Friday, December 2
(Kate)
It's been a few days since I've been to my dorm room. I need to grab my detergent and do some laundry.
I slip the key into the lock, but it's already unlocked. That's strange. Dorm room 101/Creeper 101—always keep your door locked.
Sugar's lying on her bed, but she's awake. I decide to offer up a friendly greeting and say, "What's happening, Sugar?" even though I doubt I'll get much in return. Hostile or dismissive responses don't count.
Nothing. She says nothing. Fine. Whatever. It's not like we're best friends. Hell, we really aren't even friends so I move on quickly to the task at hand.
As I'm stuffing clothes from a pile next to my bed into my laundry bag, I hear a sniffle from Sugar's side of the room. I've just been put in the position where I have to make a split-second decision—do I acknowledge that she's crying, or don't I? I want to ignore her, but I can't. I glance back and notice she's huddled up in fetal position and tears are silently streaming down her cheeks onto her pillow. Her face is devoid of any emotion, which is the scariest kind of breakdown. It's the mask of shock. The mask your body puts on when what you're going through is too intense, and it would rather shut down than contend with it head-on.
Well shit, it looks like I'm not getting any laundry done this afternoon.
Since we aren't exactly friends, I'm not going to go over the top, but I am concerned. I hate to see people cry. "Sugar, dude, you wanna talk about it?"
No response. She doesn't even blink.
I try again, because I can't walk away now. "Listen, I know I'm the last person you probably want to talk to, but I am a good listener."
She blinks and looks up at me like she's just noticed me for the first time. The tears keep coming.
"What's up, dude?"
She sniffles again, and I hand her a tissue from the box on my desk. After she blows her nose, the expression on her face is somewhere between sadness and embarrassment. She sniffles again. "I'm pregnant."
For an instant, I think, And this surprises you, you nympho? But the mean thought exits as quickly as it entered because I'm certainly not a saint in this department. Only a virgin could pass judgment right now. That's certainly not me. "How far along?"
She rubs the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "I don't know. I missed my period last week. I took three tests yesterday. All positive."
My mind is racing. I can't help but put myself in her shoes. It's like some sort of morbid version of living vicariously. God, what the hell would I do if I were Sugar? So I try to be supportive, again without being fake. "Have you talked to the father?"
She shakes her head and lets out a laugh that's part disgust and part self-loathing. "I don't even know who the father is."
"Can you narrow it down? Maybe if you find out how far along you are, it would help."
She rolls her eyes, and they land on the tissue she's shredding into confetti onto the bed in front of her. "You know as well as I do how many different guys have come through here." The tears have started up again. "I'm so fucking stupid, Kate."
I have this sudden urge to comfort her, because everyone messes up. Everyone. I sit down on her bed and offer another tissue. "You're not stupid, Sugar. Horny maybe, but not stupid."
She blows her nose loudly and glares at me.
It makes me smile. For the first time, I'm having a real conversation with the real Sugar. "What are you going to do?"
"I can't have a baby," she says without reservation. "I just can't."
My heart hurts. Although I absolutely believe that this is a decision every woman needs to make for herself, my head still has me in Sugar's shoes. I know that, deep down, I would want to keep my baby. I swallow and remind myself that this isn't about me, it's about Sugar. And only Sugar knows what's best for Sugar.
But I still have to play devil's advocate because it's what I would do for a friend. "Can you live with that decision? One, two, ten years down the road? Can you live with it?"
There's fear in her eyes, but she repeats, "I can't have a baby right now."
I nod. She's thought about it. "Have you been to the health clinic on campus? Maybe they can help."
She shakes her head. "No. I'm...I'm scared."
I can't believe I'm saying this. "Go wash your face and put some clothes on. We're going on a field trip, Sugar."
Sugar takes another pregnancy test at the campus health clinic. It confirms what she already knew. She talks to the PA on duty, with me by her side, and takes the standard pamphlets and cards they provide on pregnancy, adoption, and abortion.
By the time we walk out the door, she's resolute. She has a plan. Still, her hands are shaking so hard she can't dial her cell to make an appointment.
I take the phone out of her hand and finish dialing the number on the business card. When a woman answers on the other end of the line, I proceed. "I need to make an appointment for a friend."
We set up an appointment for next Thursday morning.