Ugly(27)

I step back and give her space. Picking up the plate I silently continue to scrape the wasted food. Laura comes in a few moments later and stops by the door. I can see her looking and assessing us. “Are you okay, Lina? Did Lily upset you?”

“No, dear. I’m alright. Just thinking how quickly my boy’s growing up,” she says, quickly recovering from the truth.

This makes me think, how many more things does she recover so quickly from? How many more questions does she avert by lying? Has she done that to me?

“I’ll bring in the rest of the things. Do you need a hand for dessert?”

“Lily and I have it covered, thank you.”

Laura makes a few trips bringing everything in, while Mrs. Hackly and I continue to silently work. The only words are her instructing me what to do. When we finish, we take the desserts out, and I notice John’s left the table and is in the pool. I take a steadying breath, relieved he’s nowhere near me or Trent’s mom.

“The water’s beautiful, who’s coming in?” he shouts from the pool.

I feel myself shudder as I try not look at him. “Did you bring your swimsuit?” Trent asks me as he stands from the table.

“It’s in my bag, but I’m not feeling well. I might just sit this one out.”

“Okay.” Trent leans down, kisses me and then he runs toward the pool.

“How ‘bout you, sugar, you coming in?” John asks me.

It terrifies me that he wants me in there with him. He scares me. “She’s not feeling well. She’s sitting this one out.” Trent explains.

“Come inside, dear, out of the sun. I’ll make you something cool to drink,” Mrs. Hackly says, before John can say anything. She’s caught on to what he wants to do, and she’s helping me. And more than likely, helping herself, too.

Mrs. Hackly comes around and as I stand, she links her arm through mine. She gives me a small wink, and I’m fairly certain, that winks means two things. First, I won’t let him near you; and second, you’re saving me, too.

We go inside and I sit at the kitchen table. “I understand,” she says as she makes me a cool drink. “Trust me, I understand.”

As we sit in the kitchen, we’re talking but not saying anything important. The day wears on, and soon it’s time for us to go. I make sure Trent is beside me when I say goodbye to John, and the moment I’m out of there, I take a deep breath.

“Are you feeling better?” Trent asks and Mr. Hackly turns to look at me.

“She better not be pregnant,” Mr. Hackly says from the driver’s seat of the car.

“What?” I quietly whimper. Pregnant? I don’t ever want children. This world isn’t made for kids. It’s too cruel to subject a child to it.

“We’re not having sex yet, Dad. But when we do, I’ll wear a rubber.”

I’m humiliated. Totally embarrassed. “Better still, take her to the doctor and get her on birth control,” Mr. Hackly says to Trent.

I can feel my face burning, and I feel like crying. The conversation goes on around me as if I don’t exist. “I’ll use a condom, dad,” Trent says again.

“Problem is son, girls like her get knocked up ‘cause they’re onto a good thing with people like us.”

I turn my head away, looking out the window, completely and utterly mortified. In all my years with Dad, the way he spoke to me, the way he was, I was always prepared for him. Regardless of his mood swings, of what he’d say or do, I was always on guard.

But Mr. Hackly is talking about me as if I’m trash. Nothing more than a thorn in his side, another mouth to feed. It makes me feel beyond small. I can’t even hide this from Trent, because he’s in the car as his dad continues to belittle and reduce me to something even more worthless than I already feel.

“Okay, Dad,” Trent says as he puts a hand on my thigh and squeezes it. “Tomorrow I’ll take her to the doctor.”

“I have my first shift at the store tomorrow.” I took the paperwork in before we left for the barbeque, and Stacey told me to come in tomorrow so she can have one of the others train me on the register.

“See, son? Girls like her will always find an excuse.”

The tears are streaming down my face. I feel like jumping out of the car and just ending it. This humiliation has to stop. I’m not sure I can continue a life like this.

“She has to work, Dad. I’ll take her after work.”

“Hmm, she’ll probably just make another excuse,” Trent’s dad says.

“I’ll pick her up and take her. Cut it out,” Trent says back to his dad. “You okay?” he whispers to me. I don’t turn to look at Trent, instead I stare at the nondescript scenery we’re passing and focus on keeping my sobs silent.