Below is an excerpt from the new book by South Florida author Laney Katz Becker, In the Family Way: A Novel.
Laney will be one of hundreds of authors reading and speaking at the 42nd annual Miami Book Fair from November 16-23. Laney’s reading will be at 2 pm on Saturday, November 22 in Room 8203. For more info visit MiamiBookFair.com.
When I arrived at Raven House, the housemother gave me a cheap wedding ring that she bought at Woolworths, the local five-and-dime. “Wear this for the next two weeks while you’re here,” she said as she handed it to me. “That way, when you’re out and about, no one will know you’re not married.” A good plan, but it didn’t matter. People in the neighborhood knew who we were and why we were there, and if we left for a walk or to go to the corner market, they’d yell names at us, calling us whores and sluts and sometimes throwing things at us, like rotten fruit and even eggs. But when it was just us girls, and we were indoors, there were times when I forgot why I was there; it felt almost like a giant slumber party. Unfortunately, that usually didn’t last, and before long, I remembered my situation and started to feel guilty about the shame and embarrassment I was causing my parents.
At first, my mom was just mad at me and kept asking how I could have been so stupid. “But I didn’t know,” I said. “How was I supposed to know?” She didn’t have an answer for me, and alternated between hugging me and sending me to my room so she could think. A few days later, she told me about Raven House.
My dad wouldn’t even look at me and only talked to me if I asked him something directly. Even then, he kept his nose buried in the newspaper when he answered me. Then, one day, he surprised me and asked me if I had anything to say for myself. I told him I didn’t understand his question. “What,” he said, “do you have to say for yourself?” I still didn’t understand, but I told him I was sorry. He shook his head.
“I just want to know one thing,” my dad said. “Is this the first time you’ve compromised yourself with a boy or just the first time you’ve been caught and had to pay a price?”
Except for sleepovers at Karen’s, I had never been away from home before Mom left me at Raven House. I was surprised there were almost a dozen girls at the maternity home when I arrived; it made me realize I wasn’t alone in my troubles. A couple of them were close to the two-week mark when they could be placed with a family, but more than half were at the end of their pregnancies, and had moved back into Raven House while they waited to have their babies. In spite of there being so many girls, no one was outwardly mean, like so many of the girls at school.
A few nights after I got there, a girl named Sheila came up with the idea that we all share how and why we wound up at Raven House. It was dark in the dormitory, except for a little bit of moonlight that crept in through the curtains. The room was not nearly well lit enough to be able to see faces, and since I was new, I didn’t even recognize anyone’s voice. But I think it was the darkness that allowed everyone to just say whatever she wanted.
We started at the far end of the room, with the girl in the bed closest to the door. More than one girl said she was raped; two said it was by people in their families. I wasn’t sure what rape was, but one girl talked about being held down and how she kicked and tried to fight, but he put a hand over her mouth so no one could hear her scream. That gave me enough of an idea about what “rape” meant. For the first time since I found out I was expecting, I felt lucky, if you can believe it. As we got closer to me, I worried over what I would say, as I didn’t really understand exactly what had happened. The out-of- town boy rolled on top of me, and, well, whatever happened was so quick, I wasn’t even sure what had happened. But I thought if I said that, everyone would laugh at me. I decided to just string together bits and pieces from what others said and wound up with something like “My story is boring. A boy from out of town came to visit his cousins for the summer. We met, and you know how it goes, one thing led to another”—that was what I cribbed from one of the girls who spoke before me—“and here I am, knocked up”—which is another expression I stole from another one of the other unwed mothers.
After everyone shared her story, one thing was clear: No matter how we wound up “preggers” (another word I stole that night), one thing we all had in common was that our parents didn’t want us anywhere near them where we would bring shame to them or to ourselves.
