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Damn. “Okay, well, I guess I was a little buzzed and kind of seduced him in the club…” I start and then it all comes spilling out of me. I explain leaving the club, and the condom breaking. I admit I freaked out but don’t go into too many details about what I was thinking. Grace gasps a few times, especially when I tell her Brett proposed to me.
“Are you engaged?!”
“No? Maybe? I don’t know!” I throw my hands up. “I told him to surprise me so I guess that means not yet.”
Grace starts laughing. “You should add that relationship status to Facebook.”
“Yeah,” I groan. “I’ll really confuse the fuck out of everybody if I change my status to soon-to-be engaged and maybe expecting.”
“Yeah, I bet your mom would freak the fuck out.”
I laugh, “Yeah, she would.” It’s tempting, so tempting, but I’ve learned not to poke the bear. I keep all my public stuff impersonal and low key. I’ve learned that when I don’t, my mother takes it as an excuse to try to step back into my life and get involved. She still lives in New York, more than three thousand miles away, and I like to keep her there. As long as I don’t put out anything that grabs her attention, I’m pretty sure she forgets I exist.
“My dad though is taking it better than expected.”
“Your dad knows?”
“Yeah, it couldn’t be avoided. I needed some stuff from home and Brett insisted on coming with me. While I was upstairs getting my stuff together, I’m pretty sure he and my dad had words.”
“Oh? Did they fight?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just know it was really awkward when we got there, and when I was ready to go they didn’t seem so… hostile towards each other.”
“I’m sure it will all work out.”
I can’t help but giggle at that. “Look at you, Miss Positive. What’s got you all happy and optimistic lately? Huh?”
Grace tells me flat out, “I got laid.”
Now it’s my turn to say, “Oh my god.”
Grace laughs and I ask her after my shock wears off, “Was it that huge guy? Brett’s friend?”
“Yeah, his name is Max.”
“And?” I prod.
“And?”
“It’s your turn, give it up. I want all the dirty details.”
* * *
Three weeks. I’ve successfully distracted myself for three weeks with lots of hot, unprotected sex, and moving my stuff into Brett’s house. But now I’m going nuts because I still haven’t gotten my period and I think I should have gotten it by now. I really hate myself for not keeping better track of my cycle, it was so much easier when I was on the pill.
“Come on, come on!” I urge the little stick I just peed on. “Hurry up.”
The box said to give it five minutes before checking the result but I’m watching the lines darken inside the little window like a hawk.
If the test reads negative, I just might break something. I’m tired of being stuck in the may or may not be pregnant limbo. I need to freakin’ know.
The floorboards stop creaking, Brett must have stopped pacing. “Are you okay?” he asks from the other side of the door.
Two lines appear, though the second line isn’t quite as dark as the first. Shit, what does that mean? I quickly check the box.
“Oh, shit!” I cry out.
The bathroom door suddenly flies open, the door knob gets stuck in the plaster.
