CHAPTER 27
I’d never felt more like a part of the sandwich generation than I did the day I told my mother about Ned’s letter. I was a middleaged woman caught between the concerns of her aging parent and the challenges of dealing with her child. I worried that I was going to fail both of them—or that I may already have done so long ago.
After bringing armloads of hydrangeas into my mother’s house and placing them in vases in the living room and kitchen, I knocked on her bedroom door.
“Mom?” I asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m just tired.”
I didn’t want to leave her alone but was not sure what else to do.
“Would you like me to stay here awhile?” I asked through the door. “I could make you something to eat or—
“There’s no need to stay, Julie,” she said. “I’m going to sleep. Don’t worry about me.”
“All right,” I said.
I made some tuna salad for her and left a note on the table telling her it was in the refrigerator. I didn’t know what else to do. I felt helpless.
I came home and sat down in front of computer. I checked my e-mail; there were many notes from my fans that had accumulated over the past few difficult weeks. I hadn’t had the concentration necessary to answer them and I wasn’t sure when that would change. I sat staring at them, thinking that I should open Chapter Four and try again, but I knew I wouldn’t. Writing a story about Granny Fran, a woman who didn’t exist outside my imagination and whose silly life was filled with silly mysteries solved in three hundred silly pages, seemed completely pointless.
I was still staring at the e-mail when I heard the front door open.
“Mom?” Shannon called, and I felt a rush of much-needed joy. I missed having her around so much.
“In here,” I called.
She walked into my office and sat down on the love seat. “Sorry to interrupt your work,” she said.
“Oh, honey,” I said. “You’re never an interruption.” We both knew that wasn’t the truth. I’d had a rule that I was not to be disturbed while I was writing unless it was a dire emergency. Was that one of the many areas where I’d screwed up?
“Well, I have something I need to talk to you about,” she said. She was watching me, making good eye contact with those longlashed dark eyes, but there was no hint of a smile on her face.
“You sound serious,” I said. I suddenly understood how my own mother had felt a few hours earlier when I’d said I needed to talk to her.
“I am,” she said, and then she looked away from me, down at her hands. She was pressing them together in her lap, hard enough to turn the knuckles white. “I’m really, really sorry about what I’m going to tell you, because I know how much it’s going to disappoint you…and everything.”
“What is it, Shannon?” I tried to imagine what she was going to say. Did she want to stay with Glen when she came home on holidays? Had she changed her mind about Oberlin and now wanted to go somewhere else? I was unprepared for her next words because they were so far from anything I might have guessed.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
I was dumbfounded. Absolutely dumbfounded. “You…you haven’t even been seeing anyone,” I said.
“Yes, I have,” she said. “I met someone during spring break, although I’d actually known him for months over the Internet.”
“He’s from Colorado and he was here visiting friends and he and I have stayed in touch by phone and e-mail and I’m in love with him.” She smiled then and gave a happy little shrug of her shoulders.
I don’t know what she made of my silence. I was measuring my response, afraid of driving her away with anything I might say. I moved next to her on the love seat and took her hands in mine. Hers were ice-cold.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “This must be very difficult for you.” It was the best I could do. I would make myself support her, no matter what option she chose. I can understand a woman having an abortion early in her pregnancy—in some circumstances. So, I would let this be Shannon’s decision, let her be the grownup. She looked surprised by my reaction.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Did you just find out?” I asked. “Do you know how far along you are?”
“Eighteen—almost nineteen—weeks.”
“Oh my God,” I said, realizing that an early, first-trimester abortion was not even an option. “You’re…are you trying to decide…” I was stammering, and she stepped in.
“I’m going to have the baby,” she said.
“But what will you do?” I asked. “What about school? What about…you’re only seventeen!” I was losing it. I felt the control of my head and my heart and my tongue slipping away from me.
She shook her head and her voice was much calmer than mine. “I’m not going to go to school this fall,” she said. “Someday I will, but not right now.” She offered me an apologetic smile. “Mom, I’m so in love with him. His name is Tanner. He’s an awesome person. He goes to the University of Colorado in Boulder. And…Mom, don’t be mad,” she pleaded, “but I’ve decided to move there and start a life with him and our baby.”
I let go of her hands and stood up, simply unable to sit there another second. I ran my fingers through my hair. “All of this has taken me by surprise, Shannon,” I said. “And I’m going to need some time to absorb it, but the one
