So I make my way back to bed instead. The folder on abortion options is lying on the floor next to the nightstand, so I kick it under my bed where I don’t have to look at it anymore. Out of sight, out of mind. Isn’t that what they say?
It doesn’t work that way for me, though. As I crawl back into bed, curled up on my side this time because I can’t stand the thought of looking at that little patch of sky for one second longer, I can’t do anything but think about this baby. About my options. About what I’m going to do.
When I can’t stand the noise in my head anymore, I reach for the controller and flick on the TV that’s hanging on the wall across the room. There’s nothing on—or at least nothing that can keep my attention—until I hit ESPN and see a rundown of the Red Bull Challenge that will be taking place in Aspen this coming weekend. The commentators are going over the favorites for the different events. Z’s name comes up twice, Ash’s once. They also mention Luc, say they’ve been hearing rumors about him doing some crazy training this fall and because of that, they aren’t willing to count him out. Marc and Darcy are always the favorites in streetstyle, but Luc is definitely capable of an upset.
I’m still absorbing that—I didn’t know he was training like that—when they move onto women’s half-pipe and there it is, a picture of me at the top of the favorites list.
“Cam Bradley is definitely my pick to take home first place in the pipe. She’s strong and smart and when she’s in the half-pipe, she’s absolutely fearless. I hear she’s been working out harder than ever during the off-season and I’m expecting great things from her on Saturday.”
“I agree,” said the other commentator. “Luce Vandergriff might give her a run for her money, as will Desi Echols, but Cam Bradley is definitely the favorite going into this weekend’s half-pipe. She’s also a top contender for the giant slalom, so definitely keep an eye on her once the Invitational starts.”
They’re saying everything I want them to say, everything I’ve been waiting for them to say for what feels like forever. Not just that I’m a contender, but that I’m the favorite. I’m the one they think is going to walk away with at least one first-place finish.
Except I’m not going to be in Aspen this weekend. Just like I won’t be in Breckenridge in two weeks. Just like I won’t be at the X Games in January. I won’t be anywhere, won’t win anything this season. Not if I keep this baby inside of me. And though I haven’t made a final decision, something tells me that that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Suddenly, I can’t stand the indecision any longer. I can’t stand the going back and forth, the trying to reach a decision even when I don’t have all the facts. So, I reach for my cell phone, pull up the number to my agent, Mitch, and hit CALL.
He answers right away. “Hey, Cam, how is my favorite snowboarder doing today?”
“You say that to all your snowboarders,” I tell him, like I always do.
“Maybe, maybe,” he agrees. “But I really mean it when I’m talking to you.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, you might not after you hear about why I’m calling.”
“What’s wrong?” The amusement goes out of his voice. “Are you okay? What do you need?”
I think about all the different ways I can break the news to him, but does it really matter? The truth is the truth and however I phrase it, it all means the same thing. “I’m pregnant,” I tell him after a second. “About three months along.”
He’s silent so long that I start to think we’ve been disconnected. But when I say, “Mitch?” he answers right away.
“I’m here. I’m just—absorbing. Of all the things I thought you were going to say to me, that wasn’t even in the top fifty.”
I start to ask about why he thought I was calling, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Not after I’ve just thrown the biggest wrench imaginable into all of our plans. I settle for saying, “sorry,” instead. “Believe me, this isn’t the news I thought I was going to be calling you with.”
There’s another long pause.
“I assume, if you’re telling me this, you’ve decided to keep the baby.”
There’s no judgment in his voice, and I appreciate that. Then again, Mitch has been with me—with Z, Luc, Ash, and me—from the beginning. He’s seen us all at our best, and he’s helped the guys through their worst. I guess it’s his turn to help me now.
“I don’t know. I think so. But I’m worried about—”
“The endorsements. Your career. Where you’re going to stand going into next season. If you can come back from this after this was supposed to be your year.”
“Exactly,” I tell him, and for the first time since I got the news yesterday, I’m able to take a full breath. Not because I’m convinced everything is going to be okay, but because I can tell by Mitch’s voice that he’s already planning, already strategizing.
“For the endorsements, I’ve got to pull up your contracts, look at the clauses for personal injury and inability to perform. As for the rest, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he repeats. “Boarders sit out seasons for injuries all the time and with enough physical therapy, they come back stronger than ever.”
“I don’t have an injury—”
“I know, and that’s a good thing. You don’t have anything to recover from. Obviously, we’re going to need to talk to your doctor, see how he or she feels about you working out during the remainder of your pregnancy. And you’ll have to get back to training hard as soon as you deliver—”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.” He pauses for a second, and I hear him clicking away on his keyboard. “When are you due?”
“June.”
“June. A summer baby. That’s great.” And to his credit, he really sounds like he believes what he’s saying. “Congratulations.”
He’s the first one to say it and it gets to me, makes my stomach shimmy with something besides nausea, besides despair, with something that feels an awful lot like—hope?
“Thank you. I’m sorry about this. I know we had plans—”
“Don’t apologize to me. It’s your career. And what good are plans if you can’t make minor adjustments to them every once in a while?”
“This is a lot more than a minor adjustment.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. You boarders have long careers if you take care of yourselves and your bodies. One year—even this year—isn’t going to make or break you.” He pauses. “Can I ask about the father? I’m not trying to be nosy, but the news is going to be all over this. And so are your sponsors. If it’s someone famous—”
“It is.” I pause, worry my lower lip between my teeth. “I don’t want this getting around yet, because he and I haven’t discussed how we’re going to handle it.”
“That’s fine. I’m not going to be screaming it from the rooftops yet. Just give me a heads-up so I can start thinking about how to spin it.”
“Do we have to spin it? Can’t it just be what it is?”
“That depends on whether you want to keep your sponsors and all the nice money they bring with them.”
Right. Of course. I’m unmarried and pregnant and while I’m not representing any brands that are considered particularly wholesome, the fact that I’m having a baby out of wedlock is going to matter to some people. I can only hope it doesn’t matter to enough of the right ones. Not when I need to keep at least a couple of my endorsements.
“It’s Luc, Mitch.”
“Luc?” he asks, sounding stunned for the first time in memory. “Luc Jennings?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Okay.” He pauses for a minute and there’s more clicking, more throat clearing. Finally he says “that’s awesome. I can totally work with that. Two long-term best friends falling in love, having a baby together, maybe getting married—”
“We’re not getting married!”
“Okay, fine. Just falling in love
and having a baby—”
“We’re not in love, either.”
Even as I say the words, I feel my stomach protest queasily. I don’t know what Luc and I are. We never got far enough along to define it when we were together. And now that we’re not together—now that we’re both single—I’m not sure what we’re supposed to say about my growing tummy. I’m not sure how we’re supposed to handle it with reporters if they ask.
“Okay.” His voice is a little quieter, a little more subdued, when he says, “You guys talk about it a little, figure out what you two want the official line to be. And you should do it soon because once the news of your pregnancy breaks, people are going to be asking. All right?”
I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Yes. All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“No reason to apologize. There’s a lot of tension going on right now, I’m sure, which is why I’m going to hang up so I can study your contracts. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what they say, but I want to take another look at them before I start making plans. Okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Once I look them all over, I’ll start formulating some ideas and then I’ll call you back. And we’ll discuss how we think we should handle this.”
I feel myself relax even more because Mitch said it was going to be okay. He said that he’d formulate a plan. And I believe him. He’s been my agent since I was sixteen years old and I trust him implicitly when it comes to my career. He won’t steer me—or Luc—wrong.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I really appreciate your help.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” He pauses. “I know things seem rough right now, Cam, but I promise it’s going to be okay. I’ve got a feeling you and your career are going to come back from this stronger than ever.”
“We’ll see.”
“We will see. In the meantime, take care of yourself. Take care of your baby. And I’ll call you either later today or tomorrow so we can talk some more.”
We hang up then, but I sit on the side of the bed for a long time after Mitch has disconnected. He’s the first one to tell me congratulations, the first one to tell me to take care of my baby and that everything is going to be all right. Oh, I know that if I had given my friends a chance, they would have said some of those things. If I’d given them any encouragement, had given them any reason to think I would be excited to hear such things from them, that they would have been right there. As it is, I can already tell that Tansy wants to help pick out names while Ophelia is all about the baby clothes.
Z and Ash are all about making sure I’m okay, and Luc? I don’t know quite what Luc is about yet, but I intend to find out. But to do that, I’ll have to actually call him. Actually talk to him. Actually get his opinion about this whole pregnancy thing.
Just the thought is absolutely terrifying. Because I’m not the only one whose life this baby is going to disrupt. When I have it—and yes, I know I’m suddenly talking about when and not if—Luc’s life is going to change, too. And that doesn’t seem any more fair to him right now than it does to me. He didn’t ask for this any more than I did. Maybe I’m selfish to thrust it on him—selfish to make the decision myself when it should be a decision we both make.
But at the same time, I know I won’t be able to handle hearing him tell me to have an abortion. I’m not saying that’s what he’s going to do, because Luc’s a pretty dependable guy, no matter the circumstances. But if he does—if he tries to force me to do something that I’m growing more and more certain I don’t want to do—I’m not sure things between us will ever recover.
Our relationship is in bad enough shape as it is. Add a disagreement of this magnitude to it, and where are we going to be then?
It’s a dire thought, one that has me up and moving around as I wait on tenterhooks for Mitch to call back. I straighten up my room, picking up dirty clothes and putting them in the hamper, making my bed for the first time since I took that first awful home pregnancy test three days ago, putting away whatever other odds and ends I can find.
When that’s done, I get online and start looking up pregnant athletes and endorsement deals. To be honest, there isn’t much—either because their pregnancies didn’t affect the endorsement deals or because there are very few female athletes stupid enough to get pregnant—but the lack of precedent somehow manages to soothe me even more. If no one else out there has had my exact problem, that gives Mitch even more wiggle room—even more of a chance to create a compromise that both my sponsors and I can live with.
I’ve barely made it through the six or seven articles I actually consider relevant to my situation when my phone buzzes with a text. Thinking that it’s Mitch, I reach for it right away and pull up my messages. But the text isn’t from Mitch. It’s from Luc. And as I watch, it’s followed by a series of shorter texts, all from him.
just wanted to check in
how are you?
do you need anything?
let me know if i can do anything to help you
And then, finally:
i’m excellent at picking out ice cream and pickles just saying
I laugh, because I can’t not laugh. And because that’s exactly what he intended for me to do. I start to answer him—the first words I’ve spoken or texted to him since that fight on Z’s doorstep yesterday, but before I can get out anything more than I’m fine, the phone starts to ring. And this time it is Mitch.
“Hello?”
“I think this could end up being really good for your career,” Mitch says as soon as I pick up.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, for the most part, it looks like your part in the endorsements—photo shoots, commercials, product placement—can all be put off until after your pregnancy. You won’t get your full commission until you fulfill your obligations, but you’ll be able to keep the twenty-five percent you got on signing.”
“Even if I haven’t gotten the twenty-five percent yet?”
Some of the endorsement deals are brand new, only a couple months old.
“Yes, even those. If we look at your pregnancy as a temporary disability—”
“It’s not a disability, though.”
“It’s classified as one by law. And since I don’t think any company wants to be the one to make news because they dumped a pregnant athlete, I think you’re going to come out of this just fine.”
“Oh, thank God.”
I may not be able to board this year, but at least I won’t lose anything in the long run. And in the meantime, I’ll be able to support my baby without having to ask for help from Luc. That means a lot to me.
“Plus,” Mitch continues, “I think we can actually swing this in your favor.”
“In my favor?” I’m not sure I like him referring to my pregnancy as something that can be swung, but again, that’s his job. And I did ask for his help.
“Don’t get your hopes up. But you just signed with Nike for a series of ads about being a strong female athlete. And what’s stronger than a powerful woman at the prime of her career choosing to have her baby and her career? I think the public will eat it up—a woman choosing to have it all, and then working to make it happen? Instead of ruining your career, this could make it.”
“My career’s on the snow.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that. And when you can get back on it, you are going to tear it up. But until that happens, a campaign like this can keep you relevant. It can help you gain fans, make you a household name so that when you do get back on your board, a lot more people will be watching. And the more people you have watching—”
“—the more money my endorsement is worth.”
“Bingo.”
It’s a good plan, a solid one. But then Mitch never puts together anything that isn’t solid. Still, I’m not sure how I feel about exploiting my baby like this.
When I mention my concerns to Mitch, though, he promises me the last thing he has in mind is exploi
ting me—or my baby.
“I think a campaign like this is important, Cam. Women need to see other women being strong, being fit, taking care of themselves and their children.”
“Women do that every day.”
I mean, not my mom, but a lot of women.
“I know that. And how often do they get praised for it? How often are they looked up to for it? Not enough. If Nike goes for this, you’re in a position to change all that. And not just you, I’m sure there are other female athletes who’ve faced the same situation.”
“Not many. I Googled it and couldn’t find much of anything.”
“Just because you couldn’t find it, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. It just means it gets covered up, or those women’s agents didn’t do a good enough job protecting them so they ended up losing out on their endorsements. You could be the face—and the case—that changes all that.”
When he puts it like that, it doesn’t feel as much like exploitation as it does a feminist issue that needs to be addressed. Still—
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. Take as much time as you’d like. In the meantime, can I reach out to Nike, see what they think of the idea? If their marketing people don’t like it, then there’s nothing to think about.”
“And if they do like it?”
“If they do like it, then there’s room for us to negotiate—from a position of power. And if you want to walk away, then we still can. But it can’t hurt to ask. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Good. With your permission, I’ll also contact your other endorsements, let them know what’s going on. Get the ball rolling. I mean, if you’ve definitely made the decision to have the baby.”
His words hang between us, and I think seriously about them—about what they mean to me, to my career, to Luc. And then I think about the folder I kicked under the bed, the folder I don’t even want to look at let alone think about. If I were sick, it’d be different. If I couldn’t take care of the baby or if I couldn’t support it, it’d be a different story. But that isn’t the case and so for me, there really is only one option.