Maisy May 2

By Naomi Kramer

Maisy is back, and she's bigger than ever - literally. The intrepid teen is eight months pregnant, and about to embark on her two biggest adventures yet: moving to the 'big smoke' of Sydney, and having a baby. Will Mark's friends like her? Will she find a niche, or be stuck as the country cousin forever?

Maisy May 2 is a novella for teens and adults. It is the second in a series of three about Maisy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Feb 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9783957037916

Naomi Kramer

Naomi Kramer is an Australian author living in Queensland. She's addicted to coffee, dyes her hair odd colours, and looks a little like a corporate hippy on weekdays. She loves the beach, and her dream is to own a world-class barista.

Book preview

Denouement

Introduction

My name’s Maisy. If you’ve just wandered into this recital of my woes and idiocies, here’s the stuff you missed. I’m fifteen years old. I live in Bathurst, in New South Wales – or at least I have till now. See, I fell in love. I didn’t realise it at the time, though. I thought I was being pretty sensible and adult and responsible. Turns out I was sleeping with a gay guy, in love with him but telling him that we were just friends who fooled around… while he was dating someone else. Someone male. Oh, did I mention we're both Christians, so we were going to the same church every Sunday, attending the same youth group… until the inevitable happened, of course, and everyone found out what we’d been up to, and what he’d been up to. And I got pregnant, too. So we got kinda shunned, or at least I did, because Mark took off back to Sydney where he’d come from, and escaped most of it. Not that I blame him – any more – because really, I just had the ‘OMG you had premarital sex’ thing to deal with, he had that plus the whole ‘and you're GAY?’ thing. Not to mention the confusion caused by a gay guy getting a girl pregnant.

Anyway, Mark took off to Sydney, to his Anglican-minister dad, who’s kinda stressed because he’s in the middle of a divorce and plus, really not happy about his son setting a bad example for the congregation in all sorts of ways. And eventually Mark wrote to me and proposed that Mum and I move to Sydney and stay with him and his dad. We said yes. And now you're pretty much up to date. There’s stuff I’ve missed out, but it’s not important. I don’t think it is, anyhow. Could be wrong.

Chapter 1: Packing

The house is packed up – except for the stuff I’m rushing to pack – and Mum’s walking around putting post-it notes on everything when Mrs Jansen stops by.

I brought my own supplies! she says, smiling and holding up a transparent plastic bag full of mugs, jar of coffee, sugar and milk.

Oh, you wonderful creature, says Mum, laughing, you’ve done this before, then?

Mrs Jansen nods and heads to the kitchen.

Don’t mind me if you have things to do – coffee?

Please! yells Mum.

I wander out to the kitchen to say hello, and a painting in the dining room catches my eye. Still on the wall. How’d we miss that? I give Mrs Jansen a hug, then point to the painting.

It’s been there so long I think I’ve stopped seeing it! I tell her, and take it down.

She laughs and pours hot water into three mugs.

There’s a great spiritual lesson in that, she says, looking in the fridge.

Milk’s all gone.

Ha – lucky I brought my own, isn’t it?

Is there an important spiritual lesson in that, too? I ask, a little snarkily. This packing thing is a pain in the rear end. And the back. And the stomach. I have whiny-whale syndrome.

She pauses pouring the milk, and looks thoughtful.

Yes, definitely, she says, and grins. Here, and hands me a mug of hot chocolate. I think it’s ‘don’t rely on others when they need your help.’

Hmm, fair, I guess.

So how're things going? Not long now, is it? she asks, nodding toward the huge bump on my abdomen.

One month and a day to the due date, I say, and sigh. It’s all a bit freaky now.

She nods and looks sympathetic.

Hospital organised?

I nod.

Westmead Hospital, out west past Strathfield, Mum says – my GP sent them my records. Not that there’s much, I’m healthy as a horse.

I drain my mug and hand it back.

"I really need to pack this up," I say, waving the painting.

I wander back to my room for bubble-wrap and butchers paper, and wrap it carefully. Except I’ve run out of packing tape. I head out to the kitchen for a new supply – and hear Mum and Mrs Jansen talking in the lounge.

It’s mostly going to the Salvos, she says, talking about the furniture, I guess. It’s just too big, and it’s old and crummy anyway, but I’ll miss it.

I think it’s amazing that you're willing to uproot and move to Sydney for Maisy, Mrs Jansen says.

Mum laughs.

Oh, it’s more selfish than people realise, she says. Bathurst’s nice, but I’m a city girl at heart. I only moved out here so Maisy could grow up away from the place – it’s not a good city for kids, you know? But I’m happy to go back, to tell the truth.

Huh. And I thought Mum was just being incredibly self-sacrificing. Oh well, she is willing to live in someone else’s granny flat – I can’t really call that selfish, can I? But I feel better, having heard that. I’ve been alternating between excitement and depression and feeling guilty that Mum’s paying for my mistakes. So at least I can drop one of those down a notch.

Chapter 2: Journey

Mum and I drive to Sydney in a borrowed car, a borrowed trailer full of stuff attached. It seems weird, thinking of the weeks of sorting and packing, looking back at the trailer that now encapsulates ‘home’. Or – realising that I don’t actually have one right now. It’s not even like the car’s familiar. Only the tunes blaring out of the CD player to keep us awake – Mum’s oldie music and some P!nk and Fatboy Slim to even the score – feel like ours. Not that I’d admit it to her, but I don’t mind Mum’s stuff. Most people’s parents listen to Bon Jovi and country crap, but Mum’s always been a rock chick. She got about as up-to-date as The Offspring, then stopped dead. It could be so much worse. Georgie’s Mum still thinks the Beatles were tools of Satan, and everyone who came after was worse. Georgie once – seriously – told me that she thought P!nk could’ve been the Antichrist, only women weren’t allowed to be. I’m kinda surprised we ever became friends, let alone stayed friends as long as we did. For a while I suspected her mum thought I might be the Antichrist.

You want to stop? Mum asks, glancing at me shuffling CD cases.

Can we? I need to stand up. And pee again.

She grins, and points to a road-sign ahead.

Soon as we get there, we’ll take a break, eh?

Lithgow. Halfway to Sydney, and Mark. And Mark’s Dad. I bite my bottom lip, wondering suddenly what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. He’s going to hate me. Mark’s probably going to hate me. Or at least be embarrassed to admit to me. This is Maisy, she’s living with me and having my baby, but we're, like, just friends. Yup, that’ll go down a treat with his mates. I look out at the flat, brown landscape passing around me, and sigh. I think I just decided that this move was going to solve all my problems, and conveniently forgot that it’ll bring new ones. Until now. Now I realise this is all really big and scary, in bad ways. I’m gonna be the stupid single-mum country cousin in a big city full of cool kids with lives. And no babies.

We drive into Lithgow and I’m still picturing Mark’s mates sneering at me or yelling at me that I ruined his life, did I know that, he could’ve been a minister or a famous singer and now he’ll just be some gay guy skating to hell because I tempted him over to the dark side. Mum pokes me and I come back to now, realising that she’s parked the car already.

Come on, love, I’m perishing for a coffee.

I open the car door and pull myself out, feeling as big as a hippo and less graceful. My legs whine with pain at being straightened, my back doesn’t appreciate the whole ‘standing’ thing, and the baby is a dead weight on my pelvis that feels like it’ll pop through any moment. I can’t get my legs completely touching when I stand because of it, so I waddle attractively to the cafe Mum spotted. It’s too far, and my back’s on fire by the time I sit down.

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