“No.”
I sighed heavily at the negative assertion. The battle was being fought entirely uphill as soon as my troops had landed on American soil. Marki was shocked and, I dare say, disappointed by my request that she put an end to our oops-baby problem but I kept working on trying to convince her that it was really for the best, for both of us. We were sitting in the bedroom I shared with my brother, cross legged on my bed facing each other. I’d managed to ditch my mini-me long enough to get some private time, having told our parents we were playing video games.
“What if the press finds out? We’re working our asses off to make it big here and this could ruin us. No mother wants their teenage daughter lusting after a teen dad,” I quoted Kevin, hoping that his logic would speak to her.
Marki shook her head in confusion, “Don’t you think those mothers would judge you equally as much for pressuring your girlfriend into having an abortion?”
“How would they even find out?”
“My point exactly. Things might be happening for you in Europe, you might be in a couple magazines but you’re still no one here. There’s no guys with cameras following you around. No one would find out about this because I wouldn’t do that to you. There’s no reason you can’t be a father in private and be a regular teenage heartthrob in public.”
“There is so many reasons, though! Think of how people would judge me if this got out!”
“How they’d judge you?” she laughed sarcastically. “This is the definition of a no-win situation, Nick. You’re worried about how some women you don’t know MIGHT judge you, IF this got out? How about how everyone I know will judge me? My entire community is going to judge me, not you.”
“That’s why we shouldn’t go through with this!”
“How would we even do that without telling our parents?” she questioned and I realized she had made a valid point. I didn’t know the first thing about getting an abortion, I didn’t even know if they were legal. I just knew that’s what chicks did when they got knocked up and didn’t want to be. Like in Dirty Dancing, only without the rusty knives.
“I don’t have any money,” she pointed to herself then turned the finger on me. “You don’t have any money-”
“Well, not on me, right now, this instant, but I can get some.”
“How? You’d have to ask your parents. You don’t have any right now and I looked it up, it costs around $500 at home. Plus, I can’t have a medical procedure without consent from my parents. I’d need to go through counselling and a bunch of other stuff first, too. I actually did my research before I came to my decision.”
She had won, I knew it, but I was having difficulty coming to terms with it. Marki was right in that either decision we made there would be someone who didn’t approve of it. I wasn’t sure that eighteen years of disapproval was worth the small amount of time people might not be okay with the alternative though.
“We’d only need $250 each,” I attempted to rationalise. “Once we explain the situation to our parents I’m sure they’ll be on board. They won’t want you to throw your life away.”
Marki’s eyes went wide and I thought for a moment she was having an epiphany, finally seeing things my way. I cocked my head to the side and her eyes darted to the door and I realized she was not in shock by my logic, but rather by the fact that we were no longer alone. I remember chanting in my head how much I wished that it would be my brother that I saw when I turned my head. Much to my chagrin, it was my mother instead.
“Explain what situation?” she asked. With my usual amount of dramatic flair, I leaned my entire body forward on the bed, legs still crossed, until my face rested against Marki’s knee.
“It’s really complicated,” I muttered.
“Why don’t you come downstairs and tell me all about it then?”
Marki and I were soon found ourselves sitting on my parent’s old floral-print velour couch while both sets of adults stood over us ominously. We’d explained the whole situation right down to the conversation we’d been having when my mother had come to the door. I’ll never forget what it felt like sitting on that uncomfortable, fuzzy, couch, waiting for the other shoe to fall. It was the first time I’d ever really felt like someone was judging me. Years of auditions had thickened my skin to the point that I couldn’t care less what people thought, but that was different, those people didn’t affect my life.
The look of absolute disappointment on my parent’s face was nothing compared to the anger and resentment that was coming my way from Marki’s. Her father’s eyes were brimming with tears and I knew he was holding me personally responsible for everything we’d just told them.
“I didn’t even know you two were a couple,” my father admitted after a few especially tense moments of silence.
“Neither did we,” her father chimed in, his voice full of emotion. “How long has this been going on?”
Marki said nothing, just continued staring down at her knees, so I took one for the team. “About two years. We love each other very much!”
I expected them to be in shock, to yell at us, something to let us know they were so angry because they cared so much about us. Instead, there was just a deafening silence so tense it made me sick to my stomach. My father walked over to the big picture window, looking out at my brother and sisters playing in the front yard. With a single flick of his finger he motioned me over and I almost didn’t go because I knew what was going to happen if I did. Rather than make a big deal about it, I gave Marki a pat on the knee and straightened my ratty, old football jersey before walking the few short steps over to where my father stood.
He was much bigger than me back then, I remember. These days I have a half inch on him in height and definitely have the advantage of not being drunk half the day so I think I could take him. Not that it mattered at the time, because then I was scrawny and weak and when I stood in front of him and he slapped me across the face so hard that my head hit the window with a crack, I just took it.
“BOB!” my mother cried out, I’m sure more in embarrassment that her friends were standing in the room this time than concern for her first born son.
“How could you be so irresponsible? Didn’t we teach you anything?”
I swallowed back the bit of blood in my mouth from where I’d bit my cheek and cupped my hand over the side of my still-stinging face. “Is that really what you think? That I’m irresponsible? I’m 16 and I have a full time job and I do everything you’ve ever asked me to do. I made a mistake but this isn’t just my mistake. Why is no one blaming her?”
“Don’t go pointing fingers, son!” Marki’s father jumped in and I somehow knew he was living vicariously through my father because he’d been dying to hit me ever since he found out I’d knocked up his daughter. “You’re older, you should know better…”
“I’m barely six months older and I’m clearly an idiot, so I don’t know better!” I declared, throwing my hands up in defeat. “I don’t why I am being judged when I am the product of a teen pregnancy.”
“I was almost 19 when I had you,” my mother clarified. “Your father was older than I was and he was able to provide for me.”
My eyes widened, “As if you would say that I’m not able to provide for her. I’m famous in Europe, I’m going to be famous here pretty soon. I’m going to be rich, you have been telling me that for years and you know it’s true. I’m sure I’ll be providing for this entire family pretty soon, if I don’t already.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere. The situation isn’t going to change. We messed up, we’re sorry and we need to come up with a solution, not fight about it,” Marki said, proving beyond a reasonable doubt that she was the smarter, wiser, mature one who probably should have known better.
Her father shrugged, motioning to me once more. “I think we just did come up with a solution. Nick just said it himself, he has no issue providing for you so that’s what he should do. If you two think you’re old enough to be parents and Nick’s going to be some rich and famous musician then you and the baby will have everything you need.”
“We’re not old enough to be parents though, that’s why I suggested that maybe we go the other route,” I argued.
Marki’s mother had stayed silent up until that point, choosing to say nothing until what she had to say mattered and I couldn’t argue with her logic. “If you’re old enough to have sex, then you’re old enough to be parents. Maybe not emotionally, but life doesn’t really factor that in. You have to play the hand you’re dealt, there’s not going to be any shortcuts here.”
At that point all thoughts of what my bandmates might think were gone from my mind. We weren’t in a position to tell our parents what to do, they were still our supreme overlords making all of the decisions on our behalf. Marki’s father was quick to point out to me that I wasn’t off the hook and wouldn’t be going back to Europe without a firm confirmation that I was going to keep my word and be there for Marki both financially and emotionally. I hadn’t thought much about the fact that he worked in a law office every day, until the moment I realized that by keeping my word he meant legally and by legally he meant marriage.
