Page 103 of The Surprise
“And then what did he say?”
“What do you mean, what did he say?” I snort. “That’s a mic drop moment. I told him, and then I left.”
“You weren’t officially together when it happened,” Dolores says. “Maybe he didn’t care.”
I’m trembling now. “You don’t know him. I’m sure he cared.”
“I’m beginning to thinkyoudon’t really know him. From the things you’ve told me, it seems like he surprises you a lot.”
“What?”
“He liked you from the start. I bet he was friends just to keep you talking to him. And then he tricked you into coming for coffee. You seem to be the one making a lot of erroneous assumptions.”
Is she right?
“Maybe instead of dropping mics, you should do a little more listening.”
Instead of snapping back with something right away, I think about what she said as I go into the bathroom. I think about it as I pee in a cup, and then as I wait for my results.
I mean, Ethan has been pretty consistent. I’m the one who’s all up and down. I’m the one who keeps ducking out and begging off. But obviously I’m doing him a favor. Right? Or could it be that he never minded my horrible dad, or my terrible mom, or my lack of a plan for the future?
Maybe he never cared that I was a toad and he was a robin.
Was it all nonsense?
The timer goes off on my phone, and I look at the stick. Two lines. What does two lines mean? I barely breathe as I look at the long paper with the instructions on it. Two lines, two lines, two pink lines. . .means. . .
That I’m pregnant.
I shove the test and all the instructions in the trash. I dump the pee in the toilet and rinse out the paper cup before throwing it away, too. My hands are tingling. My stomach is tied in knots. And then, numb, I walk out of the bathroom. How can my flat, normal looking belly have a baby inside of it?
I stumble again as I walk down Dolores Jenkins’ hall.
She grabs my arm. “Are you alright?”
I turn toward her slowly, and she sighs.
She knew. Somehow, she knew already.
How did she know when I had literally no idea?
“I know you’re disappointed.” She pulls me against her for a hug. She smells like mulch and sweat and mothballs. It’s not really a combination of smells I’ve typically thought of as comforting, but I probably will from now on. Because no matter how long I stand there, crying, she never lets me go.
But finally, I pull away. “I’ll be alright,” I say.
“Will you?” She frowns. “What will your parents say? How will they react?”
I shake my head. “They’re gone.”
“Gone?” She closes her eyes. “Oh, dear. You can come live with me if you want.”
I shake my head again, as if that’s all I can do. “I’m living with my aunt.”
“Okay, well, if anything changes, let me know.”
I turn and start shuffling for the door.
“Here, dear. Take these.” She carefully hands me a stack of crocheted baby blankets, and my heart breaks.
