Itisnothing.
54
Magma
My hands shake a little as I unlock my front door.
My hands have never shaken. Not once in my entire life. Not even on the frontline.
Carla stands next to me on the porch with a worried expression on her face. She hasn’t said much since the pharmacy. I can hear how fast her heart is beating, a quick, light rhythm that hasn’t slowed since we got in the car. She’s clutching a paper bag in one hand, holding it against her tightly.
I get the door open on the second attempt and step aside to let her in.
“This is a really nice place,” she says, looking around my entryway, then through to the living room and the big windows beyond.
“Excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
There’s a jacket over the back of one chair and half a glass of water on the coffee table.
I lead her straight through the living room, down the hall, and into the master suite, then through to my bathroom. There’sa rumpled towel thrown over the side of the bath, and my razor sits next to the basin, which has a smattering of my hair after shaving yesterday. I reach past her, sweep the towel off the tub and throw it into the half-full laundry basket.
“It’s fine,” she tells me. Then she gives me a pointed look.
“What?” I ask.
“This is the part where you give me a minute of privacy to pee on the stick.” She takes the pregnancy test out of the bag. It’s in a pink-and-white box that looks far too cheerful considering the amount of power it holds over both our lives.
“Surely I can watch you pee. It isn’t a big deal.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “So you’re both a stalker, and you have a pee fetish.” She smiles.
“Holy shit.” I bark out a laugh, and some of the pressure in my chest goes with it. “I am neither of those things. Fine, I’m leaving, but don’t look without me.”
“I would never.”
“And you’ll read all of the instructions?”
“Yes, I will. You can calm down already. I highly doubt it will be positive. Robyn told me there’s less than a one percent chance. I’m not pregnant. I can’t be. This is just precautionary.” She holds up the box like it’s evidence in a court case.
“Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“I’ll pee on the thing, put it back in its wrapper, and call you in. How’s that?”
I nod, then I make myself walk out and close the door and immediately start pacing the length of my bedroom.
Holy crap.
This is huge. It’s huge.
What if she’s pregnant?
I groan. Then I walk from the window to the door and back again. Water runs in the bathroom. The tap shuts off. Paper rustles. I stop pacing.
What if she is?
A baby. Our baby.
Something enormous moves through me, and it isn’t fear. That’s the part I can’t get my head around. It should be fear. We got together properly less than twenty-four hours ago. We haven’t been on a single date. I don’t know how she takes her coffee. And yet the thing filling my chest to the point of pain feels a lot more like hope than anything else.
