Breathe in. Breathe through. Breathe deep. Then out.
The shrill sound of the three-minute timer on my phone shakes me to my core.
I can’t decide if I’m queasy because I’ve felt nauseous every single day for the past several weeks, or if it’s from the uncertainty of the stick of plastic resting on the edge of the bathroom sink.
I didn’t set out to spend my day like this, but the signs were too great to ignore. So, when Holt told me he had to run out for an emergency work meeting, I took the opportunity.
I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice or, fuck, even a fork in the road. Which direction will my life take me?
It all feels dramatic and life altering. Like at any moment, my life is going to implode.
Even after the timer goes off, I don’t pick up the white plastic stick.
I’m terrified of the answer—an answer I’m already certain I know. It feels as if there’s a taut string pulling me on the inside of my stomach. I gently place my hand over it and think about my mother.
It’s hard to think of her as she was before the last time I saw her. The fear in her eyes. The love she had for me. Something in her gaze told me she knew it was the last time she’d be looking at me, too.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
Falling in love with Holt wasn’t expected. I did everything I could to prevent this from happening, to avoid falling into the same trap my mother had, where she believed my father would love her to the ends of the earth. I guess, in a way, he did. He couldn’t allow her to live her life in this world, and he couldn’t live in one where she didn’t exist, either.
Love can be volatile, and it can’t be trusted.
I want to believe every word Holt has told me over these past months. I want to believe he’s pined after me, secretly yearning in the shadows. But isn’t that what my mother believed?
Closing my eyes, I picture Holt. I imagine the way he looked at me this morning before he walked out the door. His gentle touch. His starving kiss. The love in his rich, blue eyes. He was looking at me as if I was the most precious person in the world. Will he do the same if the answer on the stick is yes?
For years, Holt has been a chronic bachelor, moving from one woman to the next, never sticking with one long enough to allow anyone to draw the conclusion he was in a long-term relationship. I think back to the last girl he’d been seen dating. They were together the same amount of time him and I have been together now.
Is Holt capable of commitment?
I pick up my phone to text my sister but quickly put it back down. I want to talk to her. I want to tell her about my hesitation in my career, my blossoming love for Holt, my fear that it will all slip away. I’m afraid the rug is going to get pulled out from under me at any moment. I want to tell her all these things, but Ican’t. This is between me and the piece of plastic sitting on the counter.
With sweaty palms and shaking fingers, I reach out for the stick.
I hold my breath until my lungs burn, then turn it over.
The plus sign fades, blurring with my tears. My heart swells then contracts. I feel like it’s going to explode. I clamp my hand over my mouth and stifle my cries. Holt’s penthouse is filled with his staff: housekeepers, chefs, security. Every single one would come racing in here if they heard me crying. I swiftly shut the bathroom door and press my back against it. Then I sink to the floor.
Placing my hand gently on my stomach again, I take a deep breath. Years of therapy have taught me to think analytically when it comes to overwhelming situations. I try to think logically, making a point to remember the things I know as fact.
I have blonde hair.
I love yoga.
I’m a strong woman.
I’m healthy.
I’m capable.
I’m in love with Holt Capuleti.
I snap my eyes open as soon as the last thought registers in my mind. The truth rests there, as positive as the test I have clenched in my hand.
Instinct tells me the uncertainty of Holt’s reaction is inevitable. Normally, I would run, end things as soon as possible. I would let him go the same way I let Adam go. I would spend the rest of my life alone, because being alone is safer than sharing your life with someone. But if the feelings I have for Holt have taught me anything, it’s life and love don’t come without risk.
Loving Holt, like death, is an inevitable fact—one I can’t escape.
