Senior Semester: All The While Part 14

"Anytime," I tell her honestly.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

"Not as much as you."

She giggles and it's sweet and amused, like a kid staying up past bedtime.

"Are you glad you came to the party?" she asks, suddenly.

I nod into the top of her head. "Yeah, it was surprisingly more fun than I thought it would be."

"Why's that?" Her eyes are dark and luminous, hints of desire surrounding an enormous vulnerability.

I work a swallow, my throat suddenly dry. I could tell her it's because she was there, which is the truth. But is that fair? She's drunk. She could act impulsively on those words and regret it in the morning. But I don't want to hurt her feelings either. And, there's always the obvious: she is Adrian's sister. She's supposed to be off limits. I'm supposed to be looking out for her like a brother, like a friend. The thought causes my shoulders to stiffen automatically. Jesus, I struggle to think of her as a friend, never mind a sister. Sister and Maura don't even exist in the same sentence since the thoughts I have about her, the feelings I'm starting to feel for her, are anything but brotherly.

"Sorry," she says softly, misinterpreting my silence. "I didn't mean to make you have to stay longer than you wanted to."

I shake my head. "You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn't make me do I anything I didn't already want to. I'm glad I stayed." I press a kiss to the crown of her head, letting my lips linger as I inhale the coconut scent of her shampoo.

Maura sighs contentedly and snuggles deeper into my side. I wrap my arm tighter around her shoulder. We walk the rest of the way in a natural, peaceful silence, the crunch under our boots the only sound in the dark night.

When we reach her dorm door, nerves zing up and down my spine like I'm fifteen years old all over again, walking Melissa Peters home from the homecoming dance. Standing under the lamppost in front of her house, wanting to kiss her, hesitating if I should, wis.h.i.+ng I knew how to take control of the situation. G.o.d, I feel like a prep.u.b.escent teenager in Maura's presence. It's like all the girls I've ever been with, all the kisses I've stolen, all the experience I've ever had to get to this moment have abandoned me and I'm treading on ice: one wrong move, and it's all over. And the last thing I want to do is push this beautiful girl away. So I brush a chaste kiss on her cheek and say goodnight outside her dorm door. And when she smiles the softest, sweetest, most innocent smile I've ever witnessed, I can't help but smile back-a big goofy grin of a teenage boy falling helplessly in love with a girl he can never really have.

NOVEMBER.

Chapter Thirty.

Maura

The first snowfall of the season completely coats the ground on the first of November. The temperature dipped dramatically in the early morning hours, and I wake alone, wrapped warmly in my duvet, a slight headache pounding behind my eyelids and in my temples. I sigh, sitting up slowly and reaching for the water bottle and Advil I keep as permanent fixtures on my nightstand these days. Popping two Advil and draining half the contents of the water bottle, I flop back against my pillows and stretch, recalling the events of last night. The Halloween party, laughing with Valerie and Amber and Amanda, dancing and taking shots, walking home with Zack as snowflakes blanketed the ground around us.

Last night was innocent and fun and a blast from the past that I haven't experienced in a long, long time. Not since before Emma, Lila, and Mia left for the semester. Maybe not even since before Adrian died. It's been eons since I felt that carefree, stupid, blissful fun of being caught up in the moment with friends. Since I gave myself up to the music of the moment and really danced like no one, and I mean no one, was watching. Since I desperately wished for a goodnight kiss from a boy my heart stutters around.

I smile to myself. Last night was the only night of the semester so far that I'd describe as epic. Emma and Lila, tangled up with their own lives and used to being the life of the party, would laugh hysterically at me. Mia would smile and blush, now caught up in her own love, and nod in agreement. Sometimes sweet and innocent is better than rough and wild. At least, it was last night.

Stretching again, I'm relieved we don't have practice today. I stand up slowly, tugging on a pair of sweats and slipping into slippers before making my way down the hall to the bathroom. After brus.h.i.+ng my teeth and combing my hair, I study my reflection in the mirror. My eyes look a bit tired but other than that my skin looks fresh, my cheeks rosy, my eyes sparkling. For the first time in a long time, I think I'm happy.

And the realization that I've been living my life in such despair for so long is almost as shocking as the relief that I feel like myself again. Smiling widely at my reflection, I twist my hair into a low bun. Rifling through the girls' on my floor shower caddies, I borrow some blush, bronzer, and lip gloss. Glancing back at myself, I like what I see. I look like the old me; not someone trying to be older, s.e.xier, edgier but Maura, student-athlete, loyal friend, dependable person.

And knowing that I'm still somewhere in the lie I've been living for months now is a beautiful realization.

Early in the afternoon I call Valerie to see if she wants to hang out. It's disappointing to realize how far I've let myself drift from the girls on my team and now, especially with Lila, Mia, and Emma being gone, I could use some girl time with true friends.

She texts me a photo of a cafeteria tray followed by "fifteen minutes" and a snowflake emoji.

I laugh at loud, understanding her intent immediately. Racing to dress warmly and find my snow boots from last year, I add several layers of sweaters and socks before I trudge through the snow to the hill overlooking the library.

"Woo! You came!" Amber calls out, waving when she sees me. "I brought you a tray."

"Thanks!" I holler back, the cold wind stinging my eyes as I walk into the wind to reach them. Valerie, Amber, Amanda, and Kay are huddled on top of the hill.

"Hi, Maura," Kay says as I approach the group.

"Hey, Kay. How're you doing?" I ask politely, smiling in thanks at Amber for the tray she places in my hand.

"Okay." Kay shrugs.

"Let's do this!" Valerie exclaims, sitting on her tray and sliding down the hill. She picks up speed and hits a b.u.mp three-quarters of the way down. Her loud laughter follows the trajectory of her body as she falls onto the snow-covered ground.

Amber and Amanda follow Valerie down the hill as Kay s.h.i.+fts awkwardly before me. "Look, Maura," she begins, her eyes wide as she stares at me, "I'm sorry about what I said. I'd never declare you to the NCAA for drug testing. I was just p.i.s.sed off. I mean, you're so talented, you're so good at rowing, and our boat needs you. I was angry with you for not giving a c.r.a.p about the rest of us, for not pulling your weight. And I wanted to get your attention." She shrugs. "I'm sorry about the way I went about it, though."

I shake my head. "Don't be. You were right. And what you said, it was the wake-up call I needed. I'm sorry I've been such a s.h.i.+tty friend, s.h.i.+tty teammate lately. But I do want us to have an incredible season. And I want us to win Dad Vail. To win every regatta we race in."

She exhales loudly, relief evident in the way her eyes clear. She nods. "Okay then. We're good."

"We're good."

"Race ya to the bottom then!" she yells suddenly, tossing out her tray and jumping on top of it as she zips down the hill.

I laugh, watching Kay fly to the bottom, the other girls sitting on their trays in the snow, rolling s...o...b..a.l.l.s.

I shake my head, the cold biting at my cheeks and stinging my lips. Then I call out a yell and sit on my tray, digging my heels into the hill for some leverage. Tucking my knees into my chest and resting the tips of my boots on the edge of the tray, I take off. The wind whips my hair back and the cold numbs my cheeks. Even though I can hardly feel my face, I can't stop the laughter that tumbles out of me, relis.h.i.+ng the moment of complete freedom and reckless abandon. This time, in a good way.

It's not until four days later that I realize I'm late. And I'm never late.

I tap my fingertips nervously against the toilet paper roll. s.h.i.+t. Could I be pregnant? The test offers results five days before a missed period. I'm three days late.

Oh G.o.d. How could I let this happen?

I stare at the poster on the back of the metal bathroom door. An inspirational quote. Really?

Fear has two meanings: Forget everything and run. Face everything and rise.

Jesus, how I want to run. Like a f.u.c.king cheetah.

I open the test packet with my teeth and take a deep breath. The bathroom is quiet save for the spontaneous drip from a leaky faucet. Uncapping the test, I say a silent prayer to the universe that I'm not pregnant. Then I pee for the obligatory five seconds, recap the test, and lay it faceup.

6:52 PM.

The longest three minutes of my life stretch on forever.

Willing myself not to peek, I stare at my phone urging the seconds to tick by faster. What do I do if I'm pregnant? I've always been careful. Always. f.u.c.k. I wouldn't even know who the father is. Married man? No, he was too long ago. Hector? Jesus, please not Hector. The random from the club? I don't even remember his name! G.o.d, did I ever know it in the first place?

6:53 PM.

I did this to myself. I deserve to be punished.

But is a baby really a punishment?

Would I keep it?

Could I not keep it?

My baby is not an it!

Oh G.o.d, I want the three minutes to end.

6:54 PM.

Exhale deeply. Everything is going to be okay Maura.

I pick up the test. My fingers shake lightly. And there, staring up at me, remarkably bold and unmistakably pink are two straight lines.

I'm f.u.c.king pregnant.

My fingers tremble slightly as I sit alone in my dorm room. It's already dark outside, but I haven't bothered to close the blinds. It's just easier letting the darkness seep in. Just like I let it enter my soul. Too dramatic? I'm at a complete loss of what to do here. My first reaction is to call my friends. And I do. But after no one answers, I decide maybe it's best if I sort out my feelings on this solo. There's no way I can confide in anyone on the team. And my parents may as well have a heart attack that their baby girl is knocked-up out of wedlock. Jeez, I can practically see the tears rolling down my mom's heart-shaped face and sense the disappointment in my dad's eyes.

Nope, I'm on my own on this one. Which isn't that surprising considering I got myself into this mess all by myself. But still.

My hands instinctively cup my lower abdomen. It's still flat, no sign of a little baby growing inside. But I know my baby is there. And already, I love him or her. With a newfound purpose, an energy I haven't felt since before Adrian's death, I stand up from the bed. It's time I get serious about this. I have another life to care for now. It's not just all about me.

I grab a trash bag from my desk drawer and toss out all the alcohol and cigarettes in my room. And d.a.m.n if I'm not ashamed by the quant.i.ty. Two bottles of vodka (one Skyy and one Belvedere), one bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold tequila, four bottles of red wine (merlot), and three packs of cigarettes. I'm nearly desperate to be rid of it all, and I feel nothing except relief as I toss the trash bag down the garbage chute in the hallway.

Back in my dorm, I make my bed, pick up the discarded and dirty laundry littering my bedroom floor, and stack various library books neatly on my desk. Then I sit down, steel my shoulders, take a deep breath and type "pregnancy" into Google.

A new world of information awaits me. As I scroll through an absurd amount of blog posts, tips on handling morning sickness, the best prenatal vitamins, and more, I know I should be panicking. I mean, this is crazy. I'm twenty-one years old. I'm not dating anyone. I don't even have a college degree! I shouldn't be pregnant. I can't be pregnant.

Yet I am.

And all I feel is a sense of wonder.

My head feels surprisingly clear the next morning when my alarm sounds at 5:00AM. No dull ache, no dry red eyes. I feel good. I make my bed quickly and change into my practice clothes. After checking my email and tossing a cold water bottle into my practice bag, I'm ready to go when suddenly a wave of nausea hits out of nowhere. Saliva gathers in my mouth and I know I'm going to be sick. Eyeing the door, I realize I don't want to vomit in my floor's shared bathroom. I huddle over the trash bin under my desk just as my stomach heaves and I expel a stream of liquid. My eyes water; little tears cling to my eyelashes. I stay crouched down for several minutes, breathing in and out of my mouth, allowing my heart rate to settle. Standing back up, I rinse out my mouth with mouthwash and spit that into the trash bin too. Then I gather and knot the trash bag, determined to remove that little piece of evidence on my walk to the Erg room, where all of the rowing machines are housed, at the gym.

It's cold outside, an icy chill wrapping me in a hug as I leave my dorm's parking lot and begin walking in the direction of the gym. The cold air feels good though, settles my nerves and eases the flush from my cheeks. I'm a bit nervous about practice now that I'm pregnant. Is rowing considered extreme exertion? It's something I've been doing regularly since before I learned I was pregnant so it's definitely not a routine change. Still, I don't want to do anything to jeopardize my little wonder.

That's how I think about the baby now. A little piece of peace, a little soul of magic and awe and wonder. A little girl or guy I'll love more than anyone else in the world.

Maybe I'm delusional.

Maybe this whole thing is crazy?

But I'm already in love with my little love.

Chapter Thirty-One.

Zack

We have three regattas in November. We don't take them too seriously-it's still not even our season-but they are a good opportunity for our boat to really home in on what we need to improve between now and March. Our first regatta was the past weekend and we came in second. It wasn't terrible but it's definitely not where we want to be. Coach kicks up our training a notch, and we all feel it.

Mid-semester exams have just ended and my B average is gradually slipping toward a C. Closing myself in a library cubicle for the whole day on Sunday, I spend hours catching up on a.s.signments and readings I've neglected. My thesis proposal was originally rejected on grounds of "lacking creativity," and I plan to submit my new proposal on Tuesday.

Focused on the work before me and determined to bring up my GPA, I ignore the groups of students having s...o...b..ll fights outside or sipping pumpkin spice lattes at the group tables on the second floor of the library. I need to bring my grades up if I'm going to apply for graduate school. Or get an actual job. The thought of being a perpetual ranch hand may be just the motivation I need to turn my grades around.

I spend eight straight hours in the library and feel confident about the progress I've made with my courses. My body is dragging when I enter my house after sitting for such a long stretch of time. I need to be diligent this week and spend all of my free time committed to my courses if I'm going to turn things around in time for final exams. Plus, our first regatta is this weekend. My ribs feel broken, my hands are torn up with blisters, and Lauren is perched on the edge of the sofa wearing jeans and a cream sweater paired with a sweet smile when I enter the house.

What is she doing here? Is something wrong?

"Hey, Laur," I say instead.

"Hi! I'm so glad you're home. Sorry, I hope you don't mind my popping by unannounced, but I messaged Jeremy and he said you should be home around this time. James let me in." She bounds up, full of energy, and wraps her arms around my stomach in a hug.