Page 51 of Ruling Scar
Lennie: It’s dinner with the girls.
Lennie: I’ll come over after.
The message thread stops.
Until. . .
Pen Pal: The whole night, Leonora.
Those were the terms.
Butterflies erupt in my belly at the thought.
Lennie: Stop calling me by my full name.
Pen Pal: Marsupial.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Nat. The door to her old bedroom is cracked open. She bought property as soon as she graduated from university, opting not to come home like Adeline and me. She doesn’t typically come out this way during the week.
She’s sprawled out on the bed, one arm flung across her face. I creep in and settle beside her.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“I’m fine.” She sounds tired.
“It’s a Wednesday afternoon and your socks are mismatched.” It’s the latter that informs me something is truly off. She sorts her socks into pairs after putting them through the laundry.
“I’m fat.”
“You’re pregnant.”
Mom went to a doctor’s appointment with her last week and they brought back a fuzzy picture of a bean that’s Gia Akatov’s first grandbaby. Everyone is excited if not a little bit confused by her pregnancy status.
I roll onto my side, tucking my arm under my head. “What’s going on?”
She’s so quiet I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. But she runs her hand over her hairline, pushing thick dark locks back as she sighs. “Don’t make fun of me.”
I grow nervous at how shy she’s being.
“I shit my pants last night.”
I try to be a good sister. I really try.
“Don’t make fun of me!” she repeats, flinging her arm back over her face. Her lips wobble and her shoulders shake.
When I wrap her in a hug, I realize the movement is due to laughter.
“I don’t think you’re the first person, pregnant or not, to shit their pants.”
She places her hands on her stomach, biting down on her lip.
“Is everything else okay?” I rub her shoulder.
She nods, but this silence isn’t Nat. She likes discussing theNew York Timesand the latest financial reports. Lately, there’s less and less talk about the Supreme Court and the bags under her eyes keep getting bigger.
“Will you tell me who the father is?” I whisper.
She swallows, staring up at the ceiling.
