Angel's Choice by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

Author:Lauren Baratz-Logsted
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

Week of December 24/Week 17

Ever since Dr. Caldwell gave me the pregnancy book, I have taken to reading a little bit each night in bed before going to sleep. When I’m finished with my reading for the night, I put the book back in its hiding place: an old empty shoe box on the top shelf of my closet, putting a floppy hat over the box. The reading fascinates me in a way that is both exciting and horrifying at the same time: I read about the changes my body has undergone, has yet to undergo, I read about the options for delivery, I read about how the baby is changing too.

But as fascinating as the reading is, I have found myself being more and more tired lately, despite the book saying I should feel less tired now and despite the fact that I did for a while. And on the night before Christmas Eve, with my entire family due here the following night—everyone comes here each year for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—I make a tragic error: I fall asleep with the book in my hands. This is the position I am in on Christmas Eve morning when my mother comes in to wake me so I can help her finish cleaning the house, start making the pies.

“Angel! Angel! Wake up!”

I feel her tugging on my arm, hear her anxious words even as I groggily swim up to consciousness.

“What the hell is that you’re reading?”

Before I can even look at the book in my hands to see what she’s talking about, I can hear how serious this is: My mother almost never swears, has always said that swearing is something reserved for people who just aren’t creative enough. “There is nothing creative about using Tuck’ as an all-purpose noun/verb/adverb,” she always says. “Powerful language has more impact when used sparingly.”

As I come fully awake, I recognize that this moment had to happen. Yet I have been avoiding it for so long, have only felt panic and fear any time I’ve let my mind light on it, certainly have not sought it out, as though believing that if I never said anything about it, perhaps no one else would ever notice.

But now that this moment is here, there is nothing else for it but to tell the truth.

“It’s a guide to pregnancy, Mom,” I say, feeling as tired as if I’ve never slept at all. “I’m pregnant.”

My mom looks at me for a long time, anger and disbelief and sadness mixing on her face, then she picks up the phone on my desk, calls my dad.

Even though it is Christmas Eve day, he went into the office. He is such a workaholic that he always does this: goes in on Christmas Eve day and works until two or three, when he comes home to help with the preparations.

I hear my mom say, “I need you home here, Steve. Now.”

When he arrives home, looking like he raced the wind to get here, we are seated in the living room.

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