I pull out my phone and type the words before I can talk myself out of it:how early can pregnancy be detected.
A thousand results pop up in seconds. I scroll through a few, scanning words I’ve never thought twice about before.Two weeks.Some tests can pick it uptwo weeksafter conception.
“Good,” I breathe, like that settles something. It doesn’t, not really, but it gives me something todo.
Something other than sit here and drown in the what-ifs.
Matthew
I pace the living room, the overcooked noodles sitting cold and forgotten on the counter. Every few steps, I glance at the clock, and every time I do, my stomach twists tighter. Brooke’s been gone for over an hour.
I’ve refrained from calling her, trying to give her space, telling myself she needs time, but with each second that ticks by, the self-loathing grows louder.
Whodoesthat?
Who confesses their undying love and considers proposing marriage in the middle of a pregnancy scare?
Idiot. Absolute idiot.
She was panicking, terrified, confused, and I was thinking of dropping on one knee like some lovesick teenager. No wonder she bolted.
I run a hand through my hair and drag in a breath, but it does nothing to slow my thoughts. Because now they’re running even faster, careening into the kind of questions I have no answers for.
Where would we evenputa baby?
Brooke’s renting a damp basement. I live in a one-bedroom studio that barely fits me and my furniture, let alone a crib. We’d have to move, but where? And with what money?
I’m not exactly swimming in cash. Sure, my student loans are finally paid off, but that just means I’ve been able to breathe for the first time in years, not that I’m ready to raise a kid.
I pace back to the window and stare out at the city. It’s going to be dark soon.
I guess… I could ask Mom. She’s always said if I needed help, she’d be there. Maybe she could help us find a bigger apartment. Maybe she’d even co-sign. God, I hate that I’m even thinking about that, about asking for help like I’m still twenty-two and clueless.
But the truth is, Iamclueless. I planned for my education. My career. My future.
Not babies and diapers.
Idowant kids, someday. But am I ready for themnow? Ready for that kind of responsibility? Ready to be someone’s father?
A knock pulls me out of my thoughts. My heart lurches.
I cross the room in two strides and swing the door open.
Brooke stands there, hair wind-tousled, eyes tired, a paper bag clutched in both hands.
“I thought about going home,” she says quietly, “but I forgot my keys here.”
“I’m… glad you came back,” I manage. And I mean it more than I know how to say.
She nods once, then steps inside. Without a word, she places the paper bag on the counter and pulls out a box.
It takes me a second to register what I’m looking at.
“Apparently, this one’s theearly detector.”
I nod, staying silent. Words feel too heavy, too dangerous, like if I speak them, they might tip the balance of the room. Brooke disappears into the bathroom and closes the door gently behind her.
I stand there, frozen for a moment, before my nerves kick in and I start cleaning. It’s pointless, the noodles are ruined, the counter’s already spotless, but it’s something to do. Anything to stop me from counting the seconds.
