That weekend Hanukkah was starting, and my dad wanted us to come over for a family Hanukkah dinner—me, Rob, him, and Ari. I knew it wouldn’t be like the Hanukkah parties we had when my mom was alive, but he was trying. And Ari and I were trying, too.
“We can go before dinner at my dad’s,” I said.
So we rented a car, and we drove up the Hudson River to a clinic we’d found on Google.
When we got there, three people with signs were protesting the clinic, which also performed abortions. They were shouting at the women who walked in.
I watched the women cringe, rush past. “I can’t,” I said to him. “I can’t walk in with them shouting at me. Even if that’s not why we’re here, I can’t do it.”
“Not even with me next to you?” he asked. “Not even if I cover your ears? If I sing at the top of my voice?”
I smiled for a brief moment but then shook my head. “Not even then,” I told him. I felt shame enough at being young and accidentally pregnant. I wouldn’t face that anger, even with your dad by my side. He looked at me and sighed. He was so patient, trying so hard. “I understand,” he said, finally. “I wouldn’t want to walk through that either.”
“I really am pregnant,” I said. “I told you—I can feel it. And the test we took confirmed it. We don’t need a blood test.”
The windows were up on the car—it was winter and cold out—but we could still hear the voices chanting, though we couldn’t make out the words.
“Okay,” he said, even though I could tell he wasn’t quite convinced. “But if that’s the case, then you do need a doctor. And we really need a plan.”
“I know,” I told him. “But let’s celebrate Hanukkah at my dad’s tonight. We can talk later, when we drive back to the city.” Back then your grandpa still lived in the house your aunt Ari and I grew up in.
Your dad nodded and turned the key in the ignition. “Of course,” he said.
I knew we had to face the future, face what was happening inside me and what that meant for us. But I wanted to spend an afternoon wrapped in my dad’s love, and then talk to my sister. I grew up looking to her for advice, for guidance. And with your grandma gone, she was the only one I felt like I could talk to.
16
In the late afternoon, Tessa showed up in Emily’s office, the last patient of the day, and the first time she’d made an appointment with Emily since she came back to the city.
“How’s it going?” Emily asked her, after the door was closed, after Tessa sat in her usual spot on the couch, leaning against the left armrest. Emily tried to get comfortable in her chair, discreetly massaging her back as Tessa spoke.
“Not the best,” Tessa said. “I’ll be honest. Not the best.”
“What do you mean by that?” Emily asked, trying to focus all her attention on her patient, but it was difficult.
Tessa sighed. “Chris is always working—he wants to make a good impression on his new bosses, and I totally get it. But he doesn’t come home until late and I barely get to see him. Zoe hardly ever sees him at all except for on weekends, when he wants to go out for brunch and for drinks with his friends. And I have so much reading to do for class, plus papers, and exams to study for, that I feel like I have to choose between school and them all the time.”
Emily nodded sympathetically while her old thoughts on Chris resurfaced: totally self-absorbed. But she couldn’t change Chris. Tessa couldn’t, either. So they had to figure out what Tessa could do to change her situation, change her response. “Have you thought about taking fewer courses this semester? I know you have a few more weeks to drop without it being recorded on your transcript.”
Tessa wiped her eyes. “I have. But I want to get through this as quickly as I can. I want to be a lawyer, and there’s so much more ahead of me.”
“I hear you,” Emily said, “but what would it mean if you took a little more time?”
“It’s more money I’d have to borrow, for one,” Tessa said. “And I just . . . I want to be like Ruth Bader Ginsburg.” Emily