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I’ll take the pregnancy test at the store, I decide. If the pregnancy test comes back positive, I can buy the prenatal vitamins while I’m still here. I have time to decide what I want to do.
I grab a box with a generic test and slip into the bathroom. Reading over the instructions, it's simple enough. Pee on the stick for three seconds, and leave it on a flat surface for three minutes afterward. One line means negative, two lines mean positive.
Easy. Straightforward.
I barely finish wiping myself after peeing when I glance at the test I set on the toilet paper dispenser. A minute hasn’t even passed. Two lines, clear as day.
All the air in my lungs leaves at once, and a shocked sob comes from my lips. My hand goes back onto my belly. It’s like I’m searching for them, searching for a connection. Pregnant. I rush to read over the instructions of the test again, looking to see if I did anything wrong. If there’s any chance the test is wrong.
Two pink lines mean positive.
When I stumble out of the bathroom, a store employee is waiting for me. Her arms are folded over her chest, a serious expression on her face as she looks at the box in my hands.
“The cops are on their way,” she says gruffly.
“What?”
She points at the sign on the wall. No Merchandise in the Bathroom.
“I’m going to pay for this,” I tell her. She lets out a dissatisfied grunt.
“Listen, kid, I don’t put up with shoplifting. And I can’t have you running to tell all your little friends it is so easy to get past the old lady at the pharmacy. I have a business to run here so you can give your little sob story to the cops.”
“I wasn’t shoplifting!”
The cop comes into the pharmacy. It’s an older man with a beer gut hanging over the belt of his pants. For a second, I contemplate bolting. He doesn’t look like he’s in the best shape; I doubt he can catch me if I run. The old lady who called the cops is still standing here, and I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of calling me a criminal.
“Hello, what's the problem here?”
“She’s a shoplifter.”
“I was going to pay for this.”
The old lady and I speak at the same time, and the cop’s eyes move between the two of us. He lets out a dejected sigh.
“What’s in your hand?” he asks me.
My eyes drop to the positive test lying in my hand. “A pregnancy test.”
“And you took it in the bathroom before you paid for it?”
“Well, yes. But…”
“Listen, we’re going to go down to the station. I can get your statement here, ma’am, so you don’t have to close the pharmacy. And then I’ll get your statement at the station. Does that sound like a plan?”
The way he says it makes it sound like I don’t have a say in the situation. Admittedly, there isn’t much I have picked up from having a lawyer as a father through the years. There was one phrase he made sure I always knew how to use.
“I’m not talking to anyone without my lawyer present.”
The cop scowls at me. “Fine. We can get in contact with your lawyer at the precinct. Get in the back of the car.”
I give him a tight-lipped nod and comply with his instructions, making my way into the cop car. The thought of having to tell my dad what happened is nerve-wracking. He’s the only person I have to call right now. I never got Enzo’s number, so I’m probably going to ask my dad to get me in contact with them.
When did my life become so complicated?
“You know, kid,” the cop says as he slides into the driver’s seat in the car’s front. “There’s a pregnancy center just a few blocks up. Probably should have gone there. They would have done your pregnancy test for free and then we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
I don’t answer him. There’s an excellent reason I avoided going to the pregnancy center. An entire group of girls from school, including several of the teachers, volunteer at those centers. They’re the centers that try to convince women not to get abortions. It’s a worthy cause, according to the Catholic church.
