Worth the Trouble ✓

13 | the hollister waltz

I HATE ARGUING WITH SUKI.

Whenever I raise my voice to her, I'm reminded of how Mom hissed caustic insults at Dad or the emotionless way he'd grumble his grievances back. Arguments are death to any relationship.

Even before I got her pregnant, I had learned to avoid arguing. In the heat of the moment, I tended to say things. Things that completely slipped my mind after I cooled down, relayed in reconciled retrospect. Things that Suki could never forget. If I was going to communicate, it had to be while calm.

The stakes were even higher now that Suki was pregnant. If I stressed her out, that might complicate her gestatoion. I didn't know how exactly, since I never went with her to her clinic appointments. But stress wouldn't be good for the baby.

So I find myself speaking less these days. If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything. The mantra was bullshit to me in elementary school but gospel to me now.

After all, I forget my troubles way easier than Suki can, with her analytical, slightly obsessive brain. Whenever we spend time together, I'm careful not to let my anxieties leak out. I'll keep them bottled up, safely away from Suki, who has her own worries.

Of course, we still talk. We tell each other about our days, mock teachers, and discuss math homework together. But we keep pregnancy conversations superficial. The dates of her next checkups, an appraisal of her new symptoms, asking me if she's showing yet. Light, grounded, in the present.

Nothing as terrifying as the future. Our future.

Is Suki also consciously holding back? Or has she subconsciously started to after the argument we had over the phone? Did she push away or did I? I don't know, and I don't want to ask. I add it to the bottle.

Besides, Suki seems to do fine without my advice. She's not fidgety, unfocused, or anxious the way she usually gets when her thoughts start to overwhelm her. It's probably that motherhood makes her a calmer person, out of sheer necessity. Temporary, teenage worries pale compared to a whole child.

So whatever she tells me, whenever she decides to, I nod and smile.

Nod and smile.

Suki visits my house one Saturday, using yet another one of her homeroom class friends as cover. Dad made us keep the bedroom door open as always, but neither of us are planning to fool around. Weekends are for movies and cuddles.

Halfway through, Suki voices a new revelation. "I'm going to quit ballroom."

"What?" I lean forward to pause the movie on my laptop.

"Before I start showing. Those leotards hide nothing."

I've had the pleasure of seeing Suki in her form-fitting dance uniform a grand total of two times. Both were when we got carried away making out after school, missing her first bus. Suki had to change into her gear before the next one. I put my hand on her stomach. It's only slightly rounded, but firm, and I honestly can't tell a difference from a good lunch.

"Won't your parents get suspicious?"

They're the ones paying for her lessons, her competitions. I don't know exactly how invested they are in Suki being a dance champion—if they'll welcome an influx of savings, or if they'll question the loss from her college applications.

Is college even a priority for her anymore?

Suki pushes herself up to lean against the headboard. I roll over to lean against her chest, and her hands wrap around me, twisting my earlobe lightly between her fingers. That's a habit of hers whenever we're in close, private quarters. I don't know what she finds satisfying about the squishy bits of flesh, but she loves fiddling with them as she thinks.