Page 106 of Put a Rink on It

“Be right back.”

I leave the phone on my bed face up, grab the test from my bag, and take it into the bathroom across the hall, shutting the door behind me. More tears fall, the bottled-up emotions making themselves known.

It takes several tries to get the box open, and even more to rip the plastic. I read the directions, so there’s no way human error can play a part, even if it’s a pretty simple task.

Once I’m done, I set the test on the vanity before washing my hands. My fingers still shaking, I carry the test to my bedroom, thankful my parents are downstairs in bed.

Nero’s where I left him, still sitting in the bed, not having moved from my side, a small miracle. “The box says three minutes.”

“Okay,” he repeats, the word grating on my nerves.

I’m not sure how I want him to react, but this non-reaction is stressing me out. More than the test results.

“Either way, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this. I’m not trying to trap you. I told you I was covered, and while it wasn’t a lie, perhaps it wasn’t enough of the truth. Maybe we should have used more protection. I know this isn’t what you want or need right now. It’s definitely not what I expected. Hell, if it hadn’t been for so many emotions lately, I don’t think I would have even considered I could be pregnant. But yesterday, with everything going on, the excitement with the wedding dress, it felt like I should be getting my period, which I don’t get, but it felt like that time of the month. And it got me thinking about the last time I felt like I was PMSing, and I couldn’t pinpoint it, so of course the logical next step would be it’s because I must be pregnant. Which is kinda dumb because I’m on birth control. But did you know you can get pregnant even on birth control? Even if it’s not tampered with or affected by medication, both of which aren’t the case for me, so you⁠—”

The timer I set on my phone ends, startling me so much, I stop talking mid-sentence and jump.

“Take a breath, Ships.”

At the use of my nickname, I glance down at the phone, which is a stupid move. Nero stares at me, his eyes blank, a small smile on his lips. I can’t let it be my undoing, but more silent tears fall.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

“You’re not to blame.” Finally. The conviction in his voice brings an ounce of comfort. “We both went into this trusting the risks.” When I don’t move, he states simply, “Check the test.”

I swipe at my cheeks. “Let me do that.” I can’t take him with me when I look, and I walk slowly to where I left it on the corner of the desk. I flip on the light to see the results.

The absence of two pink lines extracts a whoosh of breath. My body lets go of the emotions, more tears leaking from my eyes from relief.

I rush back to the bed. “Negative. It’s negative,” I repeat, so he can’t misunderstand me.

“Okay. Good.”

“Yep. Dodged that bullet.”

As the words slide out of my mouth, they’re a lie. As much as I understand he doesn’t want kids, and I would never put him in that situation willingly, a part of me is heartbroken. Not that I had even let myself consider the fact I was truly pregnant. Hello, drinks. But now that it’s been confirmed and I can process it, I kinda wanted it to be positive.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

Nero’s comments bring me back to the present. I wipe my cheeks again, ridding them of all the tears.

“Okay, you too. I’ll text you tomorrow, but good luck at your game. Lennon will be cheering you on from here.”

“Sounds good, Ships. Sleep well. Night.”

The call disconnects before I can get a response in, so to the quiet bedroom, I whisper, “Night, Nero,” before collapsing onto the bed, another crying fit ensuing.

“You’re up early,” Ma states the next morning when she ambles into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t sleep. Something about an empty bed,” I joke half-heartedly. I sip the coffee I made, nearly cold by now.

She sits at the table, a mug of coffee in one hand, a plate of cookies in the other.

I promised myself I was done with the tears yesterday. Today’s a different day, and I’m not going to cry. I can’t even blame the heightened emotions on pregnancy.

Ma laces her fingers with mine, squeezing gently. “Talk to me, Marina.”

I want to tell her everything that’s on my mind, but don’t know where to start. “I⁠—”