She’d known she’d felt conflicted about the pregnancy, butshe hadn’t realizedhowconflicted until the first emotion that crashed over her was grief, so powerful it took her breath away. As it ebbed, though, the relief she’d been expecting took its place—mostly because now she didn’t have to make a decision either way.
It was really over, then.
“How?” she asked, once she was able to. “I thought false positives were rare.”
“They are,” said the doctor. “Youwerepregnant. You likely had what’s called a chemical pregnancy, which is essentially a very early miscarriage. The embryo is only implanted for less than a week, but it takes a little longer for the hormones to get out of your system. They’re extremely common, especially in women your age. You probably wouldn’t have even realized you were pregnant if you hadn’t taken the test when you did. Your next period might be a little heavier and more painful than you’re used to, though.” She looked back at Merritt’s chart. “I usually offer to prescribe something for that, if you want it, but since your chart says you can’t have benzodiazepines or narcotics, the best I can do is extra-strength ibuprofen.”
Merritt politely declined, finishing her appointment and walking back to her car in a haze. Before she knew it, she was pulling into Olivia and Dev’s driveway.
Thankfully, Olivia was sitting alone in the kitchen when she walked in.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said, and immediately burst into tears.
She felt Olivia’s arms around her, pulling her as close as she could, stroking her back until Merritt’s sobs turned into slow, hiccuping gasps.
“How do you feel?” Olivia asked, once they separated.Merritt went to the fridge, pulling out a can of seltzer and pressing it to her heated cheek.
“Confused.” She popped the tab and took a sip, then headed toward the living room.
Olivia followed, settling in the armchair with the same deep sigh that escaped her every time she stood up or sat down now.
Merritt sat cross-legged on the sofa, looking down into her can. “Do you think I’d be a good mom?”
Olivia studied her. “Is that something you want?”
“Answering my question with a question, probably not a good sign,” Merritt said with a rueful laugh. “I didn’t think I did. Or, it wasn’t something I could see for myself. Like, literally, when I would try to picture it, it would be like, ‘Footage not found.’ But now…” She swallowed. “I can see it. I still don’t know if it’s right for me. But…I can see it.”
“And…is Niko part of these visions?” Olivia asked, her expression unreadable.
Merritt met Olivia’s eyes for a beat, then nodded slowly, her face heating again. “I’ll get over that, though.” The words rang hollowly through her, even though she knew, objectively, they were true. Or they would be, one day—although right now she couldn’t imagine how, or when.
She cleared her throat, standing up with a start. “Anyway. More importantly. Are you ready for your baby shower present? I was waiting for Mom to leave before I gave it to you.”
Olivia frowned. “I thought you got me that diaper subscription?”
“That was just for the party.” Merritt ducked into her room, bringing out her laptop. “I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone.”
She pulled up a video and struggled valiantly for a few minutes to get it to stream on the TV while Olivia gave her instructions. Finally, she got it working.
On the screen, a shaky shot of a recording studio came into focus, a group of men chatting and laughing and messing around on their instruments between takes, the image hazy from both age and the cigarette smoke in the air.
When one of the men laughed offscreen, loud and unmistakable, Merritt heard Olivia’s sharp intake of breath next to her.
“Is that—?”
She could already hear the tears in her sister’s voice. Merritt nodded, choking up, too.
“Where did you get this?” Olivia asked.
Merritt told her about going to the studio in LA, seeing the picture on the wall, tracking down the filmmaker who had been there, and asking if he still had the raw footage. Miraculously, he had it archived, and he had put together a highlight reel for Merritt for a very reasonable price.
They returned their attention to the screen, their father leaning into the frame with an exaggerated expression of annoyance.
“Listen, if you guys don’t stop messing around, we’ll never get out of here,” he said, faux-stern. “I need to get home to my girls.”
“Here he goes again,” said a voice from offscreen with a groan, but he was already digging his wallet out, showing the camera a picture of toddler Merritt and Olivia, their outfits matching but their demeanors opposite—the same picture currently tacked to their fridge.
“We can never show this to Jamie,” Olivia said between sobs, and Merritt burst out laughing, despite her tears.
