Out with the In Crowd (23 page)

Now a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Honey, you’re eighteen. While I’ve never looked forward to your moving out of the house, that time’s approaching. Even if you do all your schooling here in the city, I imagine you’ll get your own place before too long.” He ruffled my hair. “I trust you to do what’s best for you. To do what God’s asking.”

I leaned against him again. “Thanks, Daddy.”

We’d circled the maternity wing and reached the main entrance. Dad looked toward the doors. “How you feeling? Better?”

I touched the bump on the side of my head and winced. “I’m still in some pain, but I guess I shouldn’t complain to Abbie, huh?”

Dad chuckled as we started up the ramp. “Probably not.” The doors into the waiting room glided open. “Have you talked to Connor about the Hawaii thing?”

I opened my mouth to respond when I spotted him. “Connor.”

He and Chris turned to look at us. They both wore baseball hats and wrinkled clothes they’d obviously grabbed off the floor.

“How is she?” Chris asked as Connor said, “What happened to your head?”

I touched my forehead. “I apparently don’t do well with needles.”

“She’s fine,” Dad answered Chris.

I forced my gaze away from Connor and smiled at Chris. “She’s doing great. They just gave her the epidural.”

“What happened?” Connor asked.

“Oh, it’s totally normal,” Dad said. “It’s just a procedure to deaden Abbie’s nerves so she doesn’t feel the pain.”

Connor reddened. “I, um, I actually meant Skylar’s head.”

“Oh.” I blushed as well. “I was supposed to help keep Abbie calm during the epidural, but I saw the needle and sorta fainted instead.”

Chris bit his lower lip. “It was that bad?”

“Are you okay?” Connor’s fingertips hovered around my bump, like he wanted to touch me but couldn’t bring himself to.

“Dad took me outside for a walk.” I glanced at the double doors leading into the ward. “We should get back there, but . . .” I stared at Connor. I wanted to say something to make everything go back to the way it had been those first few weeks. When everything was new and perfect.

Connor lowered his hand without touching me. “We’ll be here.”

“We’ll keep you updated,” Dad said.

He nodded at the receptionist, and she buzzed us into the wing. As the door swung closed, my gaze never strayed from Connor’s face, and his never left mine. I hoped it meant he felt as willing to forgive as I did.

Childbirth, though miraculous, also turned out to be disgusting.

I kinda suspected it from TV, but it was different to be in there. To hear Abbie crying, and to see . . . well, stuff. I’ll leave it at that.

“I can’t do it anymore.” Abbie collapsed onto her pillow, face sweaty and tomato red. Dad dabbed her with a cloth.

“Good job, Abbie,” Mom said.

“You’re doing great.” It seemed like the millionth time I’d said it. There were only so many words available to encourage a girl in labor. I sometimes peppered in “not much longer,” although that felt less and less true. Even to me.

Dr. Ridgway had been surveying Abbie’s monitor. “Alright, Abbie,” she said, her voice somehow both warm and commanding. “We’ve got another contraction coming. Get ready to push.”

Abbie whimpered.

I glanced at the clock. She’d been pushing for thirty minutes, but it seemed longer. I could only imagine how she felt.

“Deep breath,” Dr. Ridgway said, “and push!”

We dove into the routine we’d perfected over the last half hour—Dad supported Abbie’s back, Mom and I each took a leg, and all three of us said over and over, “Good job, Abbie. You’re doing great. Almost there.”

“Another breath,” Dr. Ridgway instructed.

Abbie rested long enough to gather another lungful of air, then struggled back up.

“Come on, Abbie,” we chanted. “You’re doing great. Push. Push.”

“Great job, Abbie,” Dr. Ridgway said. “And one more breath before the big, baby-moving push.”

Abbie collapsed and seemed unwilling to resume pushing.

“You can do it, honey,” I heard Dad whispering as he struggled to prop her up.

Dr. Ridgway turned on her motivational voice. “This is the baby-moving push, Abbie. You’re almost there.”

“You can do it, Abbie,” I said.

Her face turned so red, I forgot to cheer her on until Dr. Ridgway cried, “The head’s out!”

Abbie went limp on the bed. “All that work for just the head?”

“You’re doing great. The head’s the worst part of it,” Mom said.

“That’s right,” Dr. Ridgway said. “Just one more set of pushes, Abbie, and you’ll have this baby. And here comes the next contraction. Deep breath, and up. Push, push, push!”

“Push, push, push!” we yelled.

And barely a minute later, a new sound entered the delivery room—a loud, squawky cry. Out the baby came, all red and mucusy and perfect. My breath caught, and we all stopped and stared.

“Congratulations.” Dr. Ridgway beamed at Abbie and turned the newborn where she could see. “You have a beautiful baby boy.”

26

As dawn broke on Monday, March 2, Connor and I sat side by side in Abbie’s recovery room.

“A boy,” Connor whispered, his voice full of awe.

We all kept saying it, marveling. How strange to expect one thing with such certainty but then get the opposite.

I smiled as I watched Abbie snuggle Owen Joshua Hoyt. Chris perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Owen’s head of soft, dark hair. Mom and Dad had left not long before to shower and pick up breakfast. And, I assumed, to start redoing that pink nursery.

“Did she seem disappointed at all?” Connor asked.

I shook my head. “She had about a dozen girl names she couldn’t pick from, but she always had a perfect boy name in mind. I think she was relieved.”

“Funny how sometimes God prepares us for things without us even realizing it,” Connor said.

For the first time in over a week, I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together. “I’m glad you’re here.” I smiled, oddly bashful.

Connor smiled as well, but it looked like a struggle. As if he’d commanded the corners of his mouth upward.

And when he pried his fingers out of mine, I knew. It really was over.

“I have to confess something.” He glanced at Chris and Abbie, who were absorbed in their own soft conversation. “This probably isn’t the best time.”

I sighed, my breath wobbling as I held in tears. “It rarely is.”

“You were right.” Connor’s fingers danced about his lap. “I do have feelings for Jodi.”

This victory came with no joy. I stared at my still hands.

“But at the same time, I really believe I’m in love with you, that you’re the girl I want to be with.” He tugged at his collar and shifted in his seat. “Yet I
am
attracted to the idea of helping Jodi, of fixing her. Just like you said.” He leaned into his hands, covering his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

I sat there stiff and achy. What did he expect me to do now?

“What do you expect me to do now?” I asked. Hey, that had been pretty easy—articulating what I meant. Maybe there was hope for me after all.

Connor shook his head, which was still buried in his hands. “I don’t know.” He leaned back and looked at me, eyes big and sincere. He had beautiful eyes. I’d always thought so. “I think you were right to suggest time apart. I need to work out this . . .” He waved his hand, unable to come up with the word. “This thing I have. This disorder.”

My voice barely registered above a whisper. “How long do you think that’ll take?”

He shook his head, apparently unable to answer me.

We watched Owen fuss as Abbie passed him to Chris, then he settled back to sleep.

“Jodi committed her life to Christ this weekend,” Connor said. “We were sitting out on the volleyball courts. She told me about how she originally started coming to church and flirting with me just to get a rise out of you, but now that we’d broken up, she felt guilty.”

“She said something similar to me as I left,” I said, voice tight. “You believe her?”

He nodded. “I think God’s really gotten ahold of her.”

“Time will tell.”

“You doubt she’s for real?”

“I really don’t know anymore.”

“I wish you could’ve been there,” Connor said, sounding wistful. “Leading her in that prayer . . . It was awesome. I’ve never been a part of anything like that.”

I swung my legs a little, watching the pendulum of my feet. I didn’t know if I wanted an answer to my next question. “So are you, like, gonna date her or something?”

Connor frowned. “I don’t think so. I mean, if nothing else, she’s leaving for Tennessee in the fall.”

That’s not what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to say of course he wouldn’t, that he loved me and couldn’t imagine life apart. That he knew these feelings for Jodi would go away.

“You’re obviously free to date whomever you want,” Connor said.

“Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. All I meant is, I don’t expect you to sit around and wait for me to be ready. Who knows how long it could be. Months, or years, or—”

“Why don’t we stop talking?” I interrupted, watching my nephew. “It’s ruining the moment.”

The only other thing Connor said to me was “bye,” nearly an hour later when he and Chris left.

I pulled my chair alongside Abbie’s bed as she fed Owen.

She smiled at me, glowing yet drowsy. “Crazy, huh? I have a kid.”

I relaxed as best as I could in my hard seat, feeling exhaustion settle in. I hadn’t even birthed anyone. “You’re doing great.”

She glanced at my bruised forehead. “How you feeling?”

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

“I didn’t collapse on the floor.” Abbie giggled, then grimaced. “Didn’t know I used that muscle when I laughed.” “Serves you right.” I propped my feet on the edge of her bed. “I was just trying to help you.”

“Guess that’s the end of your nursing career, huh?”

I considered this. “I probably wouldn’t make a very good one. Back to square one.”

Abbie gave me a look. “C’mon, Skylar. We all know what you’re going to be.”

“Let’s talk about that later,” I said.

She propped Owen up to burp, his wobbly head cupped in her hand. Though only seven pounds and eleven ounces, his burp filled the room. We both giggled. Immature, maybe, but of course we were fifteen and eighteen.

“Wanna hold him?” Abbie asked.

I grinned and reached for him. He peered up at me, then his eyes closed as he nestled against me to sleep.

“Who do you think he looks like?” Abbie asked as she tidied her ponytail. “Chris thinks he looks like me.”

I ran my finger along Owen’s sheer cheek. “I don’t know.” His face was splotchy and his eyes a strange, colorless gray that the pediatrician promised would change. “Maybe if we had baby pictures of you and Lance, we could tell.”

Her expression changed, and I regretted mentioning Lance. “How could he not want Owen?” Abbie reached for her son, stroking his mass of hair. “I mean, I’m terrified, but I couldn’t give up knowing him.”

“Maybe Lance will change his mind.”

Owen mewed and stretched but didn’t open his eyes.

“Should he be allowed?” Abbie asked. “It’s not like I’ll be given breaks.”

“I think the decision’s yours,” I said. “You felt God calling you to raise Owen. He didn’t bring you this far just to abandon you.”

Abbie kissed Owen’s head before nestling into her pillow. “You’re right. He’ll watch out for us.” She smiled at me. “And for you.”

As Abbie’s soft breathing turned to snoring, I thought about everything God had brought us through in the last nine months. No, he wouldn’t abandon us now.

When Mom and Dad returned, they had bagels and juice for both of us.

“How’s our little guy doing?” Mom asked, stealing Owen from me. “I’m afraid I’ll be worthless to you, Abbie. I don’t know a thing about little boys.”

Dad dropped a kiss on Abbie’s head. “Feeling okay?”

She nodded. “They brought me some meds. Peeing is still kind of an adventure—”

“Oh, Abigail, don’t talk like that.” Mom’s face puckered. “I don’t like that word.”

Dad smiled. “Peeing?”

Mom attempted a cross look but couldn’t seem to erase her smile. “Don’t you start too.” Her voice lilted playfully. Abbie and I glanced at each other. It was like spotting a deer in a field. It looked so beautiful, you wanted to call everyone’s attention to it, but of course that could startle it away.

Abbie apparently decided to risk it. “You two are in a good mood,” she said innocently with a sip of her juice.

Mom and Dad exchanged a look, as if deciding who should address this. Dad finally said, “We’ve decided to return to counseling.”

I grinned, and Abbie, in her emotional state, burst into tears.

Funny how even with everything I’d just lost, the restoration of my family still made it feel like the perfect day.

27

Jodi thought it would do us good to “have a little chat,” as she said on my voice mail.

I disagreed, which is why I dodged her calls that first week of Owen’s life.

When I returned to school the Monday after he’d been born, avoiding her became impossible, seeing as her locker was next to mine. I found all six of them standing there— Eli, John, Lisa, Alexis, Jodi, and Connor. No one seemed eager to speak.

“Hey, guys,” I said, making my way to my locker.

“Hey, guys,” I said, making my “Hey,” they chorused back.

And that took care of everything I had to say to any of them.

Jodi leaned against her locker as I spun in my combination. “How’s Owen?”

“Good.”

“I called you a couple times.”

“I called you “I know.”

“So, you don’t want to talk to me?”

“So, you don’t want “Basically, no.”

She sighed. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. For everything.” She glanced over her shoulder at our audience of five. “But I’m kinda glad you didn’t take my calls, because now I can apologize in front of all our friends. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

“Fine.” I swapped out books as quick as I could. I didn’t need to have this conversation. Especially not with Connor watching. “See ya.”