But the anxious wave of ‘it could be’ lingers as I wash my mouth out and brace to return to my parents.
I find them both still eating as if nothing happened.
“Janey,” my dad says, standing.
“I—” I shake my head quickly. “I’m okay. Probably a bug. I’m not feeling so great.”
My mother studies me again, her expression sharpening with interest rather than mild concern.
“You look tired.”
“I’m not. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
But I’m not fine. I’m panicking. “I should get going,” I say, already reaching for my bag.
“You just got here.” Mom balls up her napkin and tosses it onto the table, no longer bothered about the wrinkles.
I force another small smile, though it feels brittle at the edges. “I’ll call you later.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push, and somehow that makes it worse.
“Drive safely,” my dad says.
“I will.”
I leave before either of them can say anything else, my thoughts already racing ahead of me. By the time I reach my car, my hands are shaking.
This is ridiculous.
It’s nothing.
A little bug. Stress. A change in routine. Too much work. Too little rest.
That’s all.
Except it doesn’t feel like nothing.
I start the engine and pull out of the driveway, but I don’t head home.
The drugstore is only ten minutes away. The entire drive, I tell myself I’m overreacting. I tell myself it’s unnecessary, and that I’m letting one small thought get completely out of hand.
But I don’t turn the car around.
I park, step inside, and walk straight to the aisle before I can think too hard about what I’m doing. The box feels small in my hand. Too small for what it represents. Negative, and life goes on. Positive, and everything changes.
I pay quickly, barely registering the cashier, then walk back out into the afternoon light as if nothing has changed.
Except everything might have.
For a long moment, I sit in my car with the bag in my lap, staring down at it.
I’m taking the test to be sure. To have confirmation, so that I know how to treat the nausea.
That’s all.
Just to confirm that everything is fine.
I start the engine again with a ball of anxiety winding tighter in my chest, and my thoughts louder than ever.
