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He bent down and kissed me again, stroking my thighs as he worked my skirt up around my hips. He moved so quickly, so forcefully that I was out of breath when he picked me up and tried to carry me to the bedroom. We made it there ... eventually.
We laid beneath the sheets, shoulder to shoulder, our mouths wide open, our bodies breathless. Our love-making had lasted more than two hours and by the time we’d finally ended up in the bed, it was after midnight and the moon was peeking into our bedroom like never before. Probably at us. Because we’d never had sex like that before. And I’d had sex enough with Evan to know the range. This time was different. I felt like Evan was putting his whole self into me. He’d stop and start again, coming at me harder and harder and each time his fiery passion echoed throughout my body, vibrating so deeply, the energy exhausted me.
“You okay?” He sounded like I had earlier.
“Yeah,” I said, still trying to catch my breath. “That was a lot.” I turned to him, grinning and kissing his shoulder.
“It was. I don’t know what happened.”
“Don’t apologize,” I purred. “You’ve never been like that before.”
“I think it was the idea of making a baby ... it really got me excited.” He smiled and kissed me on the nose.
“That’s had you excited every night this week,” I teased.
“Did you really stop taking the pill?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Chapter Eight
I was convinced I was pregnant. My period wasn’t late, I wasn’t vomiting and in contrast to the other symptoms listed on the long list of Web sites I’d visited, I wasn’t experiencing breast tenderness, cramping, or weight gain. But I just knew. It was like I felt a light spinning in my belly, and with each hour that drifted past, I was sure that the fizzing tickling me after lunch or the extra trip to the bathroom was my new baby letting me know our time together had begun.
All this and it hadn’t even been a week since my birthday. I knew it was a long shot, but I’d stopped taking the pill and Evan and I had been having sex every night. While months before we would meet between the sheets and he’d complain that he was too tired, now he was holding his arms around my body tightly and making passionate love to me until we could do nothing else but go to sleep. He was smiling and tracing circles on my stomach most nights. And watching him glow, I grew more excited at the thought of being a mother. I was still nervous, but it was easier to look forward to something the world seemed to want for me.
I needed confirmation, of course. And while I was a grown woman with health benefits and a gynecologist I’d been seeing for fifteen years, I felt funny about requesting a pregnancy test. Dr. Maple, who I called Aunt Maple, was everyone’s gynecologist. Visiting her office was like going to a sorority social, where I was certain to share old magazines with friends from high school, college, church, and the grocery store. We all knew and loved her and had our baby pictures tacked to the walls of her office. Although I was seldom excited to step in to see her for my annual, I was never nervous. Evan and I did have sex before we got married—long before we got married, but we’d always practiced safe sex, so an unplanned pregnancy or STD was never written on the list of concerns when I checked in at the nurses’ station. If I got pregnant now, it would be celebrated, but I didn’t want it to be front-page news. I wanted to avoid whispers in the office or the knowing smile on Aunt Maple’s face as she announced the news to me. And I certainly didn’t want her to share the information with my mother, who was sure to then hit the ball right out of the park long before I was ready to run the bases.
All of this amounted to my being horrified about getting tested at Aunt Maple’s office.
Scanning the shelves at the drugstore on Saturday afternoon as Evan played golf with my dad, it became clear that this “knowing” wasn’t going to come easily. There were hundreds of pregnancy tests—some for early response, immediate response, and even easy response. I just wanted any response, so I bought all of them. I hid the little boxes deep in the bottom of my basket, concealing them with a set of cheap T-shirts, a picture frame, nail polish remover, and a copy of the Rolling Stone magazine with a sweaty Dame on the cover.
As I made my way to the front of the line, smiling at a few familiar faces and turning around to be sure none were too familiar or close, I thought of the other ways I could’ve gotten the test—Billie, mail order, sent Evan—and then, as I tipped my sunny-day glasses, I thought of how ridiculous it was that I’d felt a need to stash the tests in the first place. It was my first time buying pregnancy tests, but I was a married woman. An adult. Thirty-three years old. Not some teenager sneaking around to hide a bump beneath her sweatshirt. When I got to the front, I just dumped the things on the counter, tired of playing into my own episode of Desperate Church Wives and starring as the neurotic daughter in The Preacher’s Kid.
The cashier, a pretty Asian girl with glossy lips and too much eyeliner, looked down at what had to be seven or so tests and then looked back up at me.
“Everybody does the same thing,” she said.
“Really?” I asked, taking off my shades.
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she scanned the boxes and began dropping them into a bag, I felt more confident and looked down into my purse for my wallet. An eerie chill swept through my body and I thought maybe I’d left my wallet in the car, but I dug a bit deeper and fished it out from beneath my cell phone and the feeling quickly dissipated. Yet, as I handed the girl my check card, it returned.
“Journey?” my mother said, poking her head right over my shoulder.
“Mama.” I looked at the cashier and she rolled the bag up quickly like she’d been in this situation before.
“I knew that was you right when I turned the corner,” my mother said as I turned to face her.
“Yeah, I just stopped in—” I slid my wallet back into my purse and picked up my bags.
“What you got?”
“Nothing, really. Just some ...”
She tugged at one of the bags and I snatched it back abruptly.
“Journey?” She looked up at me in disbelief. “Did you just snatch the bag?”
