this time you just pretended to like Scorpions because I told you they were my favorite band? They’re not my favorite band, you know. I mean, I love their music obviously, but—”
“This is serious, Hank.”
“Is it?”
“Very serious.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
“I don’t quite know how to tell you.”
“Just come right out and say it.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I can take it.”
“But maybe I can’t.”
“As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”
“You say that now.”
“Come on, Laura. We’ve been through everything these last few months.”
“Not everything.”
“Okay, maybe not everything. But enough that you and I can handle whatever life throws at—”
“I’m pregnant, Hank.”
I picture myself back at my Christian Awakening retreat, talking to Jesus. Someone has handed me the crucifix. Jesus speaks to me. “It’s okay, Hank. Let it out. The Lord is listening.”
“Hey there, Jesus. I did something I’m not too proud of. I fell in love with this girl. And, well, Jesus, we got in some trouble, my girlfriend and I.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“As in ‘that girl’s in trouble’ trouble.”
Jesus breaks into song. “Oh, we got trouble, right here in River City. With a capital T that rhymes with P that stands for ‘pregnant.’”
“I didn’t take you for a Music Man guy, JC.”
“Don’t call me JC. And why is it everybody assumes I fucking love Jesus Christ Superstar?”
“Well, you are the star and all. Although to be honest, Judas steals the show. Not to mention Mary is one sweet-looking piece of—”
“Hank, that’s my mom you’re talking about!”
“No, it isn’t. I’m talking about Mary Magdalene, as played by the sultry, olive-skinned actress Yvonne Marianne Elliman.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Did you not mistake her for the Virgin Mary the first time you saw Jesus Christ Superstar and fantasize about her for a solid decade?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“And what is your point?”
“My point is the whole theory about Mary’s perpetual virginity.”
“The whole theory?”
“It’s bullshit. Are you telling me Joseph never hit that, ever?”
“And now you’re blaspheming my stepfather. Terrific, Hank.”
“Don’t get me started on Joseph. The Patron Saint of Grin and Bear It. Mary says, ‘Sure I’ll marry you, Joe.’ Cue wedding bells. Cue wedding night. ‘Silly me, did I forget to mention I’ve pledged to my God that I will live and die a virgin?’ Then lo and behold, a couple months later, Joseph finds a home pregnancy test stashed in the bottom of a trashcan. Mary says, ‘Joe, I swear to you I’m not sleepin’ around. An angel knocked me up.’”
“In all fairness, Joseph’s initial reaction was to have Mom stoned to death. And in some religious traditions, people believe Joseph and Mom did indeed shack up after I was born.”
“Did they?”
“Hell no. But either way, I think you’re hovering dangerously close to smite territory.”
“You still do that?”
“No, not really. That was more Dad’s gig, back when Moses was around. Peter and Paul’s market research showed a demand for a kinder, gentler Messiah, especially with adulterers ages eighteen to thirty-four. That’s a growing demographic for us.”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. What is up with the Book of Leviticus?
“I get that all the time. Not the Holy Father’s best work.”
“I should say not.”
“I thought this was supposed to be about you, Hank. You’re the one holding the crucifix.”
“One last point about Joseph. What’s he get for his sacrifice?”
“What’s he get, Hank? Well, sainthood for one.”
“And with that, what? The distinction of being the world’s only eternal foster dad? A stand-in who’ll never be allowed to call the purest of sons his own?”
“That’s a little harsh, Hank. Joseph was a good man.”
“I’m sure he was. I’d also like to think that you, at least for the first few years of your life, were childlike and naïve, blissfully unaware of your destiny. I picture you fishing with Joseph, the two of you making the Passover pilgrimage to Jerusalem, you on his shoulder, laughing.”
“Those were some good times, Hank.”
“I bet they were. I can even picture Joseph tucking you into bed at night and you dreaming dreams of being a carpenter like your dad and taking his tools to show and tell.”
“As a matter of fact, I was pretty handy with a hammer.”
“See! Is it too much to ask that your eyes were those of a real boy who saw in Joseph a real father—the everything plus a little more that dads, good dads, are supposed to be to their sons, to their children?”
“You got some serious issues.”
“And you’re thinking to yourself right now, ‘Why didn’t I become a fucking carpenter?’”
“Touché, Hank.”
“Pregnant?” I say. “How’d this happen?”
“How?” Laura says. “Well, Hank, when a man and a woman…”
“That’s not what I meant. We were careful.”
“We weren’t careful every time.”
“Okay once, but that was our first…” Laura arches her eyebrows.
“No way.”
“I’ve done the math.”
“Come on.”
“We got pregnant the first time we ever had sex.”
“Back in May?”
“That would be when we first had sex, yes.”
“A two for one deal I guess.”
“A two for what?”
“Never mind,” I say. Laura is unfocused. Good. As much as I might want to scrutinize the tragic irony of getting my high school sweetheart pregnant at the exact same moment I lost my virginity, this conversation is best left on the cutting room floor.
“So, what do we do now?”
“Just find a way to get through it.”
“What did your parents say?”
“My parents?”
“I assume you told them.”
“Are