But she doesn’t show up the next day, or the day after that. I go to bed Thursday night feeling like shit. Cramps, no appetite, and I’m super tired. Just one more day to get through and I can spend two full days doing nothing but sleeping and watching Disney movies.
Getting out of bed Friday morning is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If Vader hadn’t come and licked me after I turned off the alarm, I never would have gotten up.
I fire up the Keurig while I take care of the dogs, stick my favorite Ariel mug in place, and push the button to fill it. As soon as the coffee pours from the Keurig, my stomach flip flops.
What the hell?
The scent is so strong, filling the air, and making me sick. It’s like the smell of coffee is day-old roadkill in July, left out to bake on black pavement in the afternoon sun.
I want to throw up.
I cover my nose with my hand and press the power button, shutting off the machine before it has the chance to fill my mug. I dump it down the drain and leave the kitchen.
Okay. This isn’t right. I’m one of those people who can’t function without coffee. This has to be a PMS thing, right?
Deep down, I know it’s not.
A little over a month ago, I hooked up with Noah.
And I don’t remember a thing.
I don’t remember if he used a condom. I don’t remember if he pulled out. And right now, I don’t know what to do.
My hands are shaking and I feel like I’m going to pass out. It was one time. The odds are against me, and the stress of life is probably what’s delaying my period.
It was one night. One time.
And I know it’s entirely possible.
I slow as I walk down the aisle. The plastic handles of the shopping basket slide under my sweating palms. My heart is racing and I don’t think I can do this. I should go home and order from Amazon. I can even get next-day shipping, though since it’s getting late, next day will actually be the next, next day.
And I can’t wait that long.
I let out a breath, set my basket down, and flip up my hood. I look like I’m about to rob the fucking place, but I don’t want to risk getting seen. That would be worse than robbery.
I hunch my shoulders and look at the white boxes. Why the hell are there so many different options? I drop my gaze to the price tags. Twenty bucks for a pregnancy test? Really?
Fuck, it doesn’t matter, not really. I’ll pay anything for the peace of mind I’m going to get once this sucker pops up with a big fat negative. Because I’m not pregnant. I do not have Noah’s child growing inside of me, sucking my energy and making me hate my favorite foods.
I. Am. Not. Pregnant.
Jenny and Colin have been trying for a few months and nothing has come about yet. She told me you only have like a twenty percent chance of getting knocked up each cycle, which means I have an eighty percent chance that I haven’t been knocked the fuck up.
By Noah.
Oh my God. I just … can’t. I literally cannot.
I grab a box of the Target-brand pregnancy tests, saving myself a few bucks, and quickly hide them under the random items I didn’t need but had to have from the dollar bins at the store front.
I practically jog to the registers, thankful now more than ever for the self-checkout. I pay for my items, put the basket away, and stop. My heart is still hammering, hands still shaking. I turn, looking at the big red sign that says “restrooms.” I chugged two bottles of water before I came, thinking it wouldn’t hit me until I got home. But since I got nervous and put off walking down the pregnancy test aisle and instead spent thirty minutes looking at Disney toys—yes, the ones for little girls—my bladder is winning. I have a twenty-minute drive home and I honestly do not know if I will be able to make it that long.
Since I’m an adult who is perfectly capable of not peeing my pants, I go into the bathroom. I lock myself in a stall and rip open the test, read the instructions, then sit on the toilet. I stick the test between my legs and … now I can’t go. Nerves are stopping me up and someone else just walked in.
I close my eyes. They don’t know what I’m doing, but I better hurry up or they will think I’m pooping, which embarrasses me for some reason but at the same time shouldn’t matter at all. Everyone poops.
Finally, I’m able to go, and I count to five then pull the test out, recapping it and watching the little white screen darken. The instructions say to wait three minutes before looking at the test. I count to ten and look.
The blue test line pops up right away. There is nothing next to it. I relax. I’m not pregnant, see? I knew it and now I can go home and stop worrying. In fact, I’m sure my period will start tomorrow and I’ll laugh at myself for all this anxiety.
I’m about to throw the test in the little metal trash when I look at it one more time.
Holy fucking shit balls. Is that a second line?
No. No, no, no.
I bring the test closer to my face. I see a faint shadow. But it’s not a line. So I’m not pregnant, right? I close my eyes and count to thirty again. It hasn’t quite been three minutes, but I look again anyway.
There is definitely something there, making a little plus sign. If I am pregnant, the line would be bright like the test line, right? Crap. I don’t know these things.
There is one more test in the box. I’m about ready to rip it open and take it when I remember that I just went pee. Double crap. I’ve never wanted to have to pee more in my life than I do right now.
But I need to know.
I stash the possibly positive test in my purse and leave the bathroom, going into the little cafe. I order a blue Slushy and a big pretzel. Both actually sound good, and the smell of butter and salt makes me hungry. I nibble on the pretzel, so nervous I can hardly eat.
I do a bit of online research while I gulp down the Slushy. It seems that tests with blue lines can have an “evaporation line” that gives the illusion of a positive test. Pink line tests are a bit more reliable, and the digital ones are fool proof. Also, chugging something like I’m doing now can dilute the pregnancy hormone and give you a false negative. I should test again in the morning.
Though, there is no fucking way I can wait that long.
I finish my pretzel and drink, and get up. I take my bag to the car, then go back inside, praying I don’t run into anyone I know. I don’t waste any time. I get another basket and head to the personal hygiene aisle.
I end up spending seventy dollars on pregnancy tests. I clutch the white shopping bag to my chest as I walk to my Jeep, heart in my throat. The drive home stretches forever, and I’m crawling out of my skin when I get stuck by a train. I’m such a wreck that I don’t even listen to music.
Finally, I get into the house, let the dogs out, and put the boxes of tests on the counter. Each came with two, oh—this one has a bonus so three!—and I take one out for now, saving the other for the morning.
I take the used test from my purse, lay it on a napkin, and scrutinize it. Like any sane person would do, I take a picture with my phone then play with the color contrast to see if that’s a line or just as shadow of where a line could be.
I come up undecided.
There is nothing to do but wait and test again. I try to do my normal routine, play with the dogs, shower, make a lunch for tomorrow, that sort of thing, but I keep going back and looking at the one test like it might change. Not knowing if it’s actually positive or negative is driving me up the fucking wall.
About an hour and a half later, I’m staring at a counter full of tests. I flipped them all upside down, not wanting to look at them until the full amount of time has passed. On some level I know this is crazy, taking so many tests. I can’t believe I spent so much on them all. I should have gotten the expensive digital one from the start and would have known one way or the other without analyzing every little shade of blue.
I’m sure I’m not the only one, and I know there have been countless women on both sides of the fence
desperately wanting to know if there is a tiny life force inside of them or not. But I have to know. One way or the other, I’m finding out. I check the time. Five minutes have passed. I stand and slowly walk the two feet from the edge of the tub to the sink, feeling like it’s D-Day.
I want to call Katie and have her come over, holding my hand as I flip the tests. I hate doing stressful stuff like this on my own, though if the tests turn out all negative, then I’ll have gotten her all riled up for nothing, and she’ll never let me live it down.
Because I’m Lauren Winters. The responsible one. The one always prepared, always early and on time. I’m not crazy or spontaneous. I like to stay home and watch Disney movies, play video games online, and chat with my friends via Facebook PM rather than face to face. I’m the last one you’d expect to worry about an accidental pregnancy.
Things like this don’t happen to me.
I reach out, hands shaking as I flip over the tests.
I’m Lauren Winters. The responsible one. The last one you’d ever expect this to happen to.
And I’m fucking pregnant.
Chapter 7
LAUREN
I LOOK AT my name on the clipboard, my handwriting nearly unreadable because I can’t stop shaking. I took the remaining tests this morning and all came back positive, of course. I called the OB/GYN office on my way to work and was able to get in for an ultrasound this afternoon. I wasn’t expecting visual confirmation that quickly, but since I wasn’t sure exactly how far along I could be the doctor ordered an early ultrasound. I was hoping I could live in denial for a little longer, though the million positive tests were making that hard to do.
The receptionist smiles at me and hands me a packet of papers to fill out. There are a slew of questions concerning this pregnancy. Checking “yes” or “no” is making it seem more and more real.
I’m close to a full panic attack.
I’ve told no one about the positive tests yet. Of course, I did more internet research online and found that a positive test doesn’t always mean there is a living baby inside of you.
I focus on answering each question, guessing on the date of my last period. I turn in the info, then wait. I had to leave work an hour early to make it here on time, and I knew it raised questions when I slipped out the door. I told my boss I had a doctor appointment and that was it. Still, I felt like I was walking out of the clinic with a big letter P on my face.
P for Pregnant with my brother’s best friend’s baby.
Oh. My. God.
I flip through a Parents magazine as I wait, just looking at the pictures. I’m too nervous to concentrate on words. Fifteen minutes go by and I relax just a bit. Then the door opens and a young woman in gray scrubs calls my name.
I stand, holding my purse for dear life, and move one foot in front of the other. I feel like I’m trekking to Mordor as I cross the waiting room, and my fate lies ahead of me. I want to tell myself I’m being dramatic, but I’m not.
“Hi, Lauren,” the ultrasound tech says. “How are you?”
“Nervous,” I admit. I follow her into the room and hop up on the table. She reviews my paperwork, gives me a minute to prepare, then comes back and starts the ultrasound.
“Try to relax,” she tells me and moves the transducer around. There is a TV screen mounted high on the wall in front of me. I hold my breath and will my stiff muscles to loosen. The screen is just a blur of black and white, and I have a slight idea of what I’m looking at from doing ultrasounds on pregnant animals at the clinic.
Then she stops moving the transducer and hits some buttons on the computer in front of her. There is a shrimp-shaped blob in the middle of a dark lopsided circle. Something flickers inside the blob. I know what it is before she says it.
The little blob is my baby and the flicker is the heart beating. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I feel a connection to the little thing, and at the same time I’m panicking.
The tech types “HI MOM” onto the screen and takes a picture. It prints out. Then she turns up the volume and lets me listen to the heart beating away. I can’t think, can’t form a logical thought as she finishes the ultrasound, taking measurements and more pictures.
“All right,” she says and hands me three black-and-white images. “Baby is measuring eight weeks and two days, making your due date December third. Are you seeing the doctor after this?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. I have an appointment Monday with the doctor. I have days to agonize over everything. Again.
“Okay. I got all the images I need, so you’re good to go. Congrats!”
“Thanks,” I squeak out. I barely make it out to my car in time before I burst into tears. The ultrasound pictures and the little card with the date of my next appointment are clutched in my right hand. I’m so confused, so conflicted, and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t want to get rid of this baby by any means, but I don’t want to raise a child on my own. I can’t. I work full time, and I’m going to go back to school eventually. If not, I wouldn’t even be able to support a child on my income alone. I didn’t become a vet tech for the paycheck, that’s for sure.
I inhale and force myself to stop crying, carefully folding the ultrasound pictures and putting them in my purse. I wipe my eyes, back out of the parking space, and head home. Katie calls me when I pull onto my street. I don’t answer. I don’t want to tell her.
But I have to eventually. She’s bound to notice when I start getting a baby bump … and when I show up to family holidays with a crying kid in my arms. I can’t put it off forever.
I wait until I’m in my garage to call her back.
“Hey, lady,” she says, cheerful as ever. “Want to do something tonight? Wes got mandated at work and I’m bored and alone. Disney movies and booze at my place?”
“Katie,” I start, voice flat.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come over instead? I … I need to talk to you.”
“Way to sound ominous, sis. Don’t be so lame about staying out and leaving your dogs. They are dogs. They’ll be fine.”
“It’s not that,” I say and it takes all I have not to start sobbing again. “Please, Katie?”
“You’re freaking me out now, Lauren. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here, okay?” My voice is high pitched and trembling.
“Okay. I’ll be right over. Do you need anything?”
Oh lord, do I. “No, just to talk to you.”
“Okay.” She’s shaken up, I can tell. At least she won’t waste time getting here. I go inside and change out of my Tinkerbell scrubs, putting on PJs. Katie lives fifteen minutes away, and she walks through my door not even twenty minutes after we hung up.
“Lauren?” she calls from the small foyer. “Where are you?”
I’m in the kitchen, and I’m scared to go to her, to tell her the truth. Should I tell Noah before I tell my sister? This child is half of me and half of him. Does that make him entitled to know first?
“Lauren?” Katie calls again. “You’re freaking me out! Where are you?”
“In the kitchen,” I say. “Letting the dogs in.”
I open the back door and both dogs come in running, wildly greeting my sister. I meekly follow behind them.
“What the hell?” Katie asks when she sees me. My eyes are still red and puffy from crying. I hold my hand behind my back, keeping the ultrasound pictures out of sight. “What happened?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I just need to come out and say it. Then my big sis can hug me and tell me that things are going to be all right.
“Sit down,” I say and look at the couch.
Katie steps out of her purple Toms and unzips her jacket. “Okay, tell me right now, because you’re seriously scaring me.”
“I’m scared,” I say, not meaning to put fuel on the fire. Tears fill my eyes and I take a few steps back and plop onto the couch. Katie rushes over.
“
What is it, Lauren? Do you have cancer or something?” Her eyes mist over. It wasn’t that long ago that our mom had a cancer scare. We’re all sensitive to it.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then what the hell is wrong?”
Fat tears roll down my cheeks. “I messed up,” I start, choking up. “I … I … It was one night.”
“Lauren!” Katie puts her hand on mine. I close my eyes, feeling like I’m getting sucked backwards into a vortex of darkness. “Tell me what is wrong!”
I make myself open my eyes. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper.
“No, you’re not,” Katie says right away. “Because you have to have sex to get pregnant and you don’t have a boyfriend, and you don’t sleep around.”
“I know. But I did. Just once.” I carefully unfold the ultrasound pictures and hand them to her. I watch her face go from confusion to horror then back to confusion.
She leans back on the couch, looking straight ahead. “When—how? You … no. This is a joke, right?”
“I wish it was.” My eyes are filled with more tears, and I’m trembling. Katie turns to me, face as white as a ghost. Then she bursts out laughing.
“Sorry,” she says, covering her mouth. “Just you … Everyone thought I’d be the one to get knocked up before marriage. No one ever expected you to be the family slut!” She’s doubled over laughing.
“This isn’t funny, Katie! I’m not a slut. It was one night, one time, one mistake!”
The laughter dies in Katie’s throat. “Oh my God.” The seriousness has hit her. “This is from your drunken one-night stand none of us believed.”
My eyebrows push together. “Why is it so hard to believe that I—never mind. But yes. That’s when it happened because that’s the only time anything happened in a very long time.”
“What are you going to do? I assume you’ve considered all your options.”
“I’m keeping it. Once I saw the heart beating … I don’t know. I just know I have to keep it.”
[2016] First Comes Love Page 6
