“I didn’t even know which one to buy,” I rush out, “If I am pregnant, how am I supposed to do this when I can’t even get a test in the store right.”
“How about this, Vanessa,” she says gently, “Go do a test, when you have the results then you can start to worry about the future.”
“You’re right,” I agree, accepting the bag from her.
The shake is still in my hands as I walk to the bathrooms, only getting worse when I lock myself inside. I rip open one of the boxes and read the instructions.
“Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes.” I tell myself, “Pee on the stick. Don’t pee on your hand.”
It’s the oddest feeling, doing this but when it’s done, I put the cap on the test and rest it on the side as I flush and wash my hands, purposely keeping my eyes ahead and not on the test as it processes. I look a mess, my hair just a ball of wet blonde strands, my eyes blood shot and watery and skin pale. I also didn’t look when I got dressed because a dress shirt and a pair of grey sweats is not a good look, pair that with my flip flops and we have a whole shit show going on.
When I think three minutes have passed, I finally lay my eyes on the little screen and then I sink to my knees.
Two lines stare back at me.
Pregnant.
I don’t know how long I stay on that dirty floor, but a knock at the door startles me.
“Vanessa?” Diane calls through.
“I’m coming,” I sniffle. I shove the test back into the bag before I rewash my hands and walk out of the bathroom, finding her concerned face staring back at me.
“It’s positive.” I whisper. “I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Icame as fast as I could!” Imogen barely makes it through the front door when she kicks off her shoes, throws down her purse and rushes to me where I’m bundled under blankets, face a blotchy mess from all my tears, and hair looking like a bird made a nest in it. “Shit, Ness, you’re a mess.”
I don’t even have it in me to be offended. I feel like shit, so I know I look like it too.
I’ve vomited every morning for the past four days and only worked up the courage to phone my sister this morning.
She got the next ferry over after my tearful call, which in her words, made no sense.
She climbs onto the couch next to me, pulling the blanket over herself, purposely ignoring the ice cream stain to put her armaround me, “Is it a boy?” She asks like I’m a lovestruck teenager again with a crush.
“Not exactly,” I sniffle.
After the coffee shop and the positive test, I said goodbye to Diane and called in sick to work. I haven’t been to class. I haven’t left the house. All I’ve really done is order take out, shower and sleep. How do I process this?
What do I do?
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, a fresh wave of tears blurring my vision.
“I’m sorry, what?” Imogen stutters.
“I missed my period,” I tell her.
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you’re pregnant!” She gets up, “Stress can cause delays.”
“I did a test, Immy.” I look up at her, “Two. They were both positive.”
She opens her mouth before snapping it shut, “Okay perhaps they’re faulty?”
I shake my head. “I’m pregnant, Imogen. And I’m scared.”
“Who’s the father?”
