Free A Song in the Daylight by Paullina Simons

talk about the other thing?
    Put on the corsage and let’s go .
    I need the dress on first .
    So put it on .
    Che…
    Larissa, I don’t want to talk about the other thing .
    But we have to do something .
    I’m hoping it will just go away .
    By itself?
    With God’s help .
    Oh, Che .
    Look, I know. But I can’t deal with it, okay .
    But you’re not alone. I’ll help you. I’m here. I’ll go with you .
    I’m not ready .
    Why don’t you want to go to at least get the test?
    Because then I’ll have to deal with it .
    You don’t want to wait too long…
    What does it matter?
    Because up to thirteen weeks costs three hundred bucks, but after thirteen is six hundred .
    How do you know this? Che squinted at her friend .
    Casually Larissa shrugged, standing in front of the mirror in her black bra and high heels, her young legs looking like impossibly long marshland reeds. I looked into it .
    Why does it cost more?
    I don’t know .
    Oh, didn’t look into that part? Che paused. Maybe because there’s more to scrape out?
    Che…come on .
    Okay. Like I said, let’s not talk about it. It’s prom night. Are you done yet?
    Che…don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’m always here for you .
    Larissa, you can’t help me with this .
    I can. I will. I am .
    No. Don’t you understand? I can’t do what I know I must do. I must do it, but I can’t do it. Quite a pickle, isn’t it? Enough lipstick. You look like a streetwalker in daylight. Wipe it off before my mother comes in. You want her to like you, don’t you? Get dressed .
    Well, you can’t have a baby, Che .
    Shh!
    You can’t .
    There’s a lot I can’t do .
    You want my advice?
    No. I know your advice. But you’re not me. You’re not my mother’s daughter. You’re your mother’s daughter .
    We’re not telling your mother .
    I’m still her daughter. I’m still Filipino. I’m still Catholic. I’m still what I am. Telling her, not telling her, won’t change any of those things. Won’t change the truth of things, Larissa, no matter if it’s three hundred dollars or six thousand .
    Except I don’t have six hundred dollars. I have three-fifty .
    Okay. I won’t need it .
    Oh, Che .
    And Che cried again, in her silk blue gown, her white orchid corsage, her waterproof mascara enduring, but streaks remaining in her foundation when the doorbell rang, and her mother yelled up that their young men were here .
    All right, Ma. Stop shouting, I’m not deaf .
    Please. Just take the test .
    What good will it do?
    Let’s go to Planned Parenthood like we planned .
    What good will it do?
    You’ll talk to someone .
    What good will it do?
    So what are you going to do? You gonna have that baby?
    I can’t have it .
    Exactly .
    I can’t do the other thing either .
    How are you going to explain it to Maury?
    I can’t explain it .
    Exactly .
    Right. Are you going downstairs in your bra or are you finally going to put some clothes on? Che wiped her face, wiped the blush and foundation off her wet cheeks, straightened up, pretended to smile .
    How many weeks are you late now?
    Eight, mouthed Che, in terror, into Larissa’s sinking heart .
Dear Che,
Why did you return the money order I sent you? Come on, it’s like a birthday gift certificate. I’d send you stuff but besides Nutella I don’t know what else you need. And anyway, how much Nutella can a girl eat? Please. I’m resending the money order, happy birthday, merry Christmas. Accept. Please.
Why are you worried about me? I should be worried about you. Everything is good here. Same as always. Nothing to report. I’m not aggrieved. I’m whole, not wanting. My temperature is as always climate-controlled, why are you anxious about me?
    Larissa stopped writing. She couldn’t put into words what she was feeling. Highway 24 ran between the golf course and the shopping mall. Golf course—beauty. Shopping mall—luxury. But between them one hundred and twenty feet of concrete, and cars whizzing by.
    Where were they going?