I am jobless and in a small town that doesn’t exactly have a lot of opportunity for someone with my qualifications.
I just started hooking up with my high school sweetheart who ruined me for every other guy and…
I should throw a baby in there?
No. That would be crazy. Right? Maybe if my shit were more together … but at this point Owen would have to financially support me and the baby and I never wanted that kind of life.
A kept woman.
I pull open my period predictor app for the fiftieth time and check the day in my cycle again.
Ovulating.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I feel like I can’t breathe. I need to go for a drive. The sunlight is just peeking through the curtains in my room and I know I have to get out of here before Owen wakes up. I can’t face him right now.
Stepping into my bathroom, I brush my teeth and pull my purse over my shoulder. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the Plan B and flip over the package.
When using this product you may have…
Nausea
Vomiting
Dizziness
Lower stomach pain
My eyes blur at the rest of the words. I poke my thumb through the package and pull out the tiny white pill, holding it between my fingers.
So small, yet this has the power to ensure I will not have a baby with Owen right now.
Or ever.
I have this inner knowing that if I take this pill, Owen and I won’t make it through.
I toss the cardboard into my trashcan and stuff the pill into the tiny zipper portion of my purse. Then I slip out of my bathroom, tiptoe through my room, and out of my house.
By the time I get to the open road, window down with crisp air whipping through my hair, I already feel better.
I shoot Owen a text in case he wakes and worries.
Couldn’t sleep, went for a drive. See you tonight for dinner? Your place?
I’m desperate to keep what he and I have going. It’s like I finally realized what it’s like to be happy. Happy New York City Autumn isn’t the same at Happy Sedona with Owen Autumn. He … makes me feel the most myself.
I don’t even know where I’m going until I pull into the church parking lot. The grounds of the church my mom goes to are so beautiful. They cut right into the red rock, and last Sunday I even saw an outdoor labyrinth.
Stepping out of my mom’s car, I lock the door and pull my hood up around my hair. The morning air is chilly but it feels good against my warm skin. I debate texting Livvie to see if she’s awake, but I’m not sure I want to bother her with this. This is heavy, and I don’t want to be the new friend who always brings the heavy conversation.
Instead I pop around to the back of the church and spot the small spiral of stones. The labyrinth. It’s just what I need, a meditative walk to clear my head. I heard once that if you bring a problem to the labyrinth, by the time you reach the middle you will have your answer or something helpful to guide you.
I start off at a slow pace, the entire time chanting one thing.
Should I take the pill?
Should I take the pill?
