It's been three weeks since I got the 'pregnancy news', as Isaac calls it, and I'm at the clinic. I take in the white-washed walls, the familiar smell of antiseptic. I think my cancer is better though, just a little. I mean, my lungs are still shit but the throbbing in my head and stuff has decreased. Which is good, I suppose. It makes carrying a freaking fetus in my stomach less tiring.

After the doctor's done examining me over and doing some stupid tests, he says,"The baby is healthy and doing well."

My parents exhale in relief behind me.

"I can't determine the gender yet though," he continues. He looks at me in the eye, a little disapprovingly because well, duh, I was much too young to be pregnant. "Do you want to know the gender of the baby when it has been determined or wait until you've given birth to find out?"

"No. I mean, I want to know as soon as possible," I mumble and my parents nod, agreeing, thankfully.

"Okay then." He shrugs and scribbles some words on the paper on his desk.

A few moments later, he looks up and says to my parents,"Do you mind going outside for a little while, please? I need to speak to Hazel for a couple minutes."

I raise my eyebrows but my parents are already getting to their feet.

"Well, okay..." Mom says. She kisses me gently on the forehead then leaves the room with Dad.

Damn.

The doctor looks slightly awkwardish as he rests his hands on the table and says to me,"Hazel, the father of the baby, Augustus Waters, is dead, right?

I hate this doctor already. "Um, yeah."

"And uh, you have cancer?"

"Duh," I snapped. "Isn't it obvious, though?"

"Calm down, Hazel," he says smoothly.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Whatever. I'm just saying... well, raising a kid singlehandedly is difficult and with your cancer..."

"You're just saying that I can't do it." I try to keep from rolling my eyes.

"No..." he says. "I just want you to think more about wanting to keep the baby or not."

I grit my teeth and focus on my breathing. "I want to."

"But-" the doctor starts to say, but I am already gathering my oxygen tank and standing. I walk out of the room and resist the urge to slam the door behind me.

-

I must have looked pretty dang fuming when I enter the waiting room because my parents are by my side at once.

"Woah, Hazel, what did that doctor say?" Dad asks me.

"Bullshit. All he said was bullshit."

I thought he would prod me further to explain the "bullshit" but he doesn't.

He laughs, an emotion I haven't heard/seen him express for a long time, saying,"Ignore him. Let's go eat?"

"Beans are good for you, Hazel," Mom says suddenly, nodding. "I googled it. Like, soy beans. They're good. Mmhmm."

Damn beans.

I groan inwardly. "Uh, I don't really like beans?"

"Beans are nutritious stuff. Good for the baby," Mom argues.

God, everything is about the baby. I want him/her to come out healthy, of course but ugh, it's hard to explain. Being pregnant just sucks, at such a young age especially.

"So, okay, if I eat beans the baby will be healthy?"

"Hazel." Mom sighs, and I feel a little sorry for her. Like, it must be hard for her to receive the news that her only daughter is pregnant at seventeen. Fucking seventeen. And the poor poor baby will have no Daddy.

I bite my lip, hard. "Alright. I'll eat beans for the baby. Many beans."

My mother, not sure if I am joking or not-I'm not sure either-, just nods. "Right. Let's go."

-

When I'm back in my room after eating beans(eg red beans, green beans, soy beans and other disgusting beans), I engage in a deep mind-conversation with myself. Yeah, about the baby.

If I do give birth successfully, I'll have to raise him/her singlehandedly. Maybe I would need to read up on those how-to-take-care-of-babies-if-you-are-a-single-parent sites. I guess my parents will help with the baby, though I think they don't exactly fancy the idea of being grandparents at their current age. Maybe Isaac will come over to help too, if he isn't busy with his new girlfriend.

But, honestly, I don't want any of their help. I want-need-Augustus. He's the dad of the baby after all, and we're supposed to raise him/her up... together. Not with anybody else. We were supposed to bathe him, swaddle him with blankets, feed, play with the baby and perhaps even laugh together at the fact that we were parents so young. Maybe.

But he isn't here to do all these things with me.

I'm scared, really, when our child grows up a little and starts to wonder why everybody has a dad but him. And when he starts asking me awkward questions, I can only tell him the truth, that his father is gone and not coming back. If I am still alive to tell him, that is. I'm not sure if I can make it so far. Or if I even want to make it so far. I know it's beyond my control, but it's not like I can just die like that. It'll be unfair to our baby because, well, he'll be an orphan and I guess it'll hurt a lot for him?

Just then, Mom calls my name loudly, cutting through my train of thought.

I groan and slide off my bed.

"Kaitlyn's on the phone for you!" she shouts from the living room.

Kaitlyn? I haven't talked to her for more than a month now...

I open the door to find my mother standing outside, phone in hand.

"Thanks," I mumble as I take it from her and shut the door.

"Hi, Kaitlyn." I try to sound cheerful.

"Hazel!" she squeals from the other end of the line and I smile, just a little. "God, I've missed you."

"Me too," I say, which is true.

There is a pause, then she says,"So, uhhh..." Kaitlyn sounds suddenly awkward. "Your mom told me about... what happened. Y'know."

Oh, of course.

"I know," I say simply; I didn't exactly know what else to say.

"Are you all right then?" she asks hesitantly. We both know it was a stupid question to ask, but I appreciate Kaitlyn's effort to call and ask it.

"Um, not really."

"I'm so sorry," she says quietly although she's done nothing to be sorry about.

"It's fine, Kaitlyn." I bite my lip. "It's not your fault."

It's mine.

A wave of fatigue comes over me then, and I suddenly don't feel like doing much talking anymore. I pad towards my bed and lower myself onto the coverlet that is intricately designed with patterns. My mother got it when I was seven and I vaguely remember squealing in excitement when I saw it, when I fingered the hand-sewn stars and told Mom I wanted it. It wasn't too costly, thankfully, and I had it ever since.

Stars.

I thought a lot about stars, actually, when I was young. Are the stars peppered in the night sky actually those shapes with five pointed sides? They're so small, like brittle fragments of the earth shimmering. It's hard to tell, but they are still the most beautiful things ever. I've always felt like as long as we can see the stars, there is hope- hope that we can live for one more day, perhaps even a week. Hope that a miracle will happen to take this pain away.

"Hazel?" Kaitlyn's voice pulls me back to the present.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Um, do you wanna like, go out?" she asks. "Hang around in the mall or something."

"Sorry, Kaitlyn, but I'm kind of... tired," I sigh. "Another time alright?"

She's silent for a moment and I feel slightly bad, but well.

"Yeah, sure," she finally says. "I understand. You should go and rest."

"I will. Bye Kaitlyn," I say, not exactly liking this oppressing tension.

"Bye Hazel!" she answers and hangs up.

I toss the phone onto my bed and prop myself against a bunch of pillows. It is still early afternoon; light rays stretching across the room like long fingers, spilling light that formed into shapes onto my blanket.

Cautiously, I bring my hand up to my stomach, trying to see if there is any hint of a bump. There is, I think, just a little bit. But then again my shirt is rather baggy.

Am I supposed to be able to feel the baby's heartbeat though? I can't at the moment. It may be because his heartbeat is weak or maybe it's my numb and shaking fingers that could have lost their sense of touch. Or both. God, I have no experience in this, I can't be sure of anything.