It wouldn’t be easy to forget about Tim Parker if she had his child.
One tear turned into many, and the big knot in her stomach would not go away.
Why couldn’t there be someone around to make her a cup of tea? Why was she alone? Didn’t it take two to create a child? And why the hell had Tim not fallen in love with her? Was there something wrong with her? Why had he found it so easy to turn away?
She rubbed her feet together as they were numb from the cold, and let out a sigh of relief when they at least returned to life with a tingle. Accompanied by an odd feeling of foreignness inside her own body, she finally fell into an uneasy sleep.
Four days, three more tests, and a visit to the doctor’s, and there was no more doubt.
She was pregnant.
Her professor’s monotonous lecture echoed from the high walls of the lecture hall and created a soft, acoustic background to Lauren’s vaguely drifting thoughts. She had no idea what he was droning on about, even when she looked up and stared at the photo of the four presidents at Mount Rushmore. Apparently something about sculpting or stonemasonry.
Lauren pulled the end of her pencil out of her mouth, scrunching up her nose when she noticed the impressions her teeth had left on the soft wood. She stared at her watch, breathing out and feeling irritated. Another hour.
The other students were sitting in their seats, equally unenthusiastic, and all the oxygen seemed to have drained from the room ages ago.
Why was she even doing this to herself?
She was pregnant after all! Whatever was this supposed to mean for her future.
While the professor up front inadvertently picked one of the presidents’ noses with his pointer stick, Lauren went through the different possible scenarios in her mind.
She most liked the idea of being a chilled, relaxed mom, raising the child by herself and living off her art by the Maine coast. Except, this was quite a stretch, because even though she was studying art she didn’t have much talent for it. Not for painting or sculpture, anyway. With her degree she’d be allowed to teach art classes, however . . . which didn’t sound half as glamorous in her imagination as being a famous artist.
And back between her teeth the pencil went. She would stand there before a horde of students, just as bored as her professor. And then she pictured herself throwing all of her career plans overboard, devoting her time to her child and only her child. Not such a bad idea either but, at the bottom of her heart, playing such a passive role did not fit with her idea of living an independent life.
The only option she was able to rule out right away was terminating her pregnancy. Why? Lauren didn’t have a good enough answer for herself, but it was simply out of the question. Life was precious. Always. Every life. And with that, the most important decision had already been made – no matter what the rest would look like.
Deep in thought she started drawing circles in her notebook, filling them in with various shades of crosshatch patterns. She felt nauseous. Was that a side effect of her pregnancy, or the result of her decision-making?
She tied her hair up into a loose bun, and noticed how her hands were shaking. Shit, why did everything have to be so complicated?
For a while longer, she tried to follow her professor’s lecture. Then she got up, grabbed her papers, carelessly stuffed them all into her bag, and left the lecture hall.
When the heavy door closed behind her with a thud and her footsteps echoed through the empty hallway, she started feeling better. She closed the top few buttons on her winter coat and stepped outside into the drifting snow. The snowflakes floated down, thick as cotton wads. The entire campus descended into a soft white blanket of glittering snow crystals. Snow crunched beneath Lauren’s feet, and she made it a point to only step where the snow cover was virgin and untouched.
Even though more than a week remained until Christmas break, Lauren decided to return to Vermont right away. She had a few things to clear up. The presidents at Mount Rushmore would understand.
Her breath painted little clouds into the cold air, and she felt strangely relieved considering the fact that something was weighing so heavily on her mind. When she reached her car, snowflakes were sitting on her hair, and her cheeks were flushed. The freckles on her nose were glowing. She sat down behind the wheel, started the card and turned into the deserted campus road. The wheels found almost no grip on the slippery snow cover, but her dorm wasn’t far.
Getting there didn’t even take the time she needed to come up with what she would say to her parents and, most importantly, to Tim. She was afraid of the conversations but at the same time felt hope rise up inside of her, hope that Tim would maybe be happy.
‘Highly unlikely!’ she reminded herself.
Still, she could not quite shake that hopeful feeling.
* * *
‘I was really overwhelmed by that decision back then,’ Lauren confessed. She noticed how Mia pricked her ears, and waved her oldest daughter over to join her and Ben on the other side of the bonfire. Mia looked tired. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she kept yawning. ‘I was overwhelmed because I was scared of being a mom,’ Lauren explained to her daughter and hugged her tight. ‘Scared that maybe I wouldn’t do as good a job as my own mom.’
Celeste clicked her tongue, visibly touched by the unexpected compliment.
‘But you were doing a great job,’ Celeste returned the compliment.
‘Thanks, Mom. I’m not so sure about that. I’ve been thinking about that time, especially these last few months. Back then, all I felt was scared at the idea of having a child. Today, all I feel is grateful.’
Lauren pressed a kiss against Mia’s dyed black hair.
‘Grateful for every moment that I was allowed to be a mom.’ Lovingly, she smiled at Mia, hoping her two daughters would forgive her one day. She felt a deep wistfulness because it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
A Lonely Decision
With a peal of thunder, the sheet of snow and ice broke off and slid down the roof of the lake house, at long last allowing light to filter in through the skylight. It was warm and cozy inside, thanks to the roaring fire in the wood-burning stove, and steam rose from the coffee mugs on the table.
‘Lorelei, hand me the wrench, will ya?’ Chris said, wiping his forehead with dirty fingers. He was fully focused on the third of the four chairs that Lauren had bought for her new dining table. He was slowly getting the hang of it, and construction was going without a hitch.
‘Could you please explain to me one more time why I have to be the one doing this?’ he asked when Lauren handed him the requested tool.
‘You’re the only one with any technical skill whatsoever.’
Chris tightened a screw, brushed his long hair from his face and sat down, the wrong way round, on the finished chair.
‘Seriously, Lorelei! I’m a mechanic – not a carpenter or an interior designer or whoever else normally does this kind of thing.’
She laughed, handing him a coffee mug. And noticed the brand-new tattoo on the back of his hand.
‘At least you know what these tools are called, Chris. Which makes you better suited for this job than anyone else I know.’
‘Huh. Just goes to show what a professional baseball player with his million-dollar bank account is really worth!’ He was hinting at Ben who, the day before, had given up on the project as he didn’t have the correct size wrench. Ben had spent the Christmas holidays at home, and everyone