Seven Brothers of Sin

I want it, but at the same time, I don’t. It’s like two competing value systems pulling against one another. On the one hand, yes, the idea of a baby makes me bloom with happiness, contentment bubbling inside when I imagine a cooing infant, blue eyes just like his fathers’.

On the other, my mind screams, What the hell are you doing? This is no normal situation! This is never what you planned! Because there are SEVEN MEN, not one! Are you nutso?

And then the world darkens. Clouds cross the sky, blacking out the sun and my mood inevitably swirls down the drain. Because I have nothing to show for the last couple months of life. No accomplishments. No achievements. No awards. Nothing, not even a ripe, swollen belly.

And if I do get pregnant, what are people going to say?

Who’s the father?

Shit, do Ted and Maddy Morgan know?

How about the girl’s parents. Do they know?

What a fucking slutty slut, she’s boinking seven dudes at once.

Any way you turn, the result’s pretty grim. So what do I do now? Where does that leave me? Do I just get pregnant and have a baby, cowering under the world’s glare, trembling at its disapproval? Will anyone be friends with me now, if they know my situation? Or do I go into hiding? Even in the lap of luxury, a prison is still a prison, and a flatscreen in every room doesn’t make it better.

Plus, what about my career? Sure, I’m hardly the most ambitious person, but that doesn’t mean I want to do nothing at all. So should I plow ahead with my cookbook dreams? Will anyone buy my volume, if they realize I’m with seven men? Will any publisher take me as a client, given my non-traditional lifestyle?

So many unknowns. My head drops, heavy and filled with a dark mass of confusion. Because this is beyond my wildest imagination. Somehow, my fantasies have come true but there’s a troubling side too. There’s an angle that blows my mind, overwhelming for a girl of eighteen, and I sniffle then, heart a solid rock in my chest. A single tear drops down my cheek as I stir cake batter listlessly, all joy evaporated. Because what does this mean? What have I gotten myself into? I want it, but I don’t, and misery consumes me then.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Oh god, it’s Marsha. Things haven’t improved since that fateful night, but at least we convinced my parents not to press charges. That would be the kicker. Tim and Will in jail, for what, exactly? I’m of legal age. They’re of legal age. It’s not a crime to love two men, or to give your body to multiple men.

But Marsha had been so angry that anything could have happened. So we dodged a bullet for sure. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the receiver with a trembling hand.

“Hi,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “How’s it going?”

“How’s it going?” she screeches immediately, making my eardrums wither. “Did you ever think of us? Did you every think of your father and me for one moment, Macy? You know we can’t get a refund for all the tuition we paid on your behalf! Did you think of that, hmmm? Did you think of how much Jim and I invested in you? And to throw it all away,” she snaps with an angry harrumph.

“I’m sorry,” comes my trembling voice. “But I told you all along, college isn’t my thing. The Morgans agree,” I say staunchly, back straightening even if she can’t see. It helps just to conjure the image of my lovers, standing in solidarity in the kitchen.

But Marsha’s relentless.

“Of course they tell you that,” she sneers. “Those men have you pussy-whipped. You know what that is, right?”

I’m unable to answer, the receiver trembling in my numb fingers.

“You’ve never had a man before,” says Marsha, her voice going low and venomous. “They’re your first, so you believe everthing they tell you. You think they want what’s best for you? You think the Morgans care about your welfare?”

“I know they do,” I interrupt, voice bold even if my heart’s shaking. “Because they tell me all the time.”

“Bullshit,” sneers Marsha. “That’s a load of crap if I ever heard one. Those assholes are gonna get a pretty eighteen year old knocked up and then walk away. The men get off scot free, and you know what happens to you? You’re marked with a scarlet letter, shamed in front of the world.”

That can’t be true.

“No, you’re wrong,” I say in a low voice, trying to keep the tremors out. “The Morgans love me, and they want our baby. I know that. They’d never do what you’re saying.”

“Please,” snarls Marsha. “Tell that to their other baby mamas. Or wannabe baby mamas.”

The air evaporates from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe then. What other baby mamas? Are there other women out there that the Morgans are trying to impregnate? How can that be? They’re with me all the time, it can’t be true.