“I know what you’re thinking.”
“No, you don’t.”
I look at her.
“Because I’m not thinking anything,” she says. “I’m listening.”
And just like that, my throat closes up again.
Because she’s been here since we were kids, through every crisis, every stupid decision, every 3 a.m. phone call. And I’m never quite sure I’ve earned this grace, this space. This terrifying relief.
I press my forehead to the cool glass of the window.
Callie’s quiet, but not in a way that leaves me hanging. She’s giving me space to settle under the weight of what I said.
We’re both trained to sit in silence. We know how long it can take for someone to say the thing they’ve been afraid of. She won’t rush me now.
I finally say, “We always used condoms when I was with Wyatt. It wasn’t optional—” I break off. Try again. “But that night, with Chris, with them both. I thought— It was one night, and I thought just once?—”
She doesn’t flinch or offer platitudes, only gives a slow nod, barely perceptible.
“I have an IUD,” I add, almost shrill. “I was safe. I am safe.”
“I know.”
“It shouldn’t be possible.”
“It usually isn’t,” she says. “But it can be. Rarely. Depending on the placement.”
I nod, jaw tight.
A few more blocks and she takes a left. The street’s familiar now. My house is coming up, the low-slung box of windows with the giant jacaranda in front.
Callie finally speaks again, voice low. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
“Yes.”
I don’t hesitate. I have no dignity left to protect. I just need someone to witness this with me, so I don’t have to hold the knowing alone.
We pull into my driveway. She parks, kills the engine.
Inside, it’s too bright. The house smells like citrus and new paint and air freshener.
Callie toes off her sandals by the door and follows me down the hall to the bathroom.
I already bought the tests.
Three boxes. Three different brands. Just in case one was faulty. Just in case.
I pull them out of the cabinet. Set them on the sink. My hands shake, but I get through it.
Callie doesn’t hover. She steps back into the hall and pulls the door almost closed, but not all the way.
“I’ll be right here,” she says.
I don’t answer.
I just shut the door.
