"Three minutes," Carmen calls through the door. "Do you want me to time it?"
"Sure. Why not. Let's make this even more stressful."
"Deep breaths, Emma. Whatever the result is, we'll figure it out."
I sit on the closed toilet lid and stare at the three tests lined up on my sink like tiny plastic judges about to determine my fate.
What if it's positive?
And what the hell do I tell Donovan?
"Hey, remember that one night in Miami when we agreed it was just a one-time thing with no complications? Well, funny story..."
What do I tell work?
"Sorry, I know I just started, but I'm going to need maternity leave in about seven months. Hope that's cool."
What do I tell my parents? My sisters? Sasha and Riley?
What do I tell myself when I look in the mirror and see a woman who's about to become a mother when she can barely afford her rent?
"Time's up," Carmen says gently through the door.
I close my eyes. Take a breath. Stand up.
And look at the tests.
Two pink lines.
Two pink lines.
Two pink lines.
All three tests. All positive.
"Oh my God," I whisper. "Oh my God."
"Emma?" Carmen's voice is cautious. "Whatdoes it say?"
I open the bathroom door on shaking legs, holding out the tests like evidence at a trial.
Carmen takes one look and pulls me into a hug.
That's when I start crying.
Not delicate, pretty crying.
Full-on, ugly, snotty sobbing into Carmen's shoulder while she rubs my back and makes soothing noises.
"I can't do this," I gasp between sobs. "I can't be pregnant. I can't afford a baby. I just started this job. I don't even have real furniture."
"You can do this," Carmen says firmly. "You're one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. And you're not alone."
"But everyone's going to think—"
"Who cares what people think? You know the truth. That's what matters."
I pull back, wiping my eyes. "The father is... it's complicated."
