“You can’t be skipping meals on us, Doc,” she says with a sigh. “You take as long as you need to sit and cool down. I’ll get you some water and something to eat. Anything sound good?”
It’s rare that I have intense cravings for anything in particular. I eat what I want, for the most part. That’s what surprised me about the immediacy of my answer.
“Watermelon,” I groan. “Watermelon soundssogood, actually.”
I can damn near taste it already, sweet and juicy and full of sugar. Damn, I must be more dehydrated than I thought if the thought of watermelon has my knees shaking.
“Watermelon isn’t a meal.” Mary laughs and swings the front door of their house open, finally releasing my shoulders to usher me inside. “You need some real food.”
I shoot a bashful grin over my shoulder before heading toward the kitchen. Mary follows after shutting the door behind us.
“You’re the one who asked if anything sounded good,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes affectionately at me and nods toward the table. I take a seat as she pulls a glass down from the cabinet. I feel a little awkward now that I’m in their house. It’s not the first time, not by far — hell, I’ve spent holidays with Everett before, back when he was really spiraling and I was too worried to leave him or Jenny alone. But I’m a little… on edge about my place in people’s lives right now. There’s always a part of me thatwonders if I think of them more fondly than they think of me, though. I don’t want to overstep.
Then again, Mary is literally rifling through the fridge looking for watermelon for me. Maybe I’m just overthinking things.
“Success!” Mary cheers as she pulls a container of cut watermelon from the fridge. “You can chow down on that while I make you some real food. Are you allergic to anything?”
I almost want to cry when she sets the container down in front of me along with a fork. She’s been a sweetheart since I met her, but I usually spend more time around Everett. It’s nice to have girls around, no matter how much I love the rough and tumble of my job.
“You’re an angel,” I tell her as I pop the lid of the container free. “I’m not allergic to anything, but really, this is plenty. Honestly, the thought of anything else makes me feel kind of nauseous.”
It’s bright red and so juicy it glistens. My mouth waters so much that I worry I might actually drool for a moment.
“Jeez, you sound like you’ve got pregnancy cravings,” Mary says with a laugh. “What, are you going to ask for pickles and peanut butter next?”
We burst out laughing. I almost choke on the watermelon in my throat. The thought of me being pregnant is so ridiculous I can’t even begin to fathom it. I’ve thought about having a kid,maybetwo, but that’s something so far down the line it’s still absurd to consider.
“Nah, I’m sure it’s just the heat.” I shake my head as I munch down on another piece of watermelon. It’s so sweet it almost makes my teeth ache, in the very best way. “I get the depo shot, and I always use protection anyway.”
Discomfort settles heavily in my gut when I remember that I actually missed my last depo appointment. I had to reschedule itdue to work, and it just slipped my mind. Still, though, I always insist on condoms, and it’s been ages since I slept with anyone but Wayne.
…Wayne, who I didn’t use a condom with the first time we slept together…
Wayne, who I told to just pull out last time…
I pause with the fork halfway to my mouth, worry tripping over itself in my lungs. There’s no way. He only came inside me one time.
A craving for watermelon doesn’t mean anything. Nor does a little nausea.
Mary must notice the way I freeze, though, because she turns back toward the fridge before she starts talking again.
“It’s always kind of funny to take a pregnancy test, though, isn’t it?” Her words are forced, an obvious urge, an obviousoutfor me to sate my own curiosity. “There’s one under the sink in the hallway bathroom. You could just check and see.”
I hesitate, certainty and a lack thereof squirming around unpleasantly in my stomach. Or maybe I’m just still nauseous.
“Why do you have a pregnancy test lying around?” I joke.
It’s easier than acknowledging the real question. It’s easier than admitting out loud that I’m going to do it.
Mary laughs at me, a soft look in her eyes. Understanding and affection both sit in the lines of her face, and she nods toward the hallway without saying anything, silently encouraging. She’s not that much older than I am, but she’s so level-headed about things that it makes it easier for me to be calm about them, too.
I make my way into the bathroom and then search under the sink for the test, refusing to think about my actions as I do. It’s just a silly game, like Mary said. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s pee on a stick.
And it’s going to be negative, anyway.
I laugh at myself even as I take a seat on the porcelain throne. I’ve never done this before, and it takes a minute for me to get my hand in position and calm myself down enough to actually pee. I manage to avoid getting any pee on my hand and then set the test up to run.
