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  I shook my head and watched him go. I was glad that he was so confident in his plan. Gran would probably strangle me to death once I told her what I’d done.

  When I got back to the apartment, she was watching a talk show on the crappy, snow-speckled television.

  “Shonda?” she said wonderingly, squinting at the clock. “My programs are still on. Did they let you out early today?”

  “Not really, Gran,” I said, staring at the floor.

  “Well, then? What are you doing out of school?”

  I sighed heavily. This was much, much harder than I thought it would be.

  “The thing is—I have to talk to you about something.”

  “Well?” I could see that Gran was losing patience with me. “Out with it.”

  I wanted to ask her to promise not to be mad at me, but I knew that would probably be impossible.

  “I’m—I’m pregnant, Gran.”

  I wish she would’ve hollered at me, maybe even smacked me around a little. But the way Gran’s face caved in so carefully, as if it were some kind of controlled explosion, hurt me more than anything. She was crushingly disappointed, making me feel like I was a terrible human being.

  “Who’s the father?” she asked after what had to be five whole minutes of silence. “Do you know?”

  The question stung, but I didn’t let it show. Gran deserved any jab she wanted to make.

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s a guy I know from school—Ben Paxton. And he wanted me to take you over to his parents’ house so that we could talk this through.”

  “Talk what through?” Gran asked, sounding incredibly weary. “You’re with child. What more is there to talk about?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like you to come. Please, Gran.”

  She looked even frailer than usual as she gathered a cardigan around herself and hefted her purse.

  “I can get that for you, Gran,” I said, reaching for the monstrosity, but she shrugged me away.

  “I can do it,” she said.

  The walk between the apartment and Ben’s house was nothing for me, but Gran was getting older every day. I felt terrible when she reached a gnarled hand out to hail a taxi, and put her trembling fingers inside her wallet to draw out some precious bills to pay for it. What had I been contributing to this family? Nothing but drama. I wished hard to simply shrivel up and die, but my body didn’t oblige.

  And now, it wasn’t only my body. My baby—the baby that Ben and I created—was growing inside me.

  Gran was silent in the taxi, and I was a little thankful that the driver was playing music. We arrived after what seemed like an impossibly short ride, and Gran accepted my help to get out of the taxi.

  Ben’s house loomed over us, and Gran made a noise of appreciation.

  “You don’t see fine old houses like this much anymore,” she said, peering up at it.

  “Ben’s folks are quite wealthy,” I offered, glancing over at Gran to see if that bit of news might please her, but her wrinkled face was inscrutable. The best thing to do would be just to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  Miles, the butler, was there to greet us at the door.

  “Ah, Miss Shimmy,” he said. “You and your grandmother are a little earlier than expected.”

  His face flinched at shouting from somewhere deep in the house behind him, and he gave an apologetic smile.

  Faintly, I could hear what sounded like a woman’s voice, railing against someone.

  “What did you think was going to happen?” it demanded, floating on the air all the way to my ears. “What did you think we were trying to protect you from?”

  “May I get either of you ladies something to drink?” Miles asked.

  “Some water would be appreciated,” Gran said, her voice soft and almost cowed in the face of such wealth. It hurt me to see her like that. Gran wasn’t a vain woman, but she had her pride.

  “Wait here, please,” Miles said, turning sharply on his heel and marching back toward the kitchen.

  I had no choice but to stand there and listen to what I could only assume were Ben’s parents, eviscerating him over what had happened.

  “Completely irresponsible …” a man cut in.

  “Totally unthinkable …” the woman rejoined.

  But suddenly, they fell silent. I heard murmuring, a soft curse, and then Miles was back, holding a tray with two glasses of water on it.

  “Please,” he said. “Follow me to the den. The Paxton’s are waiting.”

  Gran took one of the glasses of water from the tray and sipped from the glittering crystal.

  “Please, Miss Shimmy,” he said, offering me the other glass. “For the baby. Drink.”

  I knew that I was going to start having that mindset—for the baby. I was going to have to be mindful of my diet and my health, and put the life growing inside of me first. I took the crystal glass and drank before setting it back on the tray. Gran and I followed Miles back into a den, someplace I’d never set foot in before. The house was enormous, so I was sure there were plenty of other places I hadn’t laid eyes on.

  The den was furnished with several leather couches and chairs, all of the same fawn color. Ben was slumped in a chair, his face in his hands, and who I could only assume were his parents were both perched on the edge of the same couch, humming mad even if they were doing their best not to show it in front of strangers.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Paxton, this is Shonda Crosby and her grandmother,” Miles said formally.

  “Please,” I said, my voice small in the room. “Everyone calls me Shimmy.”

  Mrs. Paxton gave a sharp laugh. “Of course they do.”

  “Mother, please,” Ben said, grinding the words out. “Please behave yourself.”

  “Very rich, coming from you,” she snapped, but crossed her arms and looked away.

  Gran and I sat down on another couch and I studied Ben’s parents for a bit. Mr. Paxton looked like he’d just walked off the golf course, his argyle sweater vest and its pastel colors looking cool against his dark skin. Mrs. Paxton’s smooth skin was just a few shades lighter, and she had on a fine black cocktail dress and a string of pearls around her neck. These were two classy individuals, and I tried not to look askance at Gran’s years-old cardigan. Much of the material had balled up after use and time, and it looked third rate.

  Gran cleared her throat, and I slumped forward, staring off into space. I tried to catch Ben’s eye, but he never looked up.

  “I wasn’t so sure on the way over here, but now I do think it’s a good idea to talk about what to do about our two young people,” Gran said, her voice strong but a little quavering.

  No one had anything to say to that, so Gran simply continued.

  “I think I’d like to say up front that I don’t believe abortion is the answer,” she said.

  Mr. Paxton hissed between his teeth—an unpleasant sound. “I’d say you’re right,” he said. “If what my son’s saying is true, your granddaughter is carrying the heir to this family.”

  Gran blinked a couple of times, evidently not sure what to think about that.

  “Well, all human life is precious,” she said finally. “We’re going to do the right thing and raise this baby correctly.”

  “The correct thing to do is to take good care of yourself for the entirety of your term,” Mrs. Paxton said, looking at me coolly. “No drugs, no alcohol.”

  “I don’t do that kind of stuff,” I said defensively.

  Mrs. Paxton’s mouth twisted and she looked like she wanted to say something, but Mr. Paxton laid his hand on her arm to stop her.

  “And once you’ve brought this baby to term, we’d like for you to renounce any claim you might have to it,” Mr. Paxton said.

  I had to carefully go over each word in my head, trying to see if I understood. Renounce any claim? Did that mean deny I was the mother of my child?

  “We can raise this baby better than you can,” Mrs. Paxton said. “We can buy the finest care, clo
thing, and toys. The baby will be the heir to this family’s fortune. With that come advantages that many children will never have.”

  “I couldn’t just give up our child,” I said, looking at Ben, willing him to look back at me.

  “A baby needs its mother,” Gran said. “There are some things that money can’t buy, and this is one of those things. I think Shonda and Ben should raise this child together, and do the right thing.”

  “If you think the right thing is for your granddaughter to marry my son, you are sadly mistaken,” Mrs. Paxton snapped, venomous as a snake. “We’re not going to let her trap him into marriage, or use this baby as some kind of leverage to get at our wealth.”

  “Ben, you know me,” I said, not caring how plaintive my voice sounded to my own ears. “You know I wouldn’t be like that. You know I don’t want to steal your money.”

  If he heard me, he didn’t give any indication of doing so.

  “I’m frankly surprised that you wouldn’t jump at this chance,” Mr. Paxton said. “We can give this child things that you could only dream about giving it. If you truly wanted to be a good mother, if you truly wanted to see your child succeed, you’d give it to us as soon as it is born.”

  “We can call our lawyer and get everything drawn up,” Mrs. Paxton said. “My husband and I will take charge of it.”

  “And what about you, Ben?” I asked, addressing the top of his head. He had still refused to look up, to even acknowledge us. “Do you want to give up our child like this? Not be parents to it? Is this what you want?”

  He still didn’t answer, neither of his parents even glancing his way.

  “Think about it,” Mr. Paxton pushed me. “What’s the best thing for your baby?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Love would’ve been my first answer, but I didn’t want to get laughed out of the room. Was money the answer instead? Did I want my baby to go hungry like I did, growing up, or did I want it to have pizza pockets and name-brand chips and sodas for snacks? I didn’t know what was the most important thing. Ben and I had both had samplings of each of these choices, and we’d both still made the same mistake. Maybe it wasn’t a question of upbringing.

  Gran stood up, surprising me.

  “I think the best thing right now is to let it be,” she said. “We all have lots of things to think about. If you don’t think marriage is the solution, and if my Shonda does the right thing and wants to raise her baby—as is her right—I think you should call your lawyer and get him drafting out some other papers.”

  “Other papers?” Mrs. Paxton repeated. “Like what?”

  “Like child support,” Gran said, taking my elbow and drawing me up as Mrs. Paxton spluttered.

  Mr. Paxton laid his hand on his wife’s arm again, and she quieted.

  “We’d like to make sure the baby receives the best possible medical care,” he said, looking at me earnestly. “You’ll have to start attending doctor’s appointments—the proper regimen for any mother to be.”

  “She’ll get the proper medical care,” Gran said, holding her head high.

  “What, from doctors in your Medicaid network?” Mrs. Paxton sneered. “I don’t think so. Not for my grandchild. This girl will have the best care from our doctors, and we’ll send the butler with the car to make sure she gets to the appointments.”

  I watched Gran think it over, watched her mentally count what kind of bills we’d start incurring at all my doctor’s appointments. It was difficult enough to stay afloat when Gran had to go to the doctor. It was going to be downright impossible with all of my appointments to come.

  “We can accept that,” Gran said humbly. “In fact, that would be a downright blessing.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re finally coming to your senses,” Mr. Paxton said, but Gran held a finger up.

  “This doesn’t mean that we’re just going to give you this baby after it’s born,” Gran said. “I maintain that this is a decision for its parents and no one else.”

  “I can speak for my son when I say that what’s best for the baby is for it to be raised in a household where it will have every advantage possible,” Mr. Paxton said. Ben didn’t react, his face still in his hands. Where was the brave man who’d walked out of that bathroom with me? That man had vanished.

  “And I can speak for my granddaughter when I say that a baby needs its parents—its mother in particular,” Gran said. “I think we’ll be leaving, now, though it was a pleasure to meet you all.”

  The polite words rang hollow. There was no one pleased to meet anyone in that room.

  “Miles will take you back in the car,” Mr. Paxton said. “No need to walk all that distance again, two women in your conditions.”

  My condition was pregnant. Gran’s was just age, and she drew herself up in a high temper.

  “We came in a cab,” she said proudly, frowning at him.

  “Well, please think of it as the first of our contributions to your well being,” Mrs. Paxton said. “No need to spend your precious income on taxi rides. Miles?”

  The butler materialized, holding the car keys. “Right this way, ladies, if you please.”

  I looked longingly at Ben, but it was clear he wasn’t going to stand up to his parents. I could start to understand why it was never a possibility of him issuing an ultimatum that he was going to play basketball after high school. Mr. and Mrs. Paxton had plans and motivations that no one was going to upset.

  For all the time I was there, Ben never looked at me once. As overbearing as his parents were, the fact still angered me. I needed him, but he was absent.

  Gran didn’t say anything in the car ride home except to thank Miles for his kindness. We rode the creaky elevator up to our floor, and entered our apartment in silence. I tolerated it for as long as I could.

  “Gran,” I said as she sat passively in her chair. “Say something.”

  She shook her head. “What more is there to say, child?” she asked. “This is our new reality. This is what you’re now going to have to deal with.”

  “But you don’t really think I should give my baby up, do you?” I asked. “I don’t want to. I want to be a good mother to it, like my mother never was to me.”

  Gran set her mouth in a thin line. “Maybe I should’ve forced your mother to be around you when you were younger,” she said. “And then you would’ve seen what a fool the woman was. Maybe there would’ve been a lesson in that, and maybe it would’ve scared you straight and you’d never find yourself in this situation. But I always thought that if I was kind but strict, you could grow up to be a good girl and still believe that somehow your mother was a perfect person. Babies shouldn’t think bad of their mothers.”

  I watched Gran, silent, sure that she was talking about more than my mother and me. Perhaps Gran was talking about my mother and herself. I’d never paused to think what it probably cost Gran to tell me so many times over that my own mother was a loser. Did Gran think she failed as a mother because of it?

  “I’m scared, Gran,” I admitted quietly. “I want to be a good mother, but I feel like I don’t know how.”

  She exhaled heavily and looked up at me. “Every mother is scared, at the beginning,” she said. “That’s the way you know you’re going to do your best. You should be scared. Being scared makes you cautious and caring. You don’t want anything bad to happen for your baby. And you need to start planning ahead.”

  “What should I be doing?”

  “Focus on school, for one,” Gran said. “Your baby needs its mother with an education so you can provide for it.”

  “I need a job,” I remarked.

  Gran nodded. “You know my pension checks don’t get any bigger,” she said. “And that baby’s gonna need things. If you think you can handle a job and school, then that’s the best thing you can do.”

  Think I could handle it? I had no idea. All I knew was that I was going to have to handle it because there wasn’t another option. I needed to help provide for this household, especi
ally if I was adding to it.

  I got two jobs to start with, while I was still feeling strong, and to save up as much money as possible.

  In the morning before school, I got a job as a cook at a breakfast restaurant. I made home fries and ham and egg biscuits for a few hours, then went off and threw myself into my studies. After school let out, I caught a bus to the mall, where I worked at a clothing store. I got a pretty wicked discount and sometimes salivated over the new shipments we got in, but I never bought a scrap of clothing. Surviving was just too important right now. Everything that was extra had to wait.

  With my dual paychecks, we started buying things for the baby—a crib, first, then little onesies and rattles and pacifiers. Every time we went grocery shopping, we bought another package of diapers.

  “You’ll see,” Gran said after I asked her why we needed ten packages of them. “If we budget it in now, we’ll get used to the expense. It won’t surprise us so much when we’re going through them four or five a day.”

  I worked and my belly grew, carefully monitored by the battery of doctors the Paxton’s sent me to. Before each appointment, I had to sign an agreement that stated the doctors would be letting Ben’s parents know about the progress of the baby growing inside of me. It was their only stipulation of me seeing the doctors they were paying for and transporting me to. Gran figured it was fair enough.

  The baby started kicking right on schedule, according to the obstetrician. I wanted Ben to be there for it, to feel the power of our child that we created inside my body, but he hadn’t been back to school since the ill-fated meeting with his parents. I heard rumors that he was being home-schooled for the rest of the year, or that his parents had pulled strings to have him transferred to an exclusive private school—the school they’d wanted him to go to from the beginning, anyways.

  It was hard to know what to believe, hard to ignore the ache in my heart or the kicks that made my stomach flutter. But I kept going to school to give myself a future, or at least that’s what Gran told me to get me out the door each morning.

  When I walked across the stage for graduation, the gown did a poor job of hiding my pregnant belly. By that time, I’d been forced to quit my job, the strain too much on me despite us needing the money. We started baking and selling cookies and cakes, Gran and I, both of us taking turns with selling packages of sweets to passers-by.