Colleen Faulkner - Our New Normal

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Table of Contents

Books by Colleen Faulkner

JUST LIKE OTHER DAUGHTERS

AS CLOSE AS SISTERS

JULIAS DAUGHTERS

WHAT MAKES A FAMILY

FINDING GEORGINA

OUR NEW NORMAL

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A READING GROUP GUIDE

OUR NEW NORMAL

Colleen Faulkner

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

The suggested questions are included to enhance your groups reading of Colleen Faulkners Our New Normal !

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

What was your response when Liv saw the results of her daughters pregnancy test? Did you sympathize more with Liv or Hazel? Why?

Did you think Livs suggestion that the baby be put up for adoption was a good one? What did you think about Hazels plan?

Do you believe Oscar really wanted to keep the baby? Was his desire realistic? Why or why not?

What are your experiences with adoption? How was your response to Livs desire to put her grandchild up for adoption affected by your own experience?

Do you think, with more support from their parents, that Tyler and Hazel could have raised the baby?

If Liv hadnt had the stress of dealing with her own parents, could she have been more available emotionally and physically to help Hazel?

Could Liv and Oscar have prevented Hazels pregnancy from causing a divide between them? How?

Was Hazel a good mother? Why or why not? Was Liv?

Do you think Liv was being selfish in wanting to put the baby up for adoption? Was Oscar being selfish in wanting to keep her? Did your opinion change after Charlies birth?

Had you written the book, how would you have ended it? Why?

Liv

I stand at the upstairs bathroom door, glancing down the hallway to be sure no one is coming. I tap lightly. Hazel? I whisper because my husbands familys summer cottage is old and voices seem to carry for miles. Especially bad tidings. I think every argument Oscar and I ever had in this house was overheard by at least three family members and possibly our closest neighbors, half a mile away.

I wait, refusing to allow my mind to think of anything but what Im making for dinner on the grill. Most of all, I dont think of my sixteen-year-old self on the other side of this door. Hazel? I repeat, a little louder.

Mom! She manages to express her anger, displeasure, and disappointment in every parenting mistake Ive ever made in her tone with that one word. The door opens, but only a crack.

I see Hazels eyes. My eyes gazing back at me.

You look. I cant. Hazel pushes an object through the crack and slams the door.

I clutch the plastic stick that my daughter has just peed on. I cant bring myself to look at it. Did you time it?

I hear her push against the door and then her voice comes from the direction of my knees. Shes sitting on the floor now, her back against the door, her knees drawn up. I know the position. Been there occasionally over the years when life seemed too overwhelming.

Yes. I timed it, Mom . It wouldnt make much sense if I didnt. Ten minutes. Ten minutes are up. Twelve, now. Shes on the verge of tears, but she isnt crying.

I close my eyes for a second. I take a breath, steeling myself.

Please, please dont let it be positive, I pray. If its negative, Ill go to church more often. Ill donate more used clothing. Ill adopt a stray dog, a stray jackal even. Just please dont let it be positive.

I open my eyes. And stare at the positive sign in the window of the pregnancy test. Its bright blue, practically neon.

Mom? says Hazel.

Pee on the other one, I tell her, feeling light-headed. And angry. How could she have been so stupidmy straight-A-student daughter? Its a two-pack. Get the other one out of the box, I order, no kindness or empathy in my voice. Im pissed. And hurt. And scared to the tips of my toes.

Im pregnant, Hazel says miserably from the other side of the door. Its positive, isnt it?

I press my hand on the door and lean against it, my cheek to the painted white wood, still clutching the pregnancy test in the other hand. Just do it, Hazel.

Mom... I hear her getting to her feet. Peeing on another stick isnt going to make me not pregnant.

And shes right.

She hands me a second positive test eleven minutes later.

I push my way into the bathroom, and this time its my turn to slam the door. Hazel. It comes out as an exhalation. How the hell could you get pregnant?

Do I have to explain it to you, Mom?

She stands in front of me barefoot, in a tank and jean shorts, hands on her narrow hips. How will those teenage girls hips bear the weight of a child?

I glare at her. You know what I mean. Its the twenty-first century. You got 1505 on your first try on your SATs. You have my credit card. Im practically poking her with the two pee sticks. I dont even care about the sex, Hazel. No, I dont mean that. I care . You know how I feel about teens, any teenager, having sex. I wouldnt want your brother

I dont think theres any fear of that, she quips, backing up to the sink, leaning on it with her hands behind her. She has her fathers hair, a gorgeous dark auburn. My dark-brown eyes. Her fathers freckles, but my nose.

You know what I mean, I say, whisper-shouting at her. Youre too smart not to have used birth control.

Apparently not, she deadpans.

I stand there staring at her, clutching not one but two positive pregnancy tests in my hand. She stares back, defiant. This is how she argues with me. She gets defensive in a smart-assy way, which makes me angry. Mostly because she probably learned it from me.

I close my eyes for a moment and exhale. Oh, Hazel, I whisper. My voice cracks. Im so sorry, sweetheart.

She just stands there.

I open my eyes, drop the plastic sticks into the trash can, and walk to the sink. She slides over a couple of inches to let me get to the faucet. I pump soap into my palm and lather my hands. The smell of peaches wafts from the foaming bubbles.

I cant believe Im going to have a baby, she murmurs. Im going to be a mom.

I turn the faucet on with the back of a sudsy hand. Not necessarily. You have options.

She moves away from me as if shes afraid Im going to slap her. Mom, I would never have an abortion. This is Tylers baby. She cradles her abdomen as if the baby is a full-term eight-pounder, not a lima bean.

Tyler. That little jackass . I could hardly stand the sight of him before I knew hed knocked up my daughter. Hes the epitome of a lazy, goalless, sulky teenaged boy. A one-dimensional cartoon character. Ive always believed there was a good reason why stereotypes exist.

I rinse my hands. I didnt suggest you have an abortion. Truthfully, if shed said she wanted one, Im not sure how Id respond. It doesnt matter because thats clearly not what shes thinking. How late are you?

When she doesnt answer me, I say, How many missed periods?

Jeez, Mom, she huffs. Three.

Three? I dont shout at her, but only because I dont want anyone beyond these bathroom walls to hear me. Three months, that means its a hell of a lot bigger than a lima bean.

I figure Im between thirteen and fourteen weeks by the way they count it. First day of my last period, she adds in a whisper.

More than three months, I whisper under my breath. I close my eyes for a second and then open them. Hazel, I wasnt suggesting you have an abortion. I was talking about adoption.

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