"I already told you, he's got a speech impediment." It runs in the family. My dad can't say the "th" sound because Israelis don't have the "th" sound in their language. I'm used to it, though, and I don't even hear his accent. It's the same way with Mutt.
"Maybe he's got something wrong with him," she says, backing up. "Did he get all his shots?"
I roll my eyes. "And you call me the drama queen. He's perfectly healthy."
"Just...let him outside, okay? Marc is allergic."
I feel bad leaving Mutt in the cold, especially because I got him in Israel and he's used to the heat. But, hey, he's got a fur coat on so I shouldn't worry. Right?
"Mutt. Out," I order while I open the back door. He doesn't seem to mind going outside, actually, and bounds out the door.
To be honest, I think Marc is allergic to the idea of having a dog around. He's a clean freak. And Mutt is a slobbering, shedding animal.
I turn around and find my mom staring at my chest.
"They're looking a little saggy lately. I think it's time to go buy you new bras."
"Mom," I say, horrified. "My bras are fine."
"When was the last time you were fitted properly?"
Oh, no, here we go again. As if I'm going to stand inside a dressing room and have a lady come in, size me up, and watch/help me shove my boobs into bras. Once my mom made me go to one of those specialty bra boutiques.
It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. (Okay, so I've had a ton of embarrassing moments in my life, but that one is high on the list.)
"Can we not talk about my boobs, please?"
Great. Now O Holy Allergic One is walking into the kitchen. I hope he didn't hear the convo about my saggy boobs. "Hi, Amy," he says.
I mumble a "hi."
He leans over my mom and kisses her. Eww! Seriously, if he starts making out with her I'm outta here. "Ah-choo!"
"Oh, sweetie," Mom says (not referring to me). "Amy's dog was in the house."
"It's okay," he says. Kiss-ass.
I can't stand all this lovey-dovey stuff. "I'm taking Mutt for a walk."
"Wait. We want to ask you something." I turn to Mom. "What?"
"Just...come sit down."
I plop down in a chair in the kitchen. Mom sits down beside me. Marc sits next to Mom. She reaches out to hold my hand.
Okay, this is bigger than boob talk. I can tell just by the way Mom is squeezing my hand.
"How would you like to be a big sister?" I shrug. "I wouldn't."
I like my life just how it is. I have my mom, I have my dad, I have Jessica, I have my non-boyfriend Avi, and
I have Mutt. My life is fine, why would I want a little brat screwing it up?
Mom's excitement deflates.
"Why, were you thinking about adopting a baby? Listen, Mom, I doubt people would even allow you adopt at your age."
"I beg your pardon. I'm only thirty-seven." Duh! "You're almost forty!"
"Besides," she says, ignoring me. "We're not thinking of adopting. I'm pregnant." Pause. Silence.
Back up. Did I hear right?
"You're pregnant? As in you're going to have a baby pregnant?"
Marc smiles wide. "Yep."
I stand up. "And you didn't consult me on this?" I mean, you'd think they would have at least talked to me about it. Are they replacing me because I moved in with my dad? It's not like I don't come around the 'burbs. I do. But Mom just up and sold our condo in the city. I couldn't move schools my junior year. Then I would have to make all new friends. Oh, man. And they're so excited about it, too. Like the new, shiny kid is going to be way better than the old, used model.
A baby.
There's no getting around the fact that I'm being replaced.
"I'm not changing diapers," I blurt out. Yes, I know it was immature and childish to say that, but it just came out. Sue me for being a teenager.
Mom gives me a tearful look. "You don't have to change diapers."
I'm sorry, I just can't stand here calmly. My mind is whirling with questions. "Was this planned?"
Marc and Mom look at each other. "Well, yeah," he says.
"And you didn't think it was important to ask my opinion?"
"Amy, Marc and I want to have children together. I thought you'd be as excited as we are."
I swallow, which is no easy feat because I have a lump in my throat the size of a basketball.
"I gotta go," I say, and get Mutt. "Come on, boy," I say, leading him to the front of the yard. I need to get away from the house and figure out where I fit in my so-called family.
My mom runs after me. "Amy, stay. I don't want you to be angry."
I sigh. "I'm not angry, Mom. I just need to sort this all out in my head." In my car, I flip open my phone to text Jessica.
Me: Guess who's pregnant?
Jess: u?
Me: Get real.
Jess: ur mom?
Me: yep
Jess: Mazel tov!?
Me: Don't congratulate me, plz
Jess: Could b worse
Me: How?
Jess: Could b u?
Me: I'm a virgin.
Jess: Nobody's perfect.
Me: Don't make me laugh.
Jess: Better than crying, right?
Leave it to my best friend to put it into perspective. But Jessica doesn't know that there's history with my mom and dad. History that I think still stings for one of my parents. And that is no laughing matter.