Giving thanks.

“Close the damn door, it’s freezing outside,” an angry voice rolled down the hallway.

      Gabrieli sighed, stepped aside, and Dakota came into the foyer; immediately her glasses fogged up. The walk from four streets over had been miserably cold with a biting wind.

     “Come on,” Gabrieli said in a hushed tone, “I have to get my shoes and my money, anyway.” She turned and bounded up the stairs as her mother appeared at the end of the hallway.

      “Oh, hi dear,” she said flatly when she noticed Dakota. “Keep that door closed, yeah?”

        Dakota nodded once but was already headed up the steps behind her friend.

        The bedroom was dark; a sheet hung over the window which had plunged everything into a stale brown glow. A single yellow lamp shone drearily in the corner, reflecting off the glossy cover of a Rolling Stone magazine hanging halfway off the desk.

        Kicking a pile a laundry across the floor, Gabrieli found her tennis shoes and sat on the edge of her bed, looking up at Dakota who stood silently, like a child too nervous to move; it was only then that she noticed the redness of Dakota’s cheeks.

        “You alright?” she asked suspiciously.

         Dakota nodded again, wiping her eyes.

        “Yes,” she huffed. “It’s fucking freezing outside.”

        “I fucking told you not to walk,” replied Gabrieli in a half-amused manner. Dakota’s eyes wandered about the room; though they had been friends for years, she was always uncomfortable in the chaos her friend lived in.

        “My oh my,” said Gabrieli in a dramatically demur way, “whatever shall we do?” She leaned faintly across the bed theatrically.

         “That’s great,” Dakota said in a mocking tone, “it’s all fun and games when it’s someone else. So thank you for that.”

           Gabrieli smirked but felt a pang of guilt. “Come on,” she said, raising to her feet, “we’ll figure something out.”

           With the front door open, an icy gust of wind swirled between the two girls.

          “Ma, I’m goin’ out,” Gabrieli called as she tied her scarf; she pretended not to notice her mother’s stern glare from the end of the hallway.

           “What did I tell ye about that door?!” her mother asked loudly. Gabrieli only rolled her eyes and pulled Dakota out to the porch, reaching behind her to slam it. Before it closed, her mother’s voice came again: “see yourself back in an hour.”

           Gabrieli replied: “whatever,” but the door was already closed. She tugged the hood of her coat over her frizzy red hair and exhaled sharply, a cloud of vapor spilling from her mouth into the dry air.

           Dakota wiped the moisture from her lenses and put her glasses back on.

           “How much money do you have?” she asked in a whisper as though someone might still be able to hear. There was a five-dollar bill visible in the wad of cash in Gabrieli’s hand.

           “Probably enough,” she said. “They can’t be that expensive.”

           “Have you ever bought one?” asked Dakota in nervous annoyance.

           Her friend gave her a sly look. “Two just last week. You know I can’t keep my legs closed.”

            Such crass remarks from her friend were common; before she had met Gabrieli, Dakota would have blushed deeply at such a comment. Now she hardly gave it a second thought. Down the front steps, Dakota watched for a moment as a deflated vinyl Santa Clause fluttered on the lawn in the stiff breeze.  

           “I can’t believe your dad already put out your decorations. He knows Thanksgiving is only tomorrow, right?” she asked.

           Gabrieli shrugged. “He doesn’t fucking care,” she said, irritably. “The only reason he even takes them down is because Mom threatens to throw them away.”

           Holiday traffic lined both sides of Truman Lane; cold cars lined both sides of the usually empty street, reflecting some distant November sun. At the intersection they hurried across at a break in the traffic.

           “How long has it been now?” Gabrieli asked.

           Dakota looked at her off-handedly. “Since what?”

           “Since you missed your period,” she answered. She shivered visibly in the wind.

           Dakota’s gaze returned to her footsteps for a moment. “Three days – no, four.”

           “Mm,” Gabrieli mumbled. “Have you been sick?”

           Dakota shook her head gravely. It was a dumb question - they saw each other every day. “You know I haven’t been.”

           The Alberta Market wasn’t really a market and wasn’t even on Alberta Street, which was one block to the north. As she pulled the glass door open, a wind gust jerked it from Gabrieli’s hand and the door slammed against the side of the building. She shrieked.

           Inside, the man working behind the counter eyed them both, first in frustration and then with suspicion.

           “Sorry,” Gabrieli said flatly as she unwrapped her scarf. Dakota removed her glasses again and wiped the lenses on her thigh. The store smelled of aged linoleum and carboard; she made a face at Gabrieli who was busy trying to unfold her money in her mittened hands.

           “Where do you think they are?” she whispered. Gabrieli shrugged; her cheeks were a Christmas red.

           “I dunno. I guess we could ask.”

           Dakota’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head.

           At the end of one of the aisles they spotted it: between a box of condoms and some flushable wipes was a lone pregnancy test. Dakota hesitantly picked up the box and looked at it closely, as though examining an artifact. She didn’t recognize the brand but quickly realized she wouldn’t recognize any brand.

           “How much is it?” asked Gabrieli. Dakota flipped the box around until she found a price.

           “Nine dollars,” she said stoically.

           Gabrieli chuckled. “It’s funny if you think about it. You’re going to pay nine dollars for something to pee on.”

           Dakota smiled a nervous smile but didn’t look at her. The box seemed so foreign, so callous. She knew it didn’t matter as long as the test was accurate.

           “Here,” she sighed and handed the box and her money to Gabrieli, “you buy it.”

           In an uncharacteristic display of embarrassment, Gabrieli’s face turned flush and she glanced around her like she were wondering if anyone had heard.

           “What? No…” she said in a hushed tone. “Here, I’ll even give you the money for it.”

           Dakota felt her face drop. “Fine, but we have to buy something else, too. I can’t just go up to him and put this thing on the counter.”

           From a cooler in the back, Gabrieli took a bottle of iced tea which she thrust into Dakota’s hand.

           “Here. Now you go pay and I’ll see you outside.”

           Dakota opened her mouth to protest but Gabrieli had already headed down a different aisle and out into the cold. With a deep sigh Dakota slowly walked to the counter. The clerk – a middle-aged man with a balding head and an unkempt beard, was reading a foreign language newspaper laid flat on the counter while some European techno music emanated from an old boombox sitting on the floor behind the counter. Setting the iced tea down first, she then set the test down as though it were an afterthought. The man didn’t even look up, punching the numbers into the register.

           “You want bag?” he asked gruffly. Dakota shook her head meekly, unable to look him in the eye, though it didn’t matter because he had no interest in their interaction. He simply set her change on the counter before her and went back to reading his paper.

           Outside, Gabrieli was pacing in the cold, her arms folded severely across her chest.

           “Well that was humiliating,” said Dakota prosaically.

           “Give me my tea,” Gabrieli only responded. Dakota studied the box again in the sunlight and noticed how dingy and beaten up the box was.            

           “Christ, do you think it will even work?” she asked worriedly.

           “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” replied Gabrieli.

           After a couple of steps, Dakota paused in her tracks.

           “I really want a cigarette,” she said. Gabrieli made to remove them from her pocket but then stopped suddenly.

           “Wait, you can’t have a cigarette. What if you’re pregnant?”

           “What if I’m not?” Dakota came back.

           “Look, let’s just go home and take this fucking thing. If you aren’t preggo, I’ll let you have all the cigarettes you want.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Dakota came out of the bathroom with an egg timer in the palm of her hand. Gabrieli looked up from her phone and her drawn, solemn look caught Dakota by surprise.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Gabrieli frowned. “You just can’t be pregnant,” she said. “What am I supposed to do?”

Dakota laughed incredulously. “What do you mean? This won’t be your baby,” she said.

“I know, but I mean, what’s going to happen to you? Who’s going to be my friend? I can’t be an auntie at 15.”

Dakota’s smile dissipated and she sat at the edge of her bed, staring into the hallway. “It’s kind of lucky my parents aren’t home,” she said quietly. The silence of the house had an ominous feel to it, and she rubbed her palms along the tops of her thighs heavily.

“Where is it?” asked Gabrieli, looking about. Dakota nodded to the hallway. “Sitting on the side of the bathtub.” She stood up but Dakota grabbed her arm.

“Nah-uh, you can’t look at it,” she insisted. “It isn’t ready yet.”

“I just wanna see it,” replied Gabrieli, tugging her arm. Dakota groaned in exasperation.

“Fuck no,” she said, “it’s bad luck. Just let this goddamn timer go off.”

They both sat in silence; outside dry leaves tumbled across the yard. The sun had already started to set and a brilliant orange sky loomed over the neighborhood.

The ding of the egg timer made them both jump, and they stood up holding hands and walked hurriedly to the bathroom. The lines on the test showed a negative result, according to the diagram on the instructions. Dakota felt a lump swell up in her throat, but she was surprised when it was Gabrieli who started crying.

“You have to be more fucking careful!” she shouted; her voice echoed through the bathroom.

Dakota hugged her firmly and nodded, feeling her own tears dribbling down her cheeks. She took the test and the box and wrapped them in a garbage bag.

“Come on,” she said, “we gotta get rid of this thing.”

At the end of the block was a small park and Gabrieli shoved the garbage bag into the trash can while Dakota took deep, long drags of a cigarette.

Late that night, Dakota sat at the empty kitchen table while the rest of her family settled in for the night. A cup of tea steamed in front of her, but she stared blankly out the window, disinterested with it. Her grandfather’s snoring was already noticeable from the guestroom down the hall.

A presence at the doorway made her glance over and she saw the small, frail figure of her grandmother coming in, her elegant housecoat cinched tightly against the draft.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” her grandmother remarked in a cheerful though feeble voice. Dakota gave a weak smile and sighed inwardly. Her grandmother poured some gin and then paused on her way out, the ice tinkling against the sides of the glass.

“What are you thankful for, my dear?”

Dakota grimaced; that sort of sentiment felt forced. But it suddenly occurred to her that she had something to truly be thankful for that night.

“I’m glad I can still be a kid,” she said.