  I don't want to be here a moment longer than I have to be.  I want him, I need him to say something, anything.  He stands up, the chair swivels as he does.  He stretches his arms overhead and rests them behind his neck, looks confused, perplexed.

"What do you mean?" he finally says, "like you're saying, like you and me?"  His arms drop to his sides.  I nod.  His eyes lower to my belly again.  Without thinking I lift my shirt, revealing the rounded bump.  I can see he's shocked.

"Shit," he says, and steps closer to me.  It looks like he wants to touch it, wants proof that all of this is real.  I hold my shirt up a bit higher, give a nod, permission to touch.  He leans forward, his hand soft on my belly, on our baby.  "Fucking hell," he says, but his mouth is starting to curl up, the beginnings of a smile.  "Like how long?"  He's still touching, caressing now.

"Nearly six months," I say and I drop my shirt.  His hand pulls back, I can tell he's doing calculations, counting months.

"When did you find out?"

"Two weeks ago."  My answer is brisk.  I'm thinking, When the novelty is over, how is he going to feel?  I don't want to get my hopes up, even though it looks like he's breaking into a grin.

"Are you, are you...okay with it?"  The question is probing, cautious.

I shrug, my eyes look up, away from him.  "What do you think?" I say, "Seventeen, pregnant.  Alone. What do you think?"  My voice turns sarcastic.  And I immediately want to retract it, and I don't want to cry, but my eyes are watering, and I'm suddenly not in control. Not following the script.

"Hey Magdala," he says, his hand on my shoulder, taking a step closer.  He hesitantly pulls me towards him, I let him, our faces touch but I don't look up at him.  "Hey," he whispers, "you're not alone now."  And I realize that that's all I wanted to hear.

FLYNN

I hardly saw Magdala around school, even though our lockers were nearby, and we only had one science class together.  She always sat in the front, never turned her head to look around, always scuttled in and out to make sure our paths never crossed.  I figured she didn't want to see me, no longer had feelings for me, that I had been kidding myself that she had loved me once.  She sat in the courtyard at lunchtimes, with the surfing crowd, mainly boys, always next to the same one, Jarryd, a senior.  I knew she wasn't dating him, because he dated a senior with long, black hair.  It gave me some comfort.

Mom had stopped asking me about her, thank God.  In the beginning she was like always hounding me about whether we were still friends, how was she settling into school.  One time I snapped and said I didn't fucking know.  She didn't ask after that. 

Sam came home for Thanksgiving, and said he was loving life up at Berkeley.  The house was quiet without him, and I missed not having him around.  Emmalee on the other hand seemed to be thirteen going on sixteen, she seemed to thrive at junior high.  No doubt she'd create a whole new set of issues for Mom and Dad to have to cope with.

In the meantime I plodded on with life, knowing I'd missed my opportunity with Magdala, feeling like things had gone past a point of no return, that there would never be a chance of reuniting, accepting that a pre-summer romance was all it had been.  I wondered if those three love making sessions were going to be my lot in life, if I'd have to reminisce on them, my glory days.                   

The whole week of exams Mom and Dad started acted weird, asking me about my studies.  I felt like they were suddenly on my tail and wanted details, proof of how much study I was doing.  In a way it was hard growing up in Sam's shadow.  He'd always been naturally bright, always been goal orientated, always knew he wanted to study engineering at Berkeley, which is what he was doing.  Me, I didn't have a clue.

And then, right after exams, right before Christmas break, out of the blue I got a text from Magdala.  It read:  I need to talk to you.  I'd been down in the lounge with Dad, watching tv.  I texted back:  Why?  But I shifted in the chair, sat forward, my heart pounding.  After all these months, what could she possibly want.  We only had a science class in common.  Did she need information on it?  Did she want to go over the exam?  She texted back:  Can I come over?

Come over?  Why did she need to come over.  I looked at Dad, engrossed in the program, he glanced at me  but didn't say anything.  I got up and went to my room, wondering what to text back.  Seconds, minutes went by.  What the hell, I texted back:  Yeah.  I quickly picked up the clothes from my floor and made my bed, pulled on a long sleeve t-shirt.  Did she want to reconcile I wondered, hoped, dreamed.  It's hard to judge intent by text though.  Maybe she wanted to have it out with me.  But why, after all these months?