I shook my head but followed it up with a shrug, because I didn’t think so, but what else could it be? That was three times in the matter of five days. Well, technically more than that because I threw up a few more times when I got inside my parents’ house after the wedding, but I figured that was the food poisoning running its course, and I was fine the next day. I’d been fine every day since then too, albeit fighting to get my appetite back to what it should be.
“I don’t think so. I had food poisoning last week, but I swear I was fine today.”
Diane nodded, then turned on her heel and headed to her locker.
Shit. I’d scared her off, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. She had a newborn at home and here I was, with yet another stomach bug.
“Diane, I’m so sorry. We can cancel today’s session and reschedule it, free of charge. I feel so bad, I—“
I was cut off by her return, but she wasn’t holding her gym bag like I’d thought she’d be, prepared to take off because her fitness coach was sick. Instead, she returned with a pink foil package, holding it out to me.
I took it from her, pinching the offending plastic between my thumb and pointer finger, shock at what she was implying rendering me speechless and immobile. It was heavier than I thought it’d be. Though, maybe that was due to the magnitude of what she was suggesting.
“I’m not—“ I started, but she interrupted me.
“Maybe you’re not, but speaking from experience, nausea doesn’t just come out of nowhere multiple times a week because of food poisoning.”
I hated that her tone didn’t sound judgemental or preachy, she simply sounded empathetic. And to make it worse, Shaynahadsaid that she was fine, so it couldn’t have been the hotdogs.
“I can’t take this. Aren’t they kind of expensive?”
She laughed. “It’s leftover from my own public restroom reveal, and being that I’m only three months postpartum, I hope I don’t need to take one of those.” Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, not that having to take one is a bad thing! I mean that I just birthed a watermelon-sized human, and amsonot ready to repeat that.”
“You’re fine, and I don’t blame you. But I-I really don’t think I’m pregnant. I’ve got an IUD.”
Diane shrugged. “You don’t have to, but maybe rule it out? Then you’ll know for sure.” She motioned with her thumb back toward the gym. “I’m going to finish up the workout, and then take off. Good luck. I hope it comes back exactly how you want it to.”
Staring down at the pregnancy test in my hand, I felt like throwing up again, but for a whole different reason this time.
Anxiety and dread had my hands shaking, as I opened the door to the handicap stall I’d just come out of, and slithered my leggings down my hips before sitting down on the toilet.
“Shit, okay. Just pee on the stick, Darcy.” I blew out the breath I’d been holding and tore open the foil. How long was I supposed to pee on it? I knew you blew on a breathalyzer for about seven seconds. Was it longer or shorter than that? The mere fact that I compared a pregnancy test to a breathalyzer should be evidence enough that I wasn’t ready to be a mom. That Ishouldn’tbe a mom. Period.
It was all irrelevant though, because it turned out I really had to pee, and in my panic I forgot to count. The little clock icon began blinking up at me, and it hadn’t been doing that before, so it must have been working. Either that or I broke it.
I paced around the stall, coming back to it, what felt like, every hour, but was most definitely every few seconds. These kinds of things should be instant—pee on the stick, five seconds later, get an answer. Waiting was giving me too much time to think. To spiral. A thousand questions bombarded my mind.
What if I reallywaspregnant?Howcould I be pregnant? How would I do my job? What would my family say? What would I do?
And perhaps the most important question above all the others, and the one that had me freaking out the most, was: Who was the father?
Once that question pinged to the forefront of my brain, I felt like I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I had no idea who the dad was.
It’s not like there werea lotof men, but I wasn’t in a relationship either, and we were no longer living in times where women had to hide their sexuality. I mean, people definitely still tried to shame women for being promiscuous, but I was of the mindset that people could go fuck themselves. Or don’t, if they were a prude. Regardless, for the most part, my vibrator and I were best friends, but there were times when purple silicone just wasn’t enough. Where simply getting off wasn’t enough. There were times when Ineededa man.
At this moment, I was regretting each and every one of those instances.
But then the wait was over.
Mid-stomp back to the toilet, I saw the clock had been replaced by a word on the flashing screen, though I couldn’t read it from where I stood. I walked closer, picking the test up, stillnot looking at the result, and tried to psych myself up to read the stupid thing.
“It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.” My voice was a quiet whisper that was as shaky as my hands.
I forced myself to look down at the test.
YES+
Turns out, it wasn’t fine.
