lie.
“Truth or dare?” Pamela pulled a halter dress from a glossy red shopping bag from one of the most exclusive stores at the mall. Deirdre watched as she cut off the tags with a pair of manicure scissors.
“Me?” Deirdre lay face down on the bed with her chin propped in her hands. She was so tired she'd almost fallen asleep in Mr. McCain's geometry class.
“Yes, it’s your turn.” Pamela held up a pink sweater that looked like silk to Deirdre and tossed it on the growing pile on the chair.
Deirdre supposed the maid would put it all away later while Pamela was off doing something more interesting.
"Not this again." Mary let the window blinds fall back into place. She slid down the wall and sat, cross-legged, on the floor.
Pamela pouted. "Truth or dare."
"Okay, truth then." Deirdre rolled onto her back. The bed cradled her softly, and she felt her eyes closing.
"Hey, wake up. What's the matter with you." Pamela tossed a sweater at her.
Deirdre batted the garment off her face where it had landed. "Just tired, okay?"
Pamela reached into the shopping bag and pulled out an evening bag in the shape of a cat.
Deirdre watched her from under half-lowered lids. Pamela looked like a cat herself—the one who'd swallowed the cream. But she always looked like that when she played this stupid game. She couldn't remember when it had started—it seemed as if they had been playing it forever—at least since elementary school.
Deirdre suspected she knew what the question was going to be, and her stomach lurched slightly in protest. She didn't want to say it out loud—that would make it true.
She'd thrown the pregnancy test in her bathroom wastebasket, hidden under some make-up stained tissues. Not that it mattered—her mother never went into her bathroom. Some girl with a foreign accent came once a week and cleaned everything.
She wished she had the nerve to tell her parents about the pregnancy, but she couldn't imagine doing it. She'd have to catch her mother either on the way to or from one of her shopping trips and before she went up to bed with her martini. Her father was hardly ever home anymore. She didn't remember the last time she'd seen him.
"Hey, pay attention."
Deirdre sat up abruptly. "What?"
Pamela sighed. "I said, are you or aren't you pregnant?"
For a minute Deirdre thought about lying, but then she realized that Mary and Pamela were the only people she had to talk to. Besides, she wouldn't be able to hide it forever.
"I'm five weeks late, and the test I bought in the drug store was positive."
"What are you going to do?" Pamela started in on a second shopping bag, lifting out a teal silk blouse and cutting off the tags.
Deirdre shrugged.
"There aren't all that many choices." Mary shifted her position on the floor. "Either you have it and keep, or have it and give it up for adoption, or you," she hesitated, "get an abortion."
"That's what I would do," Pamela announced as she scrunched up the empty shopping bag and tossed it in the direction of the trash. "It would be mean to let it be adopted."
"Mean?" Deirdre was wide awake now. "Why?
Pamela glared at her. "Just because, okay?"
Mary held up a hand. "Geez, Pamela, don't take it so personally."
"Well how would you like it if you—" Pamela suddenly clamped her mouth shut, and a look of horror darkened her eyes. She turned away abruptly.
Deirdre glanced at Mary, and Mary shrugged her shoulders.
"I think you should keep it." Pamela sat down at her desk and flicked on her computer. She tapped the keys briefly. "Look," she pointed toward the monitor screen, "they have the cutest clothes for babies.
“Truth or dare?” Pamela pulled a halter dress from a glossy red shopping bag from one of the most exclusive stores at the mall. Deirdre watched as she cut off the tags with a pair of manicure scissors.
“Me?” Deirdre lay face down on the bed with her chin propped in her hands. She was so tired she'd almost fallen asleep in Mr. McCain's geometry class.
“Yes, it’s your turn.” Pamela held up a pink sweater that looked like silk to Deirdre and tossed it on the growing pile on the chair.
Deirdre supposed the maid would put it all away later while Pamela was off doing something more interesting.
"Not this again." Mary let the window blinds fall back into place. She slid down the wall and sat, cross-legged, on the floor.
Pamela pouted. "Truth or dare."
"Okay, truth then." Deirdre rolled onto her back. The bed cradled her softly, and she felt her eyes closing.
"Hey, wake up. What's the matter with you." Pamela tossed a sweater at her.
Deirdre batted the garment off her face where it had landed. "Just tired, okay?"
Pamela reached into the shopping bag and pulled out an evening bag in the shape of a cat.
Deirdre watched her from under half-lowered lids. Pamela looked like a cat herself—the one who'd swallowed the cream. But she always looked like that when she played this stupid game. She couldn't remember when it had started—it seemed as if they had been playing it forever—at least since elementary school.
Deirdre suspected she knew what the question was going to be, and her stomach lurched slightly in protest. She didn't want to say it out loud—that would make it true.
She'd thrown the pregnancy test in her bathroom wastebasket, hidden under some make-up stained tissues. Not that it mattered—her mother never went into her bathroom. Some girl with a foreign accent came once a week and cleaned everything.
She wished she had the nerve to tell her parents about the pregnancy, but she couldn't imagine doing it. She'd have to catch her mother either on the way to or from one of her shopping trips and before she went up to bed with her martini. Her father was hardly ever home anymore. She didn't remember the last time she'd seen him.
"Hey, pay attention."
Deirdre sat up abruptly. "What?"
Pamela sighed. "I said, are you or aren't you pregnant?"
For a minute Deirdre thought about lying, but then she realized that Mary and Pamela were the only people she had to talk to. Besides, she wouldn't be able to hide it forever.
"I'm five weeks late, and the test I bought in the drug store was positive."
"What are you going to do?" Pamela started in on a second shopping bag, lifting out a teal silk blouse and cutting off the tags.
Deirdre shrugged.
"There aren't all that many choices." Mary shifted her position on the floor. "Either you have it and keep, or have it and give it up for adoption, or you," she hesitated, "get an abortion."
"That's what I would do," Pamela announced as she scrunched up the empty shopping bag and tossed it in the direction of the trash. "It would be mean to let it be adopted."
"Mean?" Deirdre was wide awake now. "Why?
Pamela glared at her. "Just because, okay?"
Mary held up a hand. "Geez, Pamela, don't take it so personally."
"Well how would you like it if you—" Pamela suddenly clamped her mouth shut, and a look of horror darkened her eyes. She turned away abruptly.
Deirdre glanced at Mary, and Mary shrugged her shoulders.
"I think you should keep it." Pamela sat down at her desk and flicked on her computer. She tapped the keys briefly. "Look," she pointed toward the monitor screen, "they have the cutest clothes for babies.
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