Now I found myself explaining the tradition, the role I'd been assigned, the months of public appearances stretching from July through Christmas.
Spelling it all out for her as I put my shoes and jewelry on was mentally draining and listing off the things I had to do made me feel overwhelmed.
My mother listened quietly, then said, "That sounds like quite an honor, honey. I'm really proud of you."
"It's been interesting."
Interesting was the last word I should've been using, but there wasn’t any other way to communicate how miserable the role made me without sounding like I was complaining. "There's been a lot more press coverage than I expected."
Mom, more than anyone else, understood why I avoided things in the public eye.
She'd been the one beside me as I broke down crying and hiding in my room for days or weeks on end after the Brad situation.
And she'd been the one to put me back together afterward too.
But she was always the voice of reason, and her wisdom always hit the mark, even if it was a hard pill to swallow.
"Well, being honored for community service isn't the same as having your name dragged through the mud," my mother said gently. "I hope you're not letting anxiety get the better of you. You deserve recognition for the work you're doing."
It was ironic that she was right. I, just like any number of people on this planet, deserved recognition for the hard work done, but she was equating apples and oranges.
No, Nate wasn't the driving factor behind this public gossip which was slowly becoming a scandal in the community.
But the stain of whispers felt the same.
"I'm managing," I said. "It's just a lot to balance with my regular job."
"Of course it is. You've always taken on too much at once." She paused, and I heard the sound of dishes clinking in the background. "Are you sure you're all right? You sound tired."
"Just a busy week. I promise I'm fine." No way in heck was I telling her about my other fears yet, not until they'd been confirmed.
But if Mom could tell through the phone how stressed I was, there'd be no hiding it from anyone else.
We talked for another ten minutes about safe topics—my father's retirement plans, my cousin's new baby, the remodeling project my parents were planning for their kitchen.
I tried not to let my swirling emotions cloud my ability to engage with her, and when we finally said goodbye, I sat on my bed holding the phone and fighting the urge to call her back and confess everything.
I finished getting ready and grabbed my coat and bag, locking my apartment door behind me.
I'd made the decision that taking a test was the only way to push the lingering fear of the unknown out the window.
The pharmacy was three blocks from the hospital, right on my way to work.
I'd passed it dozens of times without thinking much about it, but today, I had to make the stop.
My Uber dropped me off out front and I breezed through the automatic sliding doors as confidently as I could muster.
A purple-haired teenager sat behind the register scrolling her phone as I made a move straight for the back of the store where the family planning section was.
I grabbed the first box I saw, not bothering to compare brands or read the packaging.
My hands were shaking as I carried it to the register, and I kept my eyes down as the teenager scanned the barcode and stuffed it into a small bag.
She couldn't care less, but to me it was almost humiliating.
"Twenty-three forty-seven," she said in a bored tone, and I half expected her to recognize me and start asking me questions about Nate.
But she swiped my card and sent me on my way without even so much as a "How was your day?"
