Title: Turns Blue
Rating: G
Couple: Maybe
Disclaimer: Not mine. You want inventiveness, look somewhere
else.
Feedback: hitokamei@yahoo.co.uk
Author’s Note: I intend to continue this, but I’m rather busy at the moment, so I’m not sure when it will be.
*
Leathery green plastic of the chairs lighter than the piping on
the white wall behind. Lining the walls, knocked out of place by
earlier patients. Bareness of the walls despite the coat of
paint, functional, institutional. Television murmuring in the
corner, nothing more than background noise, an attempt to
distract rather than entertain. Three prints on the walls; black
and white, fine strokes, city scenes. Definitely Hartford, but
nothing she recognised. Sticker of a green paw-print in the
bottom corner of one, on the glass. More on the wall behind her,
copyrighted Dalmatians. Toys in a box on the floor, jarring
brightness, the rest of the room so muted. Children’s books
stacked on a low table. A lot of the leaflets on the notice-board
seem to be about children: how to cope with a crisis pregnancy,
how to detect melengitis in infants, what not to do while
pregnant. There’s a beautiful baby boy on the melengitis
notice. Rory’s never noticed the toys before. She must have,
once, but now she heads straight for the magazine rack below the
television.
A mother cuddles a baby a few chairs down. Sean, she told
Lorelai, but didn’t give her own name. He has a sniffle.
She’s worried because he was a month premature, only five
weeks old. There had been a lot of talk about baby clothes.
Lorelai hadn’t been able to resist telling the other woman
why she was here. Rory didn’t like the baby all that much.
He looked like an old man, with a yellowish cast to his skin,
eyelids pinched closed and drool all over his face. At least
he’s quiet.
The crisis pregnancy leaflet is for one of those places that
claim to support you through these difficult times. When you have
no one else to turn to. They do, do an admirable job, if you make
the choices they want you to. Rory isn’t sure why she feels
like that applies. It feels like she’s here for an abortion,
rather than a pregnancy test. Even if the test was positive, it
wouldn’t be a crisis, not by any means. She has no reason to
feel like this, but—she just does.
Maybe it’s the lighting. The lighting in waiting rooms is
truly awful. Maybe it’s the absence of Lorelai’s
infectious enthusiasm. When she lit up like that, you had to feel
happy, if only for her. Or maybe it’s the absence of her
spasmodic crippling doubt. When she started panicking, freaking
out over every little thing, Rory had to comfort her, steadying,
reassuring herself along with her mother.
The woman left.
She would be happy, she knew she would be happy, it just
didn’t feel like it. Staring at the wall, noting little
bumps, imperfections in the plaster, she doesn’t think much.
The hum of the television matches the buzzing in her head.
A squeal from the doctor’s office. Could be relief—this
isn’t the most opportune time for Lorelai to be
pregnant—but Rory doesn’t think so. She knows
she’s grinning, knows she must mean it, because there’s
no one else here to see it, but she can’t feel a thing.
Lorelai doesn’t come out. A strange man in a suit paces past
the open door. The doctor doesn’t wear a suit. It’s odd
being here after opening hours; it makes the trip seem sort of
clandestine. Which it sort of is, now that she comes to think
about it. The man keeps walking past, and he looks in at her
every time. Probably wondering why she’s still here.
She’s been here a long time. Lorelai’s been in there a
very long time. She must be pregnant.
The door opens, finally; her mother’s voice gets louder.
Stumbling out of the room before she knows it. Lorelai’s
face is blank, eyes bright. Rory looks a question. Lorelai nods.
Her phone rings; she answers, and lies to Luke. Just as unsteady
on her feet as Rory, towards the door. Has to return to pay the
doctor. In the mad rush out the door after the third test,
Lorelai didn’t bring enough money, but it’s okay
because he’s their regular doctor and he knows she’ll
be back. Rory goes back into the waiting room, paces once, twice,
trying for composure, rejoins them.
Closes the door very carefully after herself, outside again.
Blank black glass, a small plaque proclaiming what’s inside,
nothing to show what’s just happened. A man climbs out of a
car beside them. Rory wonders what he’s going to think.
Lorelai turns towards her. Grabbing her shoulders, squeezing,
can’t remember moving. Just her shoulders, because,
can’t hug her properly, have to be careful. Careful of the
baby. She’ll have to take care of herself now. Eyes closed
tight against emotion, trying not to lose it on the sidewalk in
front of the doctor’s offices and the newsagents. Saying
things together, into each others ears. Repeating phrases after
her mother, not knowing what they are. Knowing they’re nice,
although she’s probably cursing more than she ever has
before. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Settling for a teary
grin.
Lorelai pulls back.
"Oh, stop, or you’ll make me—I’m going to
start crying."
Eyes bright for a different reason now. Rory follows her to the
car, going to the wrong side first. Embarrassed that she’s
so out of it. Lorelai takes a moment to get herself under
control, releasing a long breath through her mouth.
"He told me I’d be a good mother. Before I had
you."
It seems important to master small actions: seatbelt, meet
buckle.
"He’s a very wise man."
"He knew I was pregnant before he did the test. Said I had
the look. He sees so many women…. I need folic acid."
"Stop and get some. In Hartford."
Ah, brain, meet mouth.
"Yeah. I can’t believe it. I know I said I would after
a qualified doctor told me, but I can’t. I can’t
believe I’m this lucky."
"I know."
Lorelai turns the key over in the ignition.
"I can’t even get drunk to celebrate."
The sun has set. As they pull out of the lot, the grey sky is
streaked with warm, wispy pink clouds.
"That’s so beautiful."
"It really is," Rory agrees.