#McBrideAndBride
Jesus. So surreal.
I check my mentions. They’ve quadrupled. Random strangers weighing in on whether I’m good for him. My appearance. My weight. The size of my boobs.
Whether I’m a bad-luck distraction. Whether I’m “the one.”
The one.As if this is a fairy tale.
My stomach flutters again, and I press my hand to it again.
I exit Instagram, thumb hovering over my weather app like that’s going to bring any sense of control back into my life.
Instead, my screen flashes with a little red dot—a reminder from my period tracker.Log your cycle.Right. Almost forgot my uterus likes to stay on schedule.
I sigh and tap it open, more muscle memory than intention, waiting as the app spins and loads.
A buzz. The screen goes blue.
You’re six days late. Please update period.
I blink at the screen.
Nope. That can’t be right, can it? I scroll. Double-check the dates.
Last logged period: four and a half weeks ago. Mood notes:bloated, tired, craving salt. Ha ha, sounds about right. Most months I’m moody, crabby, and bloated, but the new hubby doesn’t need to know that.
Six days.
That means nothing, right?
My heart kicks hard behind my ribs. My mouth goes dry.I can stilltaste his mouth on mine from last night. He’s been wearing condoms, because we still have not gotten tested, but there were those times before when he didn’t.
Plenty of times before.
“You’re being dramatic,” I tell the app.
Still. Maybe I should ... you know ... go grab a test?
There’s a pharmacy around the corner. Two blocks. I’ve seen it on the way back from coffee runs, tucked between a dry cleaner and a smoothie place that smells like grass.
I keep my head down as I walk. Sunglasses on even though it’s not that sunny. Every person I pass, I wonder if they recognize me.Her.Maverick McBride’s mystery wife.
The one he’s keeping hidden.
The one not seen out in public.
My stomach churns.
The automatic doors hiss open, and I head straight for the back corner like I’ve done this a million times, even though my hands are shaking. I bypass the vitamins, the skincare aisle, the snacks.
Straight tothataisle.
And there they are. An entire wall of choices.
One for early results. One with “rapid response.” One with words instead of lines. There’s even one that connects to an app, which feels ... extra.
I grab a box of three. Apparently I don’t trust scienceormyself.
