Shut up, shut up!
I look at my phone, then shake my head. There’s no way I’m texting him about this.
He’s flying home tonight. I drive home after nine, willing myself to bleed. Now.
But nope. My underwear feels drier than midday in Vegas. Fuck it.
I pull into the lot of the Target closest to my place, then walk in and buy a pregnancy test. Not that I think it’s going to come back positive. But I need to eliminate the possibility.
I use the self-checkout and scan the box myself, breathing hard. I think about all the reasons a woman might miss her period—other than pregnancy—then remember Mrs. Ashworth, my tenth-grade gym teacher. She wasn’t even forty, but had an early onset menopause.
I perk up. There’s a great possibility. I’m only twenty-eight, but it could be, like, ultra-early onset. That’d make it hard for me to get pregnant later, but medical science is a beautiful thing. I’m sure they can discover a way to fix me up. Pump me full of estrogen and resuscitate dear dead Auntie Flo.
Feeling marginally better, I shove the test into my purse and go home. Then, to confirm that what I have is just an early onset menopause, nothing serious, I pee on the stick.
Then wait.
And wait.
If I’m pacing, it’s only because I need the exercise, not because I’m nervous.
Because I know I’m not pregnant. No way, no how.
Except…
The stick slowly reveals two lines.
I put a hand over my mouth. My head goes blank—just a barren white space with nothing. I’m sure I’m supposed to feel or think something, but I just can’t. Not when the stick says I’m pregnant.
How can I be pregnant? I have job interviews! And an offer in Virginia! A job that will require I put in close to a hundred hours a week. Does the Blaire Group have a twenty-four-seven daycare center for its employees?
My knees start to shake. I stumble into the sink and knock a few things off. Something made with glass falls on the floor and shatters. But it’s hard to care when my life just got upended.
Not just upended. Fucking nuked. Above me, a mushroom cloud is rising.
I plop down on my butt on the bathroom floor. My womb feels perfectly at peace.
The door bursts open behind me.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sasha says, her eyes wide. She’s still in her office clothes, her laptop bag hanging from her shoulder.
I turn and blink up at her.
“I heard something crash.” She comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
Do I want to get up? I mean, I guess I should. I lift a hand.
She starts to bend down to help, then stops. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?”
She lets out a gasping breath. “You’re pregnant?”
Chapter Thirty
Amy
Oh, crap. The test!