It’s a week later that Hayley is practically vibrating when she and Payton and I meet for brunch. She’s got the perfect baby name. My sisters are chatting and excited and I am very much on the outside. They are both pregnant and in love.
They listen about my new teaching venture with Madam Polina, and I know they mean to be encouraging, but they can’t understand why I have to continue dancing. Why it’s in my soul.
They compare due dates and morning sickness, and I mention my dill obsession, we all laugh and I tell them about my sympathy cravings. It’s funny, because usually before my period I really want chocolate and I haven’t been able to stomach it since arriving back in London…
Wait. When was my last period?
With everything that’s happened. I’ve been so distracted I haven’t even thought about my period.
My sisters and the café fade and blur as I try to remember. I’ve been back in London for a month.
I’ve spent about a month with Payton, and before that, it was just over two weeks with Hayley. I didn’t have my period then, and with all the changes I didn’t notice.
I cast my mind back to when I was part of the ballet.
I had cramps when we were in Turkey, and I think that was two weeks before Moscow. Before the night with Kon.
My brain is slow to do the maths. I’m a dancer, not an accountant. But however I add it up, my period is late. At least a week.
He pulled out.
My cheeks heat as I remember the feel of Kon inside me. His hard cock stretching me out, the way I orgasmed so long with his solid thickness for my pussy to hold onto. He felt amazing.
Then he pulled away and I was achingly empty.
And he sprayed those ribbons of white over my belly. His cock in his hand, his face contorted with ferocious pleasure.
There was so much. It covered me, warm and sticky.
He cameonme, notinme. I’m certain about that.
I can’t be pregnant from sperm that was deposited on my belly, not in it.
Right? That’s impossible. And yet.
It only needs one.
Do sperm escape early? I’m not sure, but if pulling out was a reliable contraception method, we wouldn’t need condoms.
So it’s possible. Not likely, but possible.
My mind flicks back to our conversation about cravings, and suddenly that doesn’t seem funny now at all.
What if…?
Images reel through my mind. A child with Kon’s ice-blue eyes.
I can barely hold the idea without it slipping away, like it’s as frightened as I am.
Scared that it might not be true. Because now I’ve had this thought, I want to be pregnant with Kon’s child more than anything.
I’m quiet all evening, and Kon doesn’t mention it, but he notices. Those frozen-blue eyes of his regard me, and his brow has fine lines as I pretend everything is normal as we eat in his kitchen. I barely touch the beef soup he provides.
The pregnancy test I bought earlier sits in my bathroom downstairs like an unexploded bomb. I thank him and say I’m tired, then back in my apartment I stare at the test and don’t take it for about two hours.
I’m so mixed up.
When I finally reallyreallyneed to pee, I have no excuse.
