My mind races back to Antigua, to Alexander, to that night in the hot tub when he came inside me. To the morning after, when we did it again. The times we didn't use protection because I told him I tracked my cycle.
But cycles can be unpredictable. Stress can throw them off. Travel can throw them off.
"Cami?" Izzy's voice seems to come from far away. "I was just joking around."
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My period. When was my last period? Before Antigua, certainly. And it's been... I mentally count the days, then count again, desperately hoping I've made a mistake.
I haven't. I'm late. Very late.
"Holy shit," Izzy whispers, reading the panic on my face. "You think you might be?"
I clutch the counter edge, suddenly dizzy. "I don't know. I can't be. We were careful... mostly."
"Mostly?" Izzy raises her eyebrows.
The room feels too warm, too small. "I need to know. Now."
Izzy doesn't hesitate. She turns off both burners with quick movements. "Dinner can wait. Let's go."
Ten minutes later, we're standing in the feminine care aisle of the nearest drugstore, staring at a bewildering array of pregnancy tests. My hands shake as I reach for one, then another, reading the packages with increasing desperation.
"Which one is most accurate?" I whisper, though there's no one nearby to overhear.
"Get a few different brands," Izzy suggests, already grabbing boxes. "Cover all the bases."
I nod numbly, adding another test to our growing collection. The cashier gives us a knowing look as she rings up our purchases—five pregnancy tests and a chocolate bar that Izzy threw in at the last second. "For moral support," she explained.
The walk back to my apartment passes in a blur. My mind races with possibilities, none of which I'm prepared to face. A baby. Alexander's baby. A tiny life growing inside me while the man who helped create it is probably sitting in his corner office, not giving me a second thought.
"I can't do this," I mutter as we climb the stairs to my apartment.
"You can," Izzy says firmly. "No matter what those tests say, you can handle it."
In my bathroom, I tear open the first package with trembling fingers. Izzy perches on the edge of the bathtub, unwrapping the chocolate.
"You want me to step out?" she asks.
I shake my head. "Stay. Please."
She nods, breaking off a piece of chocolate and offering it to me. I wave it away, my stomach churning for reasons that now seem terrifyingly clear.
The first test is simple enough—pee on the stick, wait three minutes. I follow the instructions mechanically, then set the test on the counter and sink down onto the closed toilet lid.
"Now we wait," I say, determined to hold it together.
Izzy checks her phone. "Want me to set a timer?"
"No need. I'll be counting every second anyway."
The bathroom falls silent except for the soft hum of the ventilation fan. I stare at the little plastic stick, willing it to show just one line. One line means relief. One line means my life stays on its current course. One line means I don't have to figure out how to be a single mother at twenty-four with a career just starting to take off.
Izzy breaks the silence. "Whatever happens, I'm here. You know that, right?"
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
"Has enough time passed?" I ask after what feels like an eternity.
Izzy checks her phone again. "Just about."
