Filed to story: If He Had Been With Me Book PDF Free
I don’t turn to look at her. I can’t stop staring at the hurt on Aunt Angelina’s face.
“Is it, Mom?” I say.
We agreed to wait until we were at home to talk.
“Yes, I want to be able to see your face when we talk about this,” I told my mother when she suggested waiting until after the drive home. The drive was quiet and as frosty as the late autumn chill outside.
At home, seated around the kitchen table, finally looking at her face, I say, “We already know that you thought what you were doing was best for everyone.”
“And that’s not an excuse,” my mother agrees. “I should have told you.”
“So why didn’t you?” Angelina presses. “We agreed this was Autumn’s decision.”
“How does he even know that I’m pregnant?”
“That part’s my fault, kiddo,” Aunt Angelina admits. “He reached out to me right after you went to the hospital. He has this project about Finny he wanted help with, and it had all been such a whirlwind of emotions from losing Finny to thinking we might lose you to finding out about the pregnancy, and I don’t know. I told him.”
“And he made Mom an offer too good to refuse?” I ask them both. I feel like a piece of me has been sold.
“I meant to tell you,” Mom says. “But then I didn’t, and it seemed easier to wait until…”
“What? Until that man demanded access to my child that he’d already paid for?”
“Until you were able to think about it more rationally and less emotionally,” Mom explains, but I can hear she knows how pathetic it sounds.
“Look, I told you before, Claire,” Angelina says. “If Autumn wanted access to that money, she’d have a good legal case, and we could have sued John instead of letting him hold the strings.”
“Yes, I remember, Angelina,” Mom says. “But I th—“
“Okay, what money is this?” I say. “Let’s start there!”
“Every time John felt guilty for abandoning his son, he put some money in an account he’d secretly opened with Phineas’s name on it, or sometimes for an especially plagued conscience, he’d buy another government savings bond. It wasn’t until after Finny died that John realized how much his guilt had added up.”
“How much had it added up?”
“Enough that if you were to sue on behalf of Finny’s heir, after we’ve settled out of court and paid the lawyers, there’d still be enough to raise this baby to age eighteen and send both you and the baby to college.” Aunt Angelina continues, “It’s an open-and-shut case, Autumn. He has access to the account, but the name on it is Phineas Smith, the father of your baby.”
“And if we don’t sue and tell him never to contact me?”
“He keeps the money,” my mom says. “And we would have to use the money from your college fund to raise this baby.”
“I would sell the house,” Angelina adds. “I was thinking about it anyway since I’ve been staying here most nights.” She glances angrily at my mother, and I suppose that won’t be the case tonight. “We’d find a way to make it work.”
“But it would be so much harder for everyone, Autumn, including your child,” Mom says. “I don’t have to tell you that being a teen mother puts a lot of obstacles in your way. This money could alleviate, or even obliterate, those obstacles.”
“But you promised that we would let her choose,” Angelina says, shaking her head. This is a betrayal between the two of them that goes deeper than my part in it. The Mothers have always been a team, and this disconnect is unprecedented. If Finny were here, we’d be sharing meaningful glances across the table about this historic conflict.
“I’m sorry,” Mom says again. “I know that saying it doesn’t change anything. But I’ll keep saying it.”
“And if we don’t sue, and we keep using that little gold card?”
“I told him that you weren’t ready to discuss the particulars.” Mom begins to blush as the depth of her lies starts to sink in. “But he wants to be part of the baby’s life in whatever capacity you’ll give him, Autumn.” She gives Aunt Angelina and I look that is more pleading than when she was advocating for herself. “The man has so many regrets.”
“He should,” I say. “And so should you.”
Mom nods. She either mouths or whispers that she’s sorry, but it’s too quiet to hear.
twelve
Marcia, the former juvenile public defender, brought a box of coffee to share with everyone at group therapy today. It smells amazing. I never liked coffee before, and I want to get some too, but everyone can see that I’m pregnant now. I’m not sure if they’ll judge me.
It’s not that pregnant women can’t have caffeine; it’s that you’re not supposed to have over a certain amount. The doctor said I could have a large cup of coffee every day and it would be okay. Until now, I didn’t really care to have any.
Everyone acts like the rule is no caffeine when you’re pregnant, and I’m already feeling self-conscious enough in this room full of people mostly in their thirties.
But the coffee smells so good.
“Are we ready to begin?” Dr. Singh asks us. Everyone is murmuring assent when I jump up.
“I’m just gonna…” I mumble over my shoulder as I rush to the table. My mouth actually waters as I pour the cup and stir in a bit of milk. I hurry back to the circle, careful not to spill a precious drop.
One of the older women leans over as I sit down.
“Do you think you sh—“
“Oh my God, Wanda! Mind your own fucking business,” Brittaney groans. She rolls her eyes in my direction, and I give her a weak smile of thanks.
Dr. Singh doesn’t remind Brittaney about her language, which I think means he agrees that Wanda should mind her own business. He starts the session talking about how trauma causes physical changes to the brain. I can’t help but think about how Finny would find it interesting, all this talk about inflexible neuropathways.
“Your novel came from your brain, Autumn, word by word, and I wish I could understand how your brain is able to do that.”
His hands on the steering wheel, his face illuminated in the dashboard light. Just being near him made me feel more alive.
Brittaney chimes in, “Sometimes it’s like I hear my ex-boyfriend’s voice, saying, ‘You killed my baby. You killed our fucking daughter,’ over and over, exactly the way he said it. And it feels like I physically can’t stop myself from thinking about that moment. My brain gets caught in a loop.”
Part of me thinks I had to have misheard her. I’ve covered my mouth with my hand, and as I lower it, I look around the room, but no one seems to think that Brittaney has said anything particularly shocking. A few people are nodding. Someone else talks about being unable to stop analyzing the moment before their assault.
I drink my coffee and listen and wonder why I am here.
But then I remember; I can hear my boyfriend’s voice in my head too.
This time, I’m not surprised when Brittaney is waiting for me when I come out of the bathroom stall.
“You’re having a girl,” she announces without preamble. “I thought you should know.” She’s leaning against the counter so she’s practically sitting on it, her toes barely grazing the ground.
“Cool,” I say as I head to the sink.
“I know you don’t believe me,” she says, “but I’m always right. When’s the ultrasound where you find out?”
“Next week.” I begin to wash my hands. This seems to be our routine.
“Are you excited?”
I look up. Our eyes meet in the mirror.
“No,” I admit to her.
“Why not? You have someone to go with you? Where’s the daddy?”