Art & Soul (18 page)

A
ria
.

“I was supposed to find out the sex of the baby, since I’m at eighteen weeks. It’s the size of a sweet potato today, which if you think about it, is kind of big. But, I’m going to wait to find out the sex because I want you to be there. I want you to have the baby,” I said, my voice shaking as I stood in front of Simon’s mom, Keira, in their living room. Her eyes were wide, and she shook with a stack of papers in her grip. My hands were clammy. I wasn’t certain of what I was doing, but I was leading with my heart instead of my head. It didn’t seem fair that I was pregnant and she couldn’t have a child. It wasn’t fair that my best friend felt that he wasn’t good enough to be their only kid because of the one mistake he made as a child. It wasn’t fair that Simon’s troubling addiction to doing things in groups of four probably came from a missing puzzle piece to their family.

“Aria,” Keira said, shaking her head. She set the papers down on the closest table and within a second her hands pattered over her heart. “That’s very kind, honey, but…”

“But what? You can have it. I promise.”

“Sweetie,” she said, placing her hand on my cheek, and then combing my hair behind my ear. She even touched my face like mothers were supposed to. “That’s very sweet,” she repeated. “And I’m sure Simon told you about our issue, but it’s not your responsibility, honey. It’s really okay.”

“Keira, I really want you to have it. I’m not just being hormonal, and I’m not just feeling sorry for you. I’ve tried to figure out why this all happened to me, what it means, you know? And I think…” my voice shook, “I
know
I’m supposed to give it to you.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “What did your mom say about this?”

“I haven’t told her yet. I wanted to tell you first.”

“What about the father?” she asked.

I shook my head. James didn’t want a baby in his life. That was a given from the way he responded to Nadine’s dilemma. “Not a concern. Really, Keira. If you and Paul want it, it’s yours. I want nothing more than for the baby to have a loving mom and dad.”

Her hands covered her mouth, and she couldn’t contain the tears that were falling from her eyes. She nodded her head yes. My heart flipped.
She said yes.
“We’ll have to speak to your mother, Aria. And if you aren’t sure—”

“I am,” I promised. “We’ll talk to my mom. But, well, do we hug or something now?”

“Yes,” Keira sighed, wrapping her arms around me. She rested her head on top of mine. “Yes. We hug now.”

The closer she pulled our hug, the more I felt it—the feeling that this was the right thing to do.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t also be a little sad about it.

“
T
his is insane
,” Dad said, sitting on the couch. His eyes stayed on Mom as I tried to think of the last time he’d looked my way. “We’re not seriously considering this, are we?” he asked. He hardly ever looked at me anymore, and when he did, it was a look of disgust. Just a few months before, I was the apple of his eye, his baby girl, his Ari. I wished he knew how much it hurt me to know I’d hurt him.

Mike entered the house holding a piece of paper, and stared in our direction, taking in yet another fight.

“It’s an option,” Mom said.

“To give the thing to Keira? Come on. This is getting ridiculous!”

He called it a thing more often than a baby.

“Well, what advice do you have to offer? Because lately all you’ve been doing is complaining and avoiding, which isn’t realistic.”

“What does the therapist we’re paying an arm and a leg for have to say about this?”

I didn’t know. Mostly Dr. Ward and I talked about art.

“Who’s the father?” Dad asked me.

I didn’t speak.

“Dammit, Aria! Who’s the father?!” he hollered, slamming his hand against the arm of the couch. He thrust out his chest and tightened his jaw. “How the hell are we supposed to be realistic about this when she acts like a child herself?”

“I don’t know, but it makes it a million times more difficult when the grown man of the house throws hissy fits whenever the idea of his daughter being pregnant is brought up!”

He tossed a hand up in dismissal as he stood from the couch. “Do whatever you want, Camila. By all means give the thing to your best friend. I’m sure that won’t cause any kind of issues down the road.”

“Grow up, Adam!” Mom shouted as Dad stormed from the room. Her forehead fell to her hands. “We’ll figure this out, Aria. Okay? If this is really what you want to do, then we will figure this out, with or without your father’s approval. But if you can, you should tell the father of the child. It’s only right.”

She left the room with her shoulders drooped low and her stress high.

Mike stood in the foyer, still holding his piece of paper. He grimaced. “I got into UW-Madison,” he said to the now empty room. He crumpled up the paper and walked away. “Not that anyone gives a damn.”

T
hat night
after Mom left for work, I ran to the store to grab a few things. When I returned home, I spent hours in the kitchen baking, enlisting Grace to help me. She told me more horror stories about my pregnancy while she cracked the egg yolks into the cake batter.

Once all of the baking was done, she and I dressed the living room in red and white streamers and balloons. We made signs and hung them around the room, and when everything was in place, I had Grace run up to get Mike, because I knew he wouldn’t want to see me after I ruined his big news.

When he came down, he saw the room decked out in UW-Madison colors with the worst decorated cake ever sitting in the center of the coffee table. It had an animal drawn on it, which was supposed to be a badger, but somehow came out looking like a dead dog.

“Congratulations!” we shouted at Mike as he walked in.

He tried his best not to smile, but it slipped out. “I thought you were an artist? That cake is ugly,” he remarked, walking into the room.

“Hey! I made that!” Grace said, throwing a plastic spoon at Mike.

He retracted his statement. “By
ugly
I meant
perfect
.”

KitKat woke up from her nap a few minutes later, and the four of us sat in the living room eating cake and celebrating Mike getting into school.

“I’m sorry for everything,” I said to him, knowing I was the reason our parents had been so thrown off lately.

He glanced my way before grabbing more cake. “If anyone gives you any more shit at school, just send them to me. I’ll handle it.”

T
he next night
, James and Nadine came over to hang out with Mike. As always, Nadine and James stopped in to check on me. I guessed James found a way to fall back in love with her. I hated how wonderful Nadine was—she deserved more than her current boyfriend who was much more interested in meddling in my life than focusing on her.

“Any updates?” Nadine asked about the baby.

I nodded. “I decided to give the baby up for adoption.” My stare moved to James. “I want Simon’s parents to have the baby. They’ve been struggling for so long, and I really want the baby to grow up in a loving family with a mom and dad who are together. I’m supposed to tell the father to get his permission, but I think he’ll be fine with the idea.”

James’ eyebrows lowered and his mouth tightened. Nadine frowned for a split second before she smiled. “I think that’s so brave, actually, Aria.” She nodded. “You’re really brave.”

He cleared his throat before agreeing with his girlfriend. “Yeah, I think that’s great. I’m sure the dad would be fine with the idea.”

I
t was
funny how the things you once hated became the things you missed the most. Mom hadn’t called me in a few days. The phone calls that I’d hated with her at random hours of the night had become a part of my routine. I missed her begging for me to come home. I missed her telling me how awful I was treating her. I missed her voice, her overprotective nature, her overbearing love.

When I called the house, she would answer, but she’d tell me she was busy and hang up.

I felt as if she was over it—over the idea of trying to get me to come home to be with her.

So instead of her worrying about me, I began worrying about her.

Where was her mind?

Was she healthy?

Was she happy?

Was she still struggling with fake fears and harsh realities?

I called Denise to see if she’d checked in on Mom like she’d promised. When she answered, she sounded extremely pleased. “Levi, she’s checking into a health clinic!” Denise exclaimed.

“What? Why? Is she okay?”

“She’s going to St. John’s Music Wellness Clinic. They’ve been known for their use of music to help people who suffer like your mom. It’s the first place that I wanted to send her, but she never would’ve agreed before.”

“What made her change her mind?”

“I don’t know. You know you’re mom—when she’s up, she’s up. And when she’s down, she’s down. I guess we caught her in an up moment. But no matter what, this is good news, Levi. Really, really good news!”

“How can I talk to her?” I asked.

She went silent for a moment. “I think we should let her get settled first. They are starting her on new medicines and treatments. Maybe give her a week or two.”

Denise went on to ask about Dad, and I proceeded to lie because she would’ve been like Mom and wanted me to come home if she knew how crappy things were. When she hung up, I still kept thinking about Mom.

I missed her so much lately. Her confused mind and all.

Maybe this time would be different.

Maybe this time, the medicine and treatment would work.

I went to the woods that night and played my violin for her. I stood on the largest rock, allowing the cold air to pass by me. I remembered how she used to play music in the forest with me back home. She was always the better musician.

I missed her sounds the most.

I
was twenty weeks pregnant
, sitting in the doctor’s office with Mom on my left and Simon’s parents on my right. It wasn’t completely official with paperwork and all, but I knew what I wanted to do: I wanted to give the baby to Keira and Paul. I also knew there was no way Keira was going to miss this appointment. Even though Paul never missed work, he’d taken the day off to be there. Paul was the grownup version of Simon with his red hair and freckled face. He didn’t wear glasses, but that was only because he popped contacts into his eyes every morning. The main difference between Paul and Simon was that Simon was a lot more emotional than Paul. Paul had much thicker skin than Simon and things didn’t get to him as much. He never talked much, and mostly all I received from him were smiles when I went over to their house, but they were always nice smiles.

The room was silent except for the ultrasound machine humming. The technician rubbed the cool gel on my stomach before they slid the transducer back and forth over my belly. She studied the ultrasound with a smile on her lips. “This one has a strong heartbeat. At twenty weeks they’re about the size of a—”

“Cantaloupe!” Keira clapped her hands as she smiled wide with excitement.

The technician nodded. “Yup! The size of a cantaloupe. You know your stuff.”
I knew that, too.
“And we want to know the sex today, right?”

“Yes!” Keira shouted, and then she quickly covered her mouth. Her eyes moved to me. “I mean, only if you want to, Aria.”

“Yes, we do,” I replied.

“It’s a—”

“Boy,” I whispered, already having a feeling.

“A boy.” The technician smiled toward me. “It must have been that mother’s ESP. Congratulations. I’ll have the pictures printed off and pass them to the doctor who will be in to speak with you afterward.”

We thanked her as she left the room.

Paul pinched the bridge of his nose and sniffled before wrapping his arms around Keira and pulling her into a tight hug. He kissed her forehead and they cried together. “Thank you, Aria. Thank you so much for this.”

Mom was crying too, squeezing my hand every now and then. Everyone cried except me.

I was numb.

It’s a boy.

E
arly Friday morning
, I awoke to knocking at my window. My eyes moved over to the alarm clock on my nightstand. I rubbed my palms over my eyes, trying to focus on the numbers.

3:31 A.M.

What the hell?

Pulling myself up from the bed, I dragged myself to the window. I was shaken awake, seeing Aria standing there in her long nightgown with monkeys all over it and matching monkey slippers.

I swung the window open and gazed straight into her eyes. “Art, what’s wrong?” Panic raced through me as I stared at her tear-filled eyes.

“Sorry to wake you. I know we aren’t talking right now, and normally when I have nights where I can’t sleep, I go to Simon’s, but he’s too happy about getting a sibling and I wouldn’t want to make him feel bad. If you want me to go I can. I just…I have no one to talk to.”

“What’s going on? Come inside and talk to me.”

She climbed inside the window.

She wiped her hands across her eyes to remove the tears that were now falling and chuckled softly. “I’m sorry. I’m just emotional and…” Her shoulders rose and fell. As if by instinct, I moved my fingers to her face and wiped at her tears. If she knew what it did to my heart when she cried…

“Talk to me,” I said again, guiding her to my bed.

“It’s silly,” she warned, sitting. I sat beside her. She’d never been in my house. This was a first for us.

She must’ve been really broken.

I wanted to inch closer and hold her against me.

But I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

“It’s not,” I promised. If it was bothering her, if it was making her cry, it wasn’t silly. “Talk to me,” I repeated for a third time.

“He moved,” she whispered, placing her hands against her stomach. Her head rose and her chocolate eyes smiled with her beautiful lips. “He’s kicking. Before it was just small flutters, but now he’s full-blown kicking.”

My eyes widened and without a thought my hands went to feel her stomach, but then I remembered. I paused, uncertain if I should. She took my hands into hers and placed them against her stomach. I felt it, too. The movement. The life. “
Jesus,
” I muttered. I’d never felt anything so magical, so real.

“Give me a word to describe it. It feels like butterflies, and stomach flips, and stomach knots all at once. What’s a word for that?”

“Happy.”

“Happy?” she asked.

“Happy,” I replied.

She nodded. “I can’t stop crying.”

“I think that’s okay,” I said. “It’s a boy?”

“We found out today.” She cried harder. “And I’m a terrible person because I thought about keeping him when I heard that. I thought about what I would name him and who he would grow up to be, and then I wondered what I would say when he asked about the guy who called me cute but didn’t really mean it.”

“You’re beautiful,” I said, handing her one of my T-shirts to blow her nose in.

She cried even harder, because she knew I meant it.

“You’re not a terrible person because you think things like that, Art.”

“Then what does it make me? I told my best friend’s parents they could have the baby and then I think about taking it back. If that doesn’t make me terrible than what does it make me?”

I paused, searching for the right word. “Human. It makes you human.” We sat with our hands resting against her stomach. Each time we felt a kick, my heart flipped a little.

“He’s a cantaloupe now,” she told me.

“That’s pretty big, but still pretty small at the same time.” I stood up from my bed and turned on the light. “I have an idea.”

“And that is?”

“Stand up. You have to stand up for this idea.”

Questioningly, she stood. I went digging through my CD collection, searching for a certain song. “Ah, here it is,” I muttered, tossing it into the boom box that sat on top of my dresser. I went digging into my closest, knocking over boxes and my hanging clothes. Then I pulled out an old guitar case and sat it on the ground in front of Aria.

“What are you doing?” She laughed, wiping at her eyes.

“Whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed I take my violin to the woods and play until I feel a little less broken. And seeing how it’s too cold to play outside, and no offense, but you are freaking terrible at playing instruments, therefore I am going to teach you the gift of this beauty.” I bent down and unlatched the case, opening it to reveal nothing and everything all at once.

“What are we looking at?” she asked.

I reached down, lifting up my first ever air guitar. “This right here is a Myers’ family antique. My grandfather taught my father his first air guitar song on this beauty here, and my father taught me on the same one. And now I would like to teach Cantaloupe his first air guitar song. Granted, I might need you to supply the fingers for the playing since Cantaloupe isn’t really…ya know, fully functional yet.”

“Understandable.” She giggled.

I placed it in her hold, and she took it. “Careful, you have to be gentle.”

“Of course. I promise to handle it with care.” She smiled, and I just about died.

I loved her smiles the most.

I lifted my air guitar and hit play on the boom box. “What song is this?” she asked.

“‘She Talks To Angels’, by The Black Crowes,” I said, tuning my strings. I smirked as I watched her start to mimic my movements. “It was my Dad’s favorite song to air guitar to when I used to come visit him. He loved it.”

I spent the next hour teaching her the intro to the song, and we kept playing until she started yawning.

I placed her guitar back into the case, took the CD out of the player and set it inside of the case also. I held it out toward Aria.

“I can’t take your guitar, Levi.”

“No offense, Art. But I’m pretty sure this is between Cantaloupe and me.” I bent down to her stomach and said, “Practice whenever you can, buddy.”

Aria climbed out of the window, and I handed her the case. “Thanks for tonight.” Her feet fidgeted back and forth. “Do you think we can eat lunch together again?”

“I would like that.”

She grinned and walked off with the guitar case in her hands.