Anne Tyler - Breathing Lessons

Now, at this point Daisy was nine years old, or just about to turn nine-enough of a child still, you would think, to keep Maggie fully occupied.

But the fact was that at that very moment, Daisy took it into her head to start growing away too. She had always been a bit precocious. In her infancy Ira had called her Lady-Baby, because she was so mature and reserved, her small face a knot of opinion. At thirteen months she had undertaken her own toilet training. In first grade she had set her alarm for an hour earlier than anyone else in the household and slipped downstairs each morning to sort through the laundered clothes for a proper outfit. (She could iron better than Maggie even then, and liked to look neat as a pin and color-coordinated.) And now she seemed to have leapt ahead to that stage where the outside world took precedence over family. She had four very serious, like-minded friends, including one, Lavinia Murphy, whose mother was perfect. Perfect Mrs. Murphy headed the PTA and the Bake Sale and (since she didn't work) was free to drive the little girls to every kind of cultural event, and she hosted wonderful slumber parties, with treasure hunts. The spring of ', Daisy practically lived with the Murphys. Maggie would come home from work and call, "Daisy?" but all she found was a silent house and a note on the front-hall bookshelf.

Then one afternoon the house wasn't silent after all but murmury and conspiratorial, she could sense it the moment she entered, and upstairs, Jesse's bedroom door was closed. She knocked. After a startled pause, Jesse called, "Just a second." She heard rustles and whispers. When he came out he had a girl in tow. Her long blond hair was rumpled and her lips had a bruised look. She sidled past Maggie with her eyes downcast and descended the stairs behind Jesse. Maggie heard the front door open; she heard Jesse saying goodbye in a low voice. As soon as he came back upstairs (unashamedly heading straight to Maggie), she told him that the mother of that girl, whoever she was, would be horrified to know her daughter had been alone with a boy in his bedroom. Jesse said, "Oh, no, her mom lives in Pennsylvania somewhere. Fiona stays with her sister, and her sister doesn't mind."

"Well, I do," Maggie said.

Jesse didn't argue with that, and the girl stopped coming around. Or at least she was out of sight when Maggie returned from work each day.

Though Maggie had a feeling; she picked up certain clues. She noticed that Jesse was gone more than ever, that he returned abstracted, that his brief spells at home were marked by long private conversations on the upstairs telephone and it was always the same girl's voice-soft and questioning-when Maggie happened to lift the receiver.

He found a job in an envelope factory, finally, something to do with shipping, and started looking for an apartment. The only trouble was, the rents were so high and his paycheck was so puny. Good, Ira said. Now maybe he would have to face a few hard facts. Maggie wished Ira would just shut up. "Don't worry," she told Jesse. "Something will come along."

That was toward the end of June. In July he was still living at home. And one Wednesday evening in August, he caught Maggie alone in the kitchen and informed her, very calmly and directly, that he seemed to have got this girl he knew in trouble.

The air in the room grew oddly still. Maggie wiped her hands on her apron.

She said, "Is it that Fiona person?"

He nodded.

"So now what?" Maggie asked. She was as cool as he was; she surprised herself. This seemed to be happening to someone else. Or maybe she had expected it without knowing. Maybe it was something that had been heading their way all along, like a glacier bearing down on them.

"Well," Jesse said, "that's what I needed to discuss with you. I mean, what I want and what she wants are two different things."

"What is it you want?" Maggie asked, thinking she knew.

"I want her to keep the baby."

For a moment, that didn't register. Even the word itself-"baby"-seemed incongruous on Jesse's lips. It seemed almost, in an awful way, cute.

She said, "Keep it?"

"I thought I'd start hunting an apartment for the three of us."

"You mean get married?"

"Right."

"But you're not even eighteen years old," Maggie said. "And I bet the girl isn't, either. You're too young."

"My birthday's in two weeks, Ma, and Fiona's is not long after. And she doesn't like school anyway; half the time she skips class and hangs out with me instead. Besides, I've always looked forward to having a kid.

It's exactly what I've been needing: something of my own."

"Something of your own?"

"I'll just have to find a better-paying job, is all."

"Jesse, you've got a whole family of your own! What are you talking about?"

"But it's not the same," Jesse said. "I've just never felt ... I don't know. So anyhow, I've been looking for a job that pays more money. See, a baby takes a lot of equipment and such. I've written down a list from Dr.

Spock."

Maggie stared at him. The only question she could come up with was:

"Where on earth did you get hold of a Dr. Spock?"

"At the bookstore; where else?"

"You went into a bookstore and bought a baby-care book?"

"Sure."

That seemed the biggest surprise of all. She couldn't picture it.

"I've learned a lot," he told her. "I think Fiona oughtta breast-feed."

"Jesse-"

"I found these plans in Home Hobby Journal for building a cradle."

"Honey, you don't know how hard it is. You're children yourselves! You can't take on a baby."

"I'm asking you, Ma. I'm serious," Jesse said. And he did have that sharply etched look to his lips that he always got when he felt strongly about something.

"But just what are you asking me?" Maggie said.

"I want you to go and talk to Fiona."

"What? Talk about what?"

"Tell her you think she should keep it."

"You mean she wants to put it up for adoption," Maggie said. "Or else . .

. um . . . stop the pregnancy."

"Well, that's what she says, but-"

"Which?" Maggie asked.

"The second thing."

"Ah."

"But she doesn't really want that. I know she doesn't," he said. "It's just that she's so stubborn. She expects the worst of me, seems like. She takes it for granted I'm going to, like, ditch her or something. Well, first off, she didn't even tell me about it-can you believe it? Hid it from me! Went through weeks of worrying and never breathed a hint of it even though she saw me every day, near about. And then when the test came out positive, what does she do? Asks me for the money to get rid of the baby. I say. 'Huh? To do what? Now. hold on a sec.'

I tell her. 'Aren't you skipping over a few of the usual steps here?

Whatever happened to "What do you.think, Jesse?" and "Which decision are we two going to settle on?" Aren't you going to offer me a chance?' I ask her. She says, 'Chance for what?' 'Well, what about marriage?' I ask her.

'What about me taking on my proper responsibilities, for God's sake?' She says, 'Don't do me any favors, Jesse Moran.' I say, 'Favors? You're talking about my son, here.' She says, 'Oh, I have no illusions'- that is how she talks when she gets on her high horse. 'I have no illusions,' she says. 'I knew what you were when I first laid eyes on you. Footloose and fancy-free,' she says, 'lead singer in a hard-rock band. You don't have to explain yourself to me.' I felt I'd been, like, stenciled or something. I mean where did she get this picture of me? Not from anything that happened in real life, I can tell you. So I say, 'No, I will not give you the money; no, sir, no way,' and she says, 'I might have known to expect that'-purposely misunderstanding. I hate when people do that, purposely acting so wronged and martyred. 'I might have figured,' she says, 'that I couldn't count on you for the simplest little abortion fee.' Says the word right out, kind of like she cracked the air with it; I honestly couldn't speak for a second. I say, 'Goddammit, Fiona-' and she says, 'Oh, fine, great, just cuss at me too on top of everything else,' and I say-"