16
“Oh God,” I groan, clutching the rim of the toilet as I retch again.
This is the third time this morning, and I can’t seem to shake it. I have been feeling off for days, and it has only gotten worse.
Reagan’s hand is firm on my back. “Girl, what did you eat?”
Jasmine dabs my forehead with a cool cloth. “You should see a doctor, it could be food poisoning.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, though the world spins.
“We came to surprise you for your birthday,” Reagan says. “And here you are, dying slowly.”
My birthday.
I’d forgotten all about it. I heave one more time, with nothing coming out, then slump back against the tile. Reagan presses a glass of water into my hand. I sip tentatively. My stomach protests but settles enough that I can stagger into the living room and collapse on the couch. Jasmine comes over and perches next to me, concern in her eyes.
“You look pale,” she says. “Seriously, doctor. At least then you know.”
Before I can object any further, they’re ushering me into Reagan’s car and taking me to the clinic. An hour later, I’m seated across from a kindly but stern physician whose gray hair is pinned in a neat bun. She checks my temperature, asks routine questions, then leans forward.
“When was your last period?”
I hesitate. “I...can’t remember exactly.”
“That’s okay. We’ll do a test.” She offers a small cup. “Urinate into this, please.”
“A test?” I ask, staring at her. “For what?”
She looks at me like maybe I’m not all there. “Ah, pregnancy?”
“Oh, no, I’m not pregnant.”
She shakes her head. “You said you have been sexually active.”
“Yes, but...”
“Are you on protection?”
“I mean, I take the pill but...”
I trail off and recall a few times where I forgot to take it for a couple of days, but I always took it again when I remembered. Surely that wasn’t enough to make it stop working, right?
“But? Have you missed any days?”
I press my lips together.
“If you don’t take it daily, it isn’t as effective. Let’s do a test to rule that out, and we can go from there.”
I take the cup, heart racing, head spinning. Surely that’s not it. I must have just picked up a bug. There is no way I’m pregnant. No way. I take the urine back to her, and she dips a strip in and studies it after a couple of minutes. A careful smile blooms. “Congratulations—you’re pregnant.”
My face goes numb. “Pardon?”
“A positive result,” she repeats softly as I stare.
“Are you...sure?”
“I will order some bloodwork and an ultrasound, but yes, I’m sure.”
