“Alright,” Whitley says, clapping her hands. “Do you want to do the test here, or wait until you get home?”
“Here, I think. I need to know now, especially if Leo will be over later. So I can plan how I tell him.”
“How late are you?” Whitley asks.
“I don’t even know,” I moan.
“Are you late often?”
“My cycles are pretty irregular. It never occurred to me to track anything because I wasn’t having sex.” I rip open the box, removing the stick. “God, I haven’t taken one of these in years. Should I read the directions?”
“For fuck’s sake. No, El. They haven’t changed the test. Pee on the stick, wait a few minutes, then hyperventilate. Pretty standard.”
I turn the box over to look. “Oh, good, a digital test,” I say, relieved. “I don’t like looking for lines. I want a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response.”
“Agreed. I tend to think I see a line when there isn’t one, so I prefer the digital tests too. Now get in the bathroom, ma’am. You know we’ll get that afternoon rush right before we close.”
I head into the employee bathroom at the back of the store. In the quiet space, I feel like crying again. I can’t believe I’m in this situation. I’d have never thought this kind of history would repeat itself, and certainly never with Leo as a participant. I was almost positive that night wasn’t near the middle of my cycle.
After peeing on the test, I stick it back into the wrapper, wash my hands, then make my way back out to the register. When I see Whitley speaking with someone, I carefully place the test in my pocket, then jolt when I see the customer Whitley is helping is Gianna. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Hey! I came to see if you wanted to do dinner tonight.”
“Oh. I can’t tonight. Are you available tomorrow or Saturday?” I ask, choosing not to tell her that Leo is coming over tonight. I’m not ready to tell anyone about — well, I’m not ready to tell anyone about anything.
Her face falls. “Oh, bummer. I can’t tomorrow, but I can on Saturday. Better yet, want to meet at the park with the kids? It’s supposed to be really nice. We can bring a picnic.”
“That sounds wonderful. Noon okay?”
“Perfect. See you then! Bye, Whit,” Gianna says with a wave, then walks out.
“Did you ever notice she and Leo have the same walk?” Whitley blurts out, and I burst out laughing. “What? They really do!”
“I’d never thought about it, but you’re right,” I tell her, rubbing my eyes.
“I wonder if your kid will walk like that,” she muses, then slaps a hand over her mouth. “Jesus. I should think before I speak. If you’re pregnant, do you plan on keeping it? I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s honestly none of my business. I won’t judge you whatever you decide. I’m here for whatever you need.”
“I don’t know yet,” I confess. “I don’t even know if I can carry a pregnancy. There was no real reason why I miscarried before, but I didn’t look into it further. I don’t think I could have an abortion, though.”
“Miscarriages can happen for all kinds of reasons, El,” Whitley says quietly, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I hate that you’ve struggled with what happened to you, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll happen again.”
“But what if it does?” I whisper tearfully. “What if I tell Leo, and he gets all excited, and then I miscarry? He might never forgive me. I’ll have to move, because I won’t be able to live here and get hateful looks from his entire family. I’ll lose Gianna again, and have to pull Oliver and Violet from the only home they’ve ever known …”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Whitley says, squeezing my shoulder. “Don’t spiral. We’re not there yet.”
Oh, I’m spiraling. “I’ll have two under two! Do you know how expensive diapers are? And what if I can’t breastfeed, so I’ll needthe expensive formula Violet drinks? God, what if she never takes to solids, and she’s still drinking that formula then? Oliver will probably regress, and then I’ll have three drinking formula and pooping in diapers and I’ll never be able to see adult humans again because I’ll just be covered in puke and poop and pee and —”
Whitley slaps a hand over my mouth, effectively stopping my psychotic outburst. “I highly doubt Oliver regresses all the way back to drinking formula. Yes, diapers are expensive, but we can research cloth diapering. It’s gross, but cost-effective. If you can’t breastfeed, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. All formula isn’t as expensive the crap Violet needs to have, and at some point, she’ll wean off of that too. You’re taking every molehill and making it into a mountain, El. You might not even be pregnant. And furthermore, you know Leo is going to be one hell of a hands-on dad.”
My face screws up as emotion overtakes me, and I wail, “Yeah, but I’m going to be an awful mom!”
“Fucking hell, maybe you are pregnant,” Whitley mutters. “While I know you don’t consider yourself a mother because you didn’t birth Oliver and Violet, you are, in fact, the only mother figure they have. That makes you a mother. And you’re doing a great job with them. I know at times you think it’s going horribly, but I have to assume all moms feel that way. Pull the test out, El. Let’s cross this bridge now, and we’ll figure out all the other steps in the future.”
Sniffing hard, I wipe the tears from my face as I nod. Guess I have to rip off the Band-Aid. Here goes nothing.
Yanking the wrapped test out of my pocket, I slowly turn it over.
We’re quiet as we stare at the digital display.
“Now what?” I ask numbly.
