don't hold yourself like that you'll hurt your knees
"Al Fahad residence." It's a voice that's soft and high like Maria's, although years of smoking have altered Sonia Al Fahad's to the point where she's discernably older than her daughter.
"Hi, mom, um, it's me."
There's a pause and the sound of keys rattling. "Is this going to be a long call? So I know whether I can start the car now."
Maria settles down on a chair next to her bed. This studio is too small. She's going to have to figure out something bigger eventually. "It's kind of important."
"'Kind of'?" Sonia's tone is dry. "Go ahead."
"Okay." Beat. "I'm pregnant."
There's nothing, and then: "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure, I mean--"
"--because I seem to recall an incident a few years ago where you thought the same thing, and look where that got us, Maria."
A few moments of wounded silence follow, and then Maria takes a breath and continues on, bracing herself. "I'm sure. I went to the doctor, this time."
Sonia follows that with an exasperated sigh. "How far along are you?"
"About six and a half weeks."
"Good. Look, Maria, we don't have very much money right now, and it's best your grandmother doesn't know about this. I can get you maybe a hundred and fifty dollars, and make an appointment at a clinic for you, but that's all."
"...mom, I'm not having an abortion."
"Oh, for God's sake. You're eighteen years old. Maria, I thought you were such a little activist--"
"I know what I said! I'm not having an abortion. I'm--I mean, I don't care what other people do. But I'm keeping her. Him." Her voice is steely, which is good, because it hides what's underneath it. She grips the phone tightly, knuckles whitening.
Irritation rises in Sonia's voice. "Are you doing this for a man?"
"No."
"Because that doesn't work, it won't make him stay."
"I'm not. You haven't asked who the father is." Sometimes it's hard to keep from being angry at her mother, which isn't fair, after all she's given Maria, life and a childhood and food on the table. But nothing is fair, lately.
"You know?"
Maria's face goes crimson, and she sinks down in her chair like a chastised child, shrinking in on herself. "Yeah."
"Well, who is he? That baseball player you were sure was your one true love last time? Some married man?"
"Alex." Her voice is small. "Twenty-three. Southern. Not married. Not a baseball player."
Sonia rustles around in place, probably crossing her legs. "Is he helping you out?"
"No. He died, about a week ago. He would have, if he could have." There's roughness saying that word, died, the one that makes it real.
And now there is wryness. Not even a pause, after 'he died,' because that happens, out here. "I'm sure you think so."
"Mom." Genuine sharpness appears in Maria's expression. "I don't care what else, just--don't talk about him like that. He was a good guy."
Wearily, Sonia says, "I've heard that one before. All right. But he's still gone, like all the others--yes, I know it wasn't his fault, but still. If it's not money you want, what is it?"
Maria hesitates. This is humiliating, asking for this, she'd made such a production out of being independent now, but everything costs so much, even with the sliding scale clinic she's at, there are so many things she has to buy. "If--I don't have very much, though, I'm kind of...stuck."
"You can have a hundred. But you're not coming home, Maria. This is your mistake, and you're a grown woman."
"Yeah." That much is true, even if it hurt a little to hear that she won't be allowed home ever. "I am. Thank you."
"If that's all?"
"Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry. I love you. Have a good--"
Click.
"--day, mom."
"Hi, mom, um, it's me."
There's a pause and the sound of keys rattling. "Is this going to be a long call? So I know whether I can start the car now."
Maria settles down on a chair next to her bed. This studio is too small. She's going to have to figure out something bigger eventually. "It's kind of important."
"'Kind of'?" Sonia's tone is dry. "Go ahead."
"Okay." Beat. "I'm pregnant."
There's nothing, and then: "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure, I mean--"
"--because I seem to recall an incident a few years ago where you thought the same thing, and look where that got us, Maria."
A few moments of wounded silence follow, and then Maria takes a breath and continues on, bracing herself. "I'm sure. I went to the doctor, this time."
Sonia follows that with an exasperated sigh. "How far along are you?"
"About six and a half weeks."
"Good. Look, Maria, we don't have very much money right now, and it's best your grandmother doesn't know about this. I can get you maybe a hundred and fifty dollars, and make an appointment at a clinic for you, but that's all."
"...mom, I'm not having an abortion."
"Oh, for God's sake. You're eighteen years old. Maria, I thought you were such a little activist--"
"I know what I said! I'm not having an abortion. I'm--I mean, I don't care what other people do. But I'm keeping her. Him." Her voice is steely, which is good, because it hides what's underneath it. She grips the phone tightly, knuckles whitening.
Irritation rises in Sonia's voice. "Are you doing this for a man?"
"No."
"Because that doesn't work, it won't make him stay."
"I'm not. You haven't asked who the father is." Sometimes it's hard to keep from being angry at her mother, which isn't fair, after all she's given Maria, life and a childhood and food on the table. But nothing is fair, lately.
"You know?"
Maria's face goes crimson, and she sinks down in her chair like a chastised child, shrinking in on herself. "Yeah."
"Well, who is he? That baseball player you were sure was your one true love last time? Some married man?"
"Alex." Her voice is small. "Twenty-three. Southern. Not married. Not a baseball player."
Sonia rustles around in place, probably crossing her legs. "Is he helping you out?"
"No. He died, about a week ago. He would have, if he could have." There's roughness saying that word, died, the one that makes it real.
And now there is wryness. Not even a pause, after 'he died,' because that happens, out here. "I'm sure you think so."
"Mom." Genuine sharpness appears in Maria's expression. "I don't care what else, just--don't talk about him like that. He was a good guy."
Wearily, Sonia says, "I've heard that one before. All right. But he's still gone, like all the others--yes, I know it wasn't his fault, but still. If it's not money you want, what is it?"
Maria hesitates. This is humiliating, asking for this, she'd made such a production out of being independent now, but everything costs so much, even with the sliding scale clinic she's at, there are so many things she has to buy. "If--I don't have very much, though, I'm kind of...stuck."
"You can have a hundred. But you're not coming home, Maria. This is your mistake, and you're a grown woman."
"Yeah." That much is true, even if it hurt a little to hear that she won't be allowed home ever. "I am. Thank you."
"If that's all?"
"Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry. I love you. Have a good--"
Click.
"--day, mom."