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Addiction

Chapter Twenty-Five

All Adequate Things

By:

Rufus Quentin

Mid-April - May 15, 1999

Our muzzles turned to the unexpected chime of the doorbell. Instinctively our paws left each other's bodies. We sat upright in less than an instant. It wasn't like my brother and I were up to anything illicit, but we could have been. Hell, we'd done it on the living room sofa twice already. Luckily we were clothed, simply cuddling for comfort on a warm spring afternoon. I looked at my sibling. "Shall I get it?" My brother asked.

"I got it," I said, already on my feet. I straightened my clothes. I buttoned up my flannel even thought it was way too hot for the damn thing. It still did the trick of concealing my ever expanding belly. I felt curious and a little worried about who could possibly be visiting. Our dad shouldn't be home for another day or two, and it wasn't in his behavior to ring the doorbell to his own damn house. It took me by considerable surprise to see the greyhound standing there on the other side of the door. She wore a sun dress, beautiful in her own, slender grace. It pained me to see her, given all that had happened, all that didn't. Dustin followed and stood behind me. His arms crossed in silent indignation like my own personal body guard. My ears swept back and I averted my gaze. A blush reddened my skin. I never told my brother about what happened in my room back in February. Fuck, if he found out.

Bryn stood there, equally demure. She seemed as incapable of eye contact as me. She carried what looked like a cake covered in a translucent plastic dome. The canine gestured for me to take it. "I baked you this," she said in a very humble manner. She seemed sad to part with it.

I took it from her without protest. "Thanks," I said, as if I'd been expecting a pastry from her all along. I knew what it meant to accept it. Forgiving her didn't come easy.

Bryn smiled and nodded at the Buick idling in the driveway, which seemed to have been piloted by a parental figure. "I got to go," she said, looking down and clasping her paws together.

"It's good to see you again," I said.

"Yea," she said. "I'll see you around." With that she curtsied, turned around and padded off daintily back to the vehicle.

"That was odd." I said, waiting until she was back on the main road before closing the door. I looked at the cake in my paws and sighed.

"Good lord, what did you do?" Dustin asked, standing beside me, eyeing the clearly home baked apology.

I sighed. "You'd never believe me," I said, standing there helpless with all the empty calories.

"One of you must have fucked up royally," he said.

"Kinda," I said, walking off the kitchen.

"Hormones are a bitch, aren't they?" Dustin said.

"This one isn't about hormones," I said. "Well, maybe. It's complicated, but it's over now." I put the cake down on the kitchen counter and looked at my brother. My eyes wandered down at myself and my paws came to rest upon my hips. I caressed my own belly. It felt strange to feel it so convex.

"You girls are weird," Dustin said. "That's why I went for the only one I can stand." He smiled, stepping in front of me. His paws came to rest beside mine. He seemed much more at ease with his paws upon my pregnant belly.

"Perv," I said, even though the joke had ceased to be funny. I needed Dustin's touch. It felt good to receive it. Even though nothing happened with Bryn back in February, I felt as though I had something to confess, a deep dark secret, one that led me to understand the temptations of infidelity. I bit my tongue. I had no idea how Dustin would react. Had it been a boy, there would no doubt have been an honor showdown. This was a girl. How would he take it? Despite the fact that we were up to our ear-tips in a totally non-conventional relationship, would Dustin understand that I once felt a fleeting attraction to a girl? Sometimes the pup could be incredibly laissez-faire in his weird libertarian way, other times he could be mocking, especially when it came to same-sex subjects.

"I'm glad you girls got it sorted out," he said, kissing me on the nose. His paws moved on and so did he, drifting to the fridge for some refreshment.

"I wish," I said as Dustin snapped open a can of coke.

"I still think that's a weird way of saying 'I'm sorry.' A fucking cake?"

"It is Bryn we're talking about."

"Yea, Mrs. Beaver Cleaver."

"I think it's cute," I said, lifting the dome over the cake. It looked like it was chocolate, at least the frosting was.

"At least we got dessert," my brother said, already on his way back to the couch, no doubt expecting a continuation to our cuddle/work session. "Don't forget to write a thank you letter, or else she'll be pissed," he said. "Now it's time to get back to work."

"I will," I replied, my foot-paws carrying me back to Dustin. I took my place beside him and sighed. My eyes scanned the coffee table, all the paperwork, the brochures and numbers. Heaps of scratch paper scrawled to the edges with long formulas. More red ink than black stained what lay before me.

"It'll be okay," Dustin said, his arm wrapping around me. He pulled me close and gruffly held me upon his body.

"This is confusing," I said, though my mind wasn't on the paperwork any more. My ears hung more crooked than usual.

"We got time," he said. "We'll figure this out."

I wanted to say more, but I didn't. Dustin proceeded to assault me with licks, but after nearly nine months of the treatment, I could read the nuances of his affection. He held back as if his heart weren't in it, as if there was more duty than spontaneity in his actions. I'd given Dustin nine months of the best tutoring I could give. He knew the numbers as well as I did, and I intuitively understood it bothered him. He probably also felt the confusion Bryn had brought back into my world.

I recoiled from Dustin's affections, but found myself pinned on my back upon the sofa. Dustin hovered over me, beseeching me for a kiss with his persistent nibbles. I gave it to him out of understanding that no work would proceed without this endearing toll. As it intensified into a make-out session, one without any particular telos other than the badly needed acquisition of proximity, I began to find the comfort my brother wanted to share with me, and as a result our behavior took on the genuine qualities familiar from the hight of our mistakes. While my tongue caressed Dustin's fangs without hesitation and his taste joined his well known scent in the slow circulation of my perception, I realized I'd forgotten that I should find aversion in my own deeds, in so willingly allowing my genetic identity to intersect with another so fatally similar, but I didn't. I should feel aversion to the memory of the greyhound's paw upon my thigh, but I didn't. Confusion, certainly, but not the disgust I'd been taught to expect. I feel thankful that I can filter the permissiveness of my thoughts as they're translated onto paper. They would betray the extent of my deviance.

Dustin and I made our decisions together. All the materials our prospective colleges sent us were splayed on the coffee table like playing cards. Dustin had a map on his lap and did his best to calculate distances and commutes. I sat with my calculator, running the numbers of what exactly higher education would cost us. My brow furrowed with the weight of reality. All the bottom lines were deceptive. I still hadn't figured in what exactly our pup would cost us. I told Dustin not to let that fact influence our choices, but it did, as did the fact that neither of us could do without each other. By nightfall on that nice clear spring day, we'd reached our decisions.

That left me with yet another difficult choice. One of the harder things I've had to do was to write a letter to Brown turning down their offer of admission. It was a simple letter, three lines and a polite thank you, but they did not come easy. One does not turn down their top choice, the college they've been dreaming of since seventh grade without a great deal of hesitation. Nowadays I don't really remember why I wanted to go there. Sure it was an Ivy League, it was in New England, and it wasn't one of those stuffy Ivy Leagues like Harvard or Yale. Beyond that I had no real reason to apply there. I was vaguely interested in medicine, but they didn't even have the best pre-med program.

I got accepted to three out of four schools I applied to. The only one I didn't get into was my safety, WVU. I had the choice between Brown, Chapel Hill, and Emory. Emory was out because they didn't offer me any sort of financial support. So it came down to Rhode Island or North Carolina. When people asked me why I made my decision to go to UNC Chapel Hill, I told them I got a scholarship offer I couldn't refuse. What I didn't tell them was that Brown also offered me a fairly generous tuition reduction, not as comprehensive as Chapel Hill's, but good enough to be very attractive.

Dustin got a letter in the mail too. He opened it up to discover he'd been accepted to a rather nice community college in North Carolina, one with one of the nation's best ranked gun-smithing programs. I'd researched it and slipped it into the application portfolio I'd made for my brother back around Thanksgiving. I did it for more selfish reasons. I hoped we could continue our carefree relationship after college, but now with the pup on the way, we had no choice but to stay together. It was clear on the other side of town from UNC, but it put us in the same state within an hour's drive. That factor became the tipping point of my decision. It's not that UNC wasn't a great school. It was a terrific one. I had some of the best years of my life there. As soon as I first set foot on campus, I never looked back.

That didn't make my decision any easier. It just made my choice obvious. Knowing the right choice doesn't always make the decision any easier. Every time I witnessed my reflection in the mirror confirmed that fact. As much as I wanted to pin that bump in my belly on one bad choice made in the heat of things, a simple mistake anyone could make, but I knew that it was the product of cumulative blunders, a whole road paved in rejected correct choices. Incest is obviously never the correct decision. I can't recommend it. If someone has the choice, beware of falling in love with your own family. Take it from me; I was in love with my brother. I carried his pup and planned to be its mother. We saw each other as mates. These are terrifying things. They are an all-encompassing secret.

They made my brother and me dependent on one another. I needed him and I needed to be with him. He was the only one on earth who understood what forces brought us together. He was the only one who could help me right my wrongs without shame. Therefore I made the decision to go to where we could live close to one another. For better or for worse, we'd carry out our sin elsewhere and do our best to disguise our shared bloodline in a city on the other side of the Appalachians.

It wasn't a plan. It was just the beginning of one. What carefully constructed future I had set up came to pieces with that one positive pregnancy test. After a few weeks of self-pity and cluelessness, it was time to take what we had left over and cobble together something new, some impromptu version of a plan, or at least something that resembled a plan, if one could overlook the glaring plot holes. Dustin would stay at Sam's and somehow simultaneously take care of our pup and funnel me the money. I would take care of the pup and somehow try to juggle school. That raised a number of questions. Our plan ended up us pretending we weren't going to be parents at all. We'd both accept our offers, plan for the fall, and hope for the best.

The only thing that felt concrete to us was the need to finish high school. It seemed an attainable goal, provided no one else discovered my pregnancy. What lay beyond graduation was just a tenebrous nebula of speculation and somewhere beyond that, a promised land of academia. I certainly wouldn't be the first to try and make my way through taking care of a pup. Maybe they had resources for that. There had to be a day care around. I wouldn't get the standard college experience, the dorms, the dating, and the exploration, but that was a small price to pay, all things considered. So long as I could make it through and end up with a degree on time, it would be worthwhile.

In my naivety there were a number of factors I didn't take into account. Chief among them was that keeping a pregnancy secret, especially once you begin to show, is damn near impossible. There is stuff you hear about being pregnant. Everybody knows about the morning sickness, cravings, swollen boobs, and all that superficial stuff you may or may not get. Then there is stuff you don't hear about; gross stuff, digestive tract stuff, urinary tract stuff. The truth is pretty much every system in your body goes haywire. Pregnancy was not a fun time for me. I really hated it. It boggled my mind to think that after millions of years of evolution, this was the best thing nature could do to enable reproduction. There was nothing natural about it. Every day it just got worse. As I tossed and turned at night, aching and uncomfortable, unable to fall asleep, thinking 'As soon as this ham is out, I'm cutting out my ovaries. I fucking never want to use them again. Nothing but trouble.'

By May I was showing pretty obvious. Only thick hoodies, flannels, or general winter gear kept teachers and the kids at school from noticing I'd gotten knocked up. It was getting hot too, so one can assume that none of this was easy. The trees were fully in bloom. The crickets returned at night. It was practically summer and I was walking around high school dressed as if I were living in Seattle. People thought I was crazy, but fuck, they always did. I think I got away with it because they thought of me as an eccentric. The last few months of high school probably wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't spend them gravid. Every day became incrementally more torturous. I should have spent them hanging out with friends, instead I pushed everyone away. I could have spent them with people I didn't even like that much, saying, "Of course I'll miss you. I can't believe it's all over. Can you imagine? Graduating already. I remember that time your mother dressed you up as Alf that one Halloween in third grade and Peter O'Tool, do you remember him, he pushed you in the creek? Now that was a riot. These were the best days of our lives, I'll tell you what."

I may have been able to just glide through if it weren't for one thing. Prom. May was prom season in Wayne High School. There was nothing else to get excited about, except for the end of the school year, for which prom heralded the beginning of. Since so many highly personal details have already found their way into these pages, one more confession certainly won't kill me. I actually, kind of wanted to go. Prom meant the antithesis of everything I was, but some combination of peer pressure and appreciation for 1980s teen rom-coms made the idea of going somewhat tempting, even if only from an anthropological point of view. But I knew from the moment I held that positive pregnancy test back in March that I would have to make other plans, unless I intended on showing up only to do the great reveal, sporting a five months pregnant belly. That may have been an adequate ending for a 1980s rom-com, but it wouldn't be my ending.

I wrote a thoughtful thank you card to Bryn. Dustin signed too, jotting down his appreciation for the cake. I handed it to the greyhound at lunch. From there on out we were back on speaking terms. Nothing could erase the knowledge of what happened, but we were adults and adults move on. I badly needed a friend and so did she. Soon we were back to hanging out at each other's houses. She'd come to mine on a hot May afternoon.

"But you gotta go!" Bryn said to me, having completely lost interest in her Calc homework. "How can you not want to go. It's prom! Everybody goes. Who cares if it's full of miscreants?"

I put down my pencil and sighed. It looked like I wouldn't be solving any problems any time soon. "You know me," I said, "I just don't fit into those sorts of things."

"It doesn't matter. I fit in about as well as you do, but you just go. It's your chance to say good bye. It's your chance to flail around your acceptance letter to Brown, and shove into their stupid faces that you're going to an Ivy League."

"Well, actually I turned them down. I'm going to Chapel Hill, they offered me a tuition package I can't refuse."

"Still, the point of the matter is you got accepted to an Ivy League. That alone is a middle finger you need to personally make sure they see."

"I get it, but no. Consider it a form of protest."

"But it's your last chance! Didn't you want to go last year? You lamented about it for weeks that you didn't have a date."

"Don't remind me," I said, "I'm just not into it this year."

"Do it for me," she said, "I don't want to be alone there."

"Don't you have a date?"

"Yea, but just my cousin. Ewww, I know, but I don't think anybody else knows that. I really don't know anybody else. Those I do know, I don't want to spend time with. Don't make me go alone."

"Please don't pull that card, Bryn," I said, practically begging.

"Is it because," Bryn leaned in and whispered, "because you've put on a little bit of weight?"

"Bryn," I said, my ears swept back ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she said, "it's really hard not to notice, I mean, not that it's that noticeable. You can barely see it, and it's only because we've spent so much time together. It's really not that much and I should probably shut up now."

"It is a factor," I said, looking away with my ears lowered.

"A nice outfit will really make you shine."

"My mind is made up," I said.

"Forget what I said. You know I think you're gorgeous," Bryn said and reached out, letting a tuft of my mane slide through her fingers. "I can help you pick out some designs. It doesn't have to be a dress. You can teach me how you do it."

"Please Bryn," I said, "I just don't feel like going."

"Okay," the greyhound said and relented.

"Can we still work on my dress together?"

"Sure," I agreed.

"Just promise me we'll stay in touch okay?" Bryn said.

"I will," I replied somewhat perplexed, as if there were reason for her to believe anything otherwise.

"I mean it," she continued. "Saying oh, well, we'll stay in touch is something we say to everybody. Just to be polite. But I really want to stay in touch with you after we're done. You're my best friend, Alex. I want you to be part of my life after we graduate. I know we're going to different states, but just call me every one in a while. Reach out. We've been friends for like eight years."

"I promise," I said in all honesty. I slid my paw across the table. Bryn covered it with both of hers.

"I know you're not happy here, but I feel like you cutting everyone out. Me included. I just want to make sure that's not the case."

"Relax," I said, "I'm not cutting you out. And I won't. I promise. There is a lot going on right now and I'm stressed, that's all."

"Talk to me. I tell you everything."

"I will," I said. "But not today."

"Alex," she said. "Just talk."

I felt my body glow with heat. My stomach knotted up and I suddenly felt queasy. "Believe me, I want to. I wish I could tell you everything. Holding onto this is really hard, but this just isn't the time."

"Just let it go."

If it were anyone else I probably could have held onto it. If she hadn't been so persistent, perhaps I could have kept lying to her. I cursed myself silently for wanting to do homework with her. I should have known better. "I'm pregnant," I said, my ears lowered submissively. A tear ran down each cheek.

"No," Bryn said, calmly.

I nodded.

"By who?"

"I can't tell you. Really. There could be trouble for both us, all of us," I nodded at my belly, "if this gets out."

"I understand," Bryn said. "You keeping it?"

"Yea," I said.

"Good," she said. "Does your dad know?"

I shook my head.

"Come on, Alex," she said, "you know better."

"I know," I said and began to tremble.

"Does anybody know?"

"Dustin," I said.

"How long have you known?"

"Definitively? About two months. I think I'm in month five."

"Oh Alex," she said and squeezed my paw. "God, this explains everything." She covered her muzzle with a paw.

We sat there silently in my kitchen. The radio droned on some country music. The wind rustled through the fresh green leaves outside. A cloud moved away from the sun and suddenly the room seemed lighter, filled with yellow sunlight.

"You know what you need to do, right?" Bryn continued a moment later. "You need to tell people. Your dad. Get help. Have you been to a doctor?"

"I know," I said and wiped away the tears with my wrist. I sighed. "I'm afraid," I continued a moment later and paused, "I've been waiting until I decided exactly what's going to happen. I know what I'm gonna do."

"Darling," she said. "If you need anything, just let me know. I can help you through this. I can be there for you."

"Bryn, I know you hate secrets but just promise me you'll keep this one. Okay? This is my problem, and I'm going to handle it on my terms. I know you want to help, but please don't act before I do. I have a plan. I need to be careful, because this is delicate. I just need a little more time."

"Okay," she said. "I trust you, but please, hurry."

I nodded and sniffed, finding it hard to find composure. All my math homework looked like a blur.

"Alex, you know that I love you, right?"

I nodded again, "And I love you too."

Our paws crossed on the center of the table. Byrn's fingers caressed mine in a way that felt profoundly soothing. I watched her slender, elegant paw capture mine and I sighed. I looked up at her and noticed she was crying too, silently, without as much as a sniffle.

"It's all going to be okay, sweetie," she said, her voice cracking. "You'll see. Everyone's going to come together for you. It takes a village to raise a pup, and you'll see everyone come and help. It's really a miracle. Just you watch. It will make you believe in them." A fresh pair of tears rolled down on either side of the greyhound's slender muzzle. "My mom was just seventeen when she had me. My little sister was just sixteen, last year, remember? My dad was furious, but as soon as he saw her," Bryn broke down. Her body jerked. She paused and wiped her face. I watched her, full of fear, as she struggled to find composure. "But as soon as he saw her, his granddaughter, all the anger just vanished. Instantly." Bryn took another moment and bit her lip to keep from shedding another tear. "I've never seen anything like it."

I simply watched my best friend, shocked and sad. My fur stood on end from the sound of sobbing. Everything in the kitchen seemed shifted, permanently, as if no amount of reordering would ever bring things back to their rightful spot.

"It's gonna be okay," she repeated, perhaps addressing herself this time. She took a deep breath and settled, then another, and one after that. She calmly dabbed her tears away with the feminine grace that made me love her. "Things will work out. You're going to go to North Carolina in the fall. You're gonna go do good things. I know I'm gonna open up the newspaper one of these days and read how it was you who cured cancer."

"Come on," I chuckled, but the words came out wrong, sounding jerky and cracking with a voice betraying restrained tears.

"I just don't want to let you go," she said. "That's all I'm asking. Call me every once in a while. Send me pictures," she continued almost breaking up at the end. Another breath and she was calm again.

"How could I let you go?" I squeezed her paw, clasped in both of mine.

Bryn smiled.

And I didn't let her go, not for years. Understandably there aren't many people I'm still in contact with from high school. We don't see each other often but we talk every month. She is one of the few people I can hang on the line with for hours. She went to college that fall to a Baptist school in Georgia. She got married as a senior. Her first pup came at the age of 24, then two more over the next six years. Even though it's a lot to juggle, she still calls me on Sunday afternoons. We don't talk about the past much, more about the present, but sometimes we both catch a nostalgic wind and remember things as if they weren't complete shit. Growing up in Wayne County was our life. We had nothing to compare it with so we agreed it was the best of all possible situations, one that at least made us friends.

***

There was little I could do about the sudden uptick in popularity that came with prom season. All of my girlfriends came out of the woodwork, even though I hadn't exchanged anything beyond a few pleasantries with them in months. They treated me to lunch, invited me to hang out and drove me to Huntington, which was about the only halfway exciting thing you could do. Just when you think they've matured and that you might actually start an adult friendship, they pull out a picture or a magazine and say, "Can you do that?" I'd sigh, inspect the picture, and nod. So long as they came to me with bundles of bills I didn't say no. Given that Dustin pulled his weight with extra work, I needed to as well.

I gladly made a dress for Bryn. The awkwardness was behind us. We sat next to each other at the foot of my bed with a plethora of magazines strewn about. Our paws bumped over the glossy images. We giggled as I took her measurements. The queerness was there, but it became a positive, non-sexual thing, as if I'd won a mate for life, but on an understood platonic level. She helped me when the deadlines loomed. I taught her to use the sewing machine. She practically lived at our house. I even showed her my belly. We sat on the edge of my bed. I shyly lifted up my shirt. She put her paw on the protruding curve of fur.

"I'm jealous," she said.

"You serious? I'm carrying a bastard whose dad lives halfway across another state. What's there to be jealous of?"

"I've always wanted one," she said.

"Give it time," I said.

"If he doesn't come back, I'll help you."

"We're going to different states in the fall, what can you do?"

"Well, my family can help."

"Please don't tell them, please."

"I won't unless you say it's okay. They're strict, but they're good Christians. We can help somehow."

I sighed. "I'll take a rain check on that. I may need help, but I'm gonna try to figure things out on my own first."

"Have you decided what you're gonna do?"

"Not yet. I don't like the idea of giving it up for adoption, but I'm not sure I can handle trying to raise it."

"Both those things are good choices. Help will come to you. Whatever you choose, you'll choose what's right."

I sighed and said, "I hope so."

Bryn and I took measurements at school only this time around, borrowing a corner of the library. We'd pick out fabrics together, yes, but if they didn't like the product in the end there would be no modifications. Bryn was an exception of course. She had a peculiar body-type that only a few cuts fit. It took three tries and four trips to Huntington to get her dress perfect. On one of those trips I wandered around the yardage outlet while the choosy canine did her thing. I found this gorgeous damask cloth. It was a green, complex yet elegant. It caught my eye from clear across the store. I ran my paw over it and fell in love. It felt so soft. A million ideas ran through my head just looking at it. I ended up buying a couple yards of it. I nearly blew my earnings on it, but I just couldn't leave it behind.

The nights Dustin felt too tired to do anything other than watch television or play Nintendo I spent at the sewing machine. After I worked through my commission queue I went to work on another dress, one for me. I used the damask to fashion a pretend prom dress, the one I would wear had I gone. I had to do some studying for it. Making a dress for a pregnant woman is not easy, especially since I felt like I was growing by the day. No magazines really had patterns for such an endeavor. The projects had the added effect of getting my mind off things. The fine stitching and total concentration of sewing machine operation got me through the tougher times. I don't think I would have come up with a plan had I not had that mode of simultaneous meditation and distraction. The day I finished, I held the dress up against myself and walked in front of the mirror. "This will do," I thought to myself, but I honestly didn't know for what.

"Dusty," I said sneaking up behind my brother. He sat hunched over on the living room couch. The television flickered with some show he didn't seem to be watching.

I wanted it to bother me when that he simply lazed around the house, but I'd already checked his homework, the chores were done, and he even picked up a few tasks I hadn't even asked him to do. Plus the second I saw what he was actually doing, I simply couldn't be mad at him. I should have known by the scent of cosmoline wafting through the downstairs, but my brother often reeked of cosmoline.

"Hey sis," he said without looking up. He used the coffee table as a makeshift workbench. The guts of some firearm, a rifle of sorts were strewn about in an order that made sense only to Dustin. He wore one of his summer outfits even though it was still early in the season, which usually consisted of nothing more than a t-shirt and boxers, or sometimes just boxers. This time he indulged my presence with both.

"Got something to show you," I said, demonstrating that I still had a southern accent.

"What is it?" He said, not turning around.

"I just need your attention for a sec," I said.

"Just a minute."

"You in a rush?"

"Not really," he huffed.

"Then look up," I commanded.

Dustin did just that and sighed, he looked, ears flicking with frustration. They perked upright immediately. "Damn Alex, look at you."

A smile crept across my muzzle and my ears swept back humbly. I crossed my arms behind me and stood, feeling awkward but beautiful in my creation. I turned the fabric into a strapless dress. I balanced it's sexiness with length. It went almost down to my ankles, splitting on the sides just above the knee. It was impossible not to overlook my pregnant belly in something so form-fitting. I could take it in in the bust and the mid-section if I needed to. For now it was tailored precisely to my month.

"What party are you going to and why aren't I invited?"

"None," I said. "Like I'm ever gonna go out looking like this. Fucking advertise the fact I'm knocked up."

"You make being knocked-up look amazing," he said and turned away from the tube. He propped himself on the back of the couch and gazed at me. "Spin around a little."

I did just that.

"Best work yet, I'd say. You look gorgeous in that. What's it for?"

"You," I said, blushing a little bit. "Been making prom dresses all month for the girls. Kinda wanted one for myself too. I liked this fabric a lot. I saw it at the store the other day. Just finished a minute ago."

"Seems like kind of a waste, don't ya think?" Dustin said, repositioning himself. "You know I like you the way you are."

"Don't you like it?"

"Of course I do. You're gorgeous in that, but please tell me you're still wearing boxers under that."

I turned to the side and hiked up the split far enough so Dustin could see the plaid hanging on my upper thighs."

"Hot," he said. "I think we'd have a problem if you suddenly switched to panties."

"If I do, you know it's time to send me to the loony bin."

"You really wanted to go, didn't you?"

"The loony bin?"

"Prom, but same difference."

"Yea," I confessed. "I actually kind of wanted to go to that."

"It's not like you to get upset about something like that."

"I know, but since this whole thing is coming to an end, I'm sort of getting nostalgic."

"Nostalgic enough to wear a dress?"

"I know," I said. "It's crazy."

"That you are," he said, and turned back around, toward the television set. "For months all I hear is that you can't wait to leave, now you're getting sentimental about it."

"I wouldn't call it sentimental," I said, wandering around the couch. The dress made sitting a difficult affair, so I stood, leaning on our father's lay-z-boy.

"Isn't that what nostalgia is, some weird sentimentality about the past, like it hurts but it hurts so good? Kind of avoiding the fact that it wasn't all that great, and at best tolerable. This was all tolerable. Not great by a long shot."

"It had its moments," I said.

"Yea, you're right," Dustin said, picking up and fiddling with two compatible pieces of the firing mechanism. "We did have a few good moments."

"Sometimes the past looks a little bit better when compared to the future. I guess that's where I'm coming from. I'm scared, Dusty."

"So am I," he said, snapping them into place after a deal of effort.

"You're supposed to comfort me," I said.

"Alex." He said, looking over his shoulder at me. "I've said it before, but I'll say it again: you're strong, you're smart as fuck, and you kick ass. We're gonna handle this sis."

"Thanks," I said. "I guess."

"But, yea," he continued, "it's kinda weird.

"What?" I asked.

"That we're finishing up. It kinda feels like we've been here forever."

"In a way we have."

"All adequate things come to an end," he said.

"All adequate things," I repeated and walked away, eager to get out of my dress.

***

The days had gotten longer and warmer. I spent part of the afternoons walking circles around our house, taking all the things to memory before I'd leave them all behind. I took a few photographs of what most would consider the most mundane things on the planet. Between my journal, the photographs, and a few carefully collected items, I tried to create a little archive of life in the hills. Dustin came home a little late. It wasn't quite dusk, but in the mountains sun sets early so it felt like it. He carried two plastic bags; some carry out from 'Don Juan,' an Italian place that could qualify as the fanciest restaurant in town.

"What's the occasion?" I said, following my brother into the kitchen where he began to unpack the styrofoam containers of greasy Italian-American goodness.

"Got a raise," he said, reaching for our actual ceramic plates. He indeed planned on going all out fancy. Eating off of ceramic plates is always one of life's simpler joys, even if it means doing dishes.

"Thought they weren't gonna give you any more raises?" I asked, making myself useful by collecting silverware from a drawer next to Dustin.

"Told 'em I knocked up a girl," he said as if it was nothing.

"What?" I said, shocked. "You didn't!"

"Did too," he said, as nonplussed as before. "Relax. We need the money, badly. You're pregnant. It's my pup. Why bust my ass for minimum wage when I can milk this for money we actually need."

"What if dad finds out? He goes to Sam's. Any fucker can find out from them!"

"I didn't say I knocked you up. Fuck, I'm not that dumb. And trust me, I told Sam to keep it on the down low until I had a chance to face the family myself. That bought us some time, at least."

"Fuck," I said. "If this gets out we're screwed."

"Have you told anyone?" He asked.

I blushed slightly. "Bryn. I told Bryn."

"Jesus fucking Christ. Might as well paint it on a billboard on Highway 152."

"She's not part of the gossip mill, Dusty."

"Still," he said. "She's way closer to it than a surly old Vietnam vet."

"Let's not fight," I said, getting defensive.

"Agreed," he said and plated some lasagna and West Virginia's rendition of chicken marsala for me. "Sis, it's really not so bad."

"I know," I said as I began to set the table for what seemed like it would become a relatively fancy affair.

"It's prom night. You know what that means? Half the girls in our class are gonna open their legs tonight," Dustin said. "High school's practically over. The next phase of life has begun; collecting welfare and child support. Gotta be responsible and plan for the future somehow."

"What does that have to do with us?" I said, fine-tuning the spread on our kitchen table.

"So what if a guy like me tells his boss he's gonna be a dad? Next month when school's out and nobody gives a fuck anymore, tons of guys like me are gonna go to their bosses and their parents and tell em they knocked up their prom-dates. My case is gonna get buried. There's are gonna be a lot of pissed off parents and a lot of shotgun weddings. Like last year, like every year."

"And you wanted to stay here."

"Meh," my brother said, walking to the table with two steaming plates of food. "Life's cheap here."

"Well," I said. "Even if Sam knows, we've made it this far without getting discovered."

"Relax," he said, "and bon appetite." Dustin put a plate down in front of me. We both dove into the food as if famished. "Oh," my brother continued with a mouth full, his lasagna suddenly half-disappeared. "Happy prom night."

"Happy prom, I guess."

"Gotta surprise for you," he said, after swallowing.

"What?" I asked, ears perking.

"It's a fucking surprise. Just be ready after dinner."

"Thanks for dinner, by the way."

"You're welcome," he said, or that's what I thought he said, given he'd shoveled another mouthful into his muzzle.

"Love you," I followed up.

"Love you too," he said, though it sounded like "Murg murg murg."