When he swipes the sixth package, Ami feels compelled to add, “Me and my friend. We’re covering all possibilities.” As if that makes any sense at all.
Eric continues to scan with exaggerated professionalism. He gives us our total in a whisper.
Back at my place, I dump everything onto the cramped bathroom counter. I chug a water bottle as if peeing is an Olympic event. Ami hovers in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Who’s the maybe-daddy?” she asks with a gentle tone, though her eyes are like a hawk’s.
“I don’tknowif I’m pregnant,Ate. So, there is no daddy.”
She harumphs. “Whatever you say.”
I shut the bathroom door and stare down the pale-faced woman in the mirror. She blinks at me like she doesn’t recognize me, either.
Nothing to be done but pee. Rip off the Band-Aid, so to speak.
But pregnancy is not a wound, and this kind of decision is no Band-Aid. The next few minutes will alter the course of my life, one way or another. If I had any delusions about delaying the inevitable, my sister’s knock reminds me that there is nowhere to hide from myself.
“I’m almost done,” I call out.
I take one test. Then another. Then a third. The other three tests I leave unopened.
In the kitchen, the stove timer provides a countdown. Three minutes till I get an answer I’m not sure I want to hear. Distracting myself with serving tea does not help. My hands shake so much I spill hot water on the counter. The timer goes off.
“You want me to look first?”
I shake my head. “Let’s do it together.”
We walk back in and flip them over, one by one.
Positive. Positive. Positive.
I sit on the edge of my tub, the third stick still in my hand like it might reverse itself if I squeeze hard enough.
“This doesn’t feel real,” I whisper.
Ami sits cross-legged on the bathroom floor and rests her head against my knee.
“Itisreal.”
We stay like that for five minutes or an hour, I have no idea.
Finally, she murmurs, “Now are you willing to tell me who the father might be?”
I sigh. “Can you guess?”
“You didn’t get back together with that cheating bastard, did you?”
“Nope.” She’s talking about John, the last co-star in the boring show of my dating life. It was so boring, he cheated on me.
“Is it someone I know?”
“Yup.”
She gapes at me with unblinking eyes. “You slept with Tristan Thorne!”
“One time.”
“Didn’t you use protection?”
