Read Online Turning Pointe by Katherine Locke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Locke
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minute and hear me out?” The words spill from her in a single breath and my head jerks up. She’s looking at the swing dancers. My mind blinks off and I force it to come back online. She’s breaking up with me. This is it. I want to say that I’d be okay with it, that I could go back to being friends to avoid losing her. Because I can’t imagine her not in my life, that’s true. But I’m not sure if I can be just friends anymore. I don’t know if I can rewind to the way we were before Amsterdam.
“You look panicked already,” she says, and then she squeezes my hand, turning to face me, crossing her legs. “We’ve known each other for how long now? Almost seven years?”
“Seven years in June,” I say, trying to focus on her words.
“My favorite thing about us,” she says softly, “is that we’ve seen each other’s dark secrets and we’re still here, right?”
“Aly,” I manage to say, “if you want to go back to how this used to be, just spit it out.”
She blinks and then shakes her head hard. Our hands tremble in the space between us. “What? Oh, God, no, Zed. That’s not what I wanted to talk about. I want this.”
“Then what?” My voice cracks, just on this side of sounding harsh.
“I’m pregnant.”
The funny thing about parks is how absolutely absurdly bright they are at midday. Even when you’re under those giant trees and surrounded by buildings tall enough to block out the sun, it still seems so bright to be sitting there in the middle of the park. Maybe it’s because we spend so much time indoors.
“You said—” I begin quietly, unsure of where my eyes are supposed to go. What I should be looking at. Anywhere but her right now. I try to pull up that first night, when neither of us were concerned with protection, when she said that she couldn’t get pregnant. At least, that’s what I thought she meant and that’s certainly what we’ve been operating on since then. That particular part of the conversation isn’t usually the part I’m seeking from my memory.
“I know,” she says, and I can’t help but look at her because she chokes up. She swipes at her eyes. Tears. She’s crying. I try to think of the last time I’ve seen Aly cry from something other than physical pain. She shakes her head a bit. “I haven’t gotten my period in years but apparently that doesn’t necessarily mean I wasn’t ovulating. And—I’m so sorry, Zed. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop,” I manage to say. I close the lid to my food and push it to the side, feeling sick to my stomach.
She turned twenty on the flight home. I turned twenty a few weeks later. We’re young. We’re so young still. And here we are, knocked up and oblivious to our bodies. What the fuck happened to better safe than sorry? And if not the first time, every time since then? We can’t handle real life or adulthood. And now she’s pregnant.
We fucked up. I know. We were both so fucking naïve and desperate. And in love. The thought pops up unbidden to my mind. We haven’t said it, but it’s there and it’s been there longer than the twelve weeks since we flew to Europe.
“Okay,” I whisper. I swallow, say it again, just to reassure myself. “Okay. We can handle this.”
Liar.
“It could destroy my career,” she says, turning her fork around in the rice. “I mean, I’m young. I could bounce back. I know that. There have been others who have done it before. I—I didn’t want to—this is a joint decision, if you want it to be.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, but she’s right. This is a joint decision, no matter what we choose. “I’m in, if you’re in.”
“You were in, that’s why we’re in this predicament,” she mutters, and at my shocked face, bursts into laughter. Loud, wild laughter that turns heads. She doubles over, forehead brushing her knees, and when she sits back up, there’s color in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes.
“Aly Miller,” I
“You look panicked already,” she says, and then she squeezes my hand, turning to face me, crossing her legs. “We’ve known each other for how long now? Almost seven years?”
“Seven years in June,” I say, trying to focus on her words.
“My favorite thing about us,” she says softly, “is that we’ve seen each other’s dark secrets and we’re still here, right?”
“Aly,” I manage to say, “if you want to go back to how this used to be, just spit it out.”
She blinks and then shakes her head hard. Our hands tremble in the space between us. “What? Oh, God, no, Zed. That’s not what I wanted to talk about. I want this.”
“Then what?” My voice cracks, just on this side of sounding harsh.
“I’m pregnant.”
The funny thing about parks is how absolutely absurdly bright they are at midday. Even when you’re under those giant trees and surrounded by buildings tall enough to block out the sun, it still seems so bright to be sitting there in the middle of the park. Maybe it’s because we spend so much time indoors.
“You said—” I begin quietly, unsure of where my eyes are supposed to go. What I should be looking at. Anywhere but her right now. I try to pull up that first night, when neither of us were concerned with protection, when she said that she couldn’t get pregnant. At least, that’s what I thought she meant and that’s certainly what we’ve been operating on since then. That particular part of the conversation isn’t usually the part I’m seeking from my memory.
“I know,” she says, and I can’t help but look at her because she chokes up. She swipes at her eyes. Tears. She’s crying. I try to think of the last time I’ve seen Aly cry from something other than physical pain. She shakes her head a bit. “I haven’t gotten my period in years but apparently that doesn’t necessarily mean I wasn’t ovulating. And—I’m so sorry, Zed. I’m so sorry.”
“Stop,” I manage to say. I close the lid to my food and push it to the side, feeling sick to my stomach.
She turned twenty on the flight home. I turned twenty a few weeks later. We’re young. We’re so young still. And here we are, knocked up and oblivious to our bodies. What the fuck happened to better safe than sorry? And if not the first time, every time since then? We can’t handle real life or adulthood. And now she’s pregnant.
We fucked up. I know. We were both so fucking naïve and desperate. And in love. The thought pops up unbidden to my mind. We haven’t said it, but it’s there and it’s been there longer than the twelve weeks since we flew to Europe.
“Okay,” I whisper. I swallow, say it again, just to reassure myself. “Okay. We can handle this.”
Liar.
“It could destroy my career,” she says, turning her fork around in the rice. “I mean, I’m young. I could bounce back. I know that. There have been others who have done it before. I—I didn’t want to—this is a joint decision, if you want it to be.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, but she’s right. This is a joint decision, no matter what we choose. “I’m in, if you’re in.”
“You were in, that’s why we’re in this predicament,” she mutters, and at my shocked face, bursts into laughter. Loud, wild laughter that turns heads. She doubles over, forehead brushing her knees, and when she sits back up, there’s color in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes.
“Aly Miller,” I
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