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My shower is lukewarm thanks to a certain someone rudely using all the hot water, so I have to shampoo my hair quickly. The bathroom has a claw foot tub and porcelain pedestal sink. People in Houston would pay a lot of money for original pieces like this in their luxury lofts.
I can tell by the sound of the bed squeaking, then Miranda groaning in pain over and over that she’s having a difficult time finding a comfortable sleeping position. It will be a miracle if I don’t roll over in my sleep and bop her in the face with my arm. Maybe I should sleep on the floor.
After my shower, I find her lying on her back under the sheets, her arms wrapped around two pillows that are squished to the sides of her face. I grab an extra pillow out of the closet and lay down next to her. My feet sink into the cool, crisp sheets and loosen them from the corners of the bed. Nothing feels better than crawling into a professionally made bed after one of the worst days of your life. I can only imagine that Miranda feels the same.
“You comfortable?” I ask. She mumbles something that I can’t hear from over her fluffy face guards. Never, in a million billion years would I imagine that I’d be going to sleep next to my niece in a town called Salt Gap.
Exhaustion tugs at my eyelids, but suddenly I feel like talking. “I’m tired, but I feel like I can’t sleep tonight.”
Miranda pushes down a pillow and looks over at me. “I don’t want to sleep either. I’ve done enough of that in my life.”
I eye her, using the small bit of light in the room to focus on her dark, now clean of makeup eyes. “You say the weirdest things,” I tell her.
She breathes in through her mouth and lets out a long sigh. “Today was one asshole of a day.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“Did you expect this to happen when you packed up all your stuff and decided to move far away?”
That’s a good question. I think back to two days ago when I got the brilliant plan to move. I remember being pissed off that Jason seemed to have zero interest in me after our night of drunken love making, and I remember the sickening nagging feeling of my promise to Grandpa. But did I ever actually sit down, make a pros and cons list and rationally decide to pack up and leave? Yeah, that’s a big negative.
“No, I didn’t expect this to happen.”
“I’m sorry if I’m a worthless pain in your ass that does nothing but drain you emotionally and financially,” she says. And for once her voice doesn’t have that sarcastic undertone it always has that makes her giggle after she says something completely bogus.
“You aren’t that at all,” I say. “Why would you even think that? I like having you around.”
“Heh,” she says sarcastically like she’s trying to find another way to snort without using her nose. “You don’t even know me, remember?”
“I’m sorry I said that.” Silently to myself, I add the words: I am such an asshole. “I do know you, a little. You threw up on me when you were a baby. It was disgusting and smelled gross and it got in my ears.”
“Wow,” Miranda says, abandoning her frozen gaze at the ceiling and turning her head toward me. “How did it get in your ears?”
“You were sleeping on my chest on the couch. I was seven.”
I hear her swallow in the silence that follows. “Now you have me thinking about babies.” It’s scary the way she says babies, like it’s something to be feared and run away from. It’s probably the saddest way I’ve ever heard the word spoken. Although babies cross my mind every so often for some reason or other, I know the subject has been stuck in Miranda’s head every moment of today.
“Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
“Three of the most expensive tests at the pharmacy say I am. I had to bum money off the cashier to buy the last one. He told me three out of three was enough confirmation anyone needed.”
“What a jerk,” I say, just for the sake of saying something.
“No, he was alright. My friend Jess went with me to buy the first one, and as he was giving me my change back he goes, ‘Good luck!’ and I was so embarrassed I turned to leave but Jess goes, really loud so everyone could hear, ‘I’m going to be a daddy!’”
She does the heh snort again. “I guess that part was funny.”
“Sounds like a good friend.”
“She is. We’ve been friends since fourth grade. I know she won’t tell anyone in school, but it’s not like I care about them anymore.”
The bonds of our friendship are raw and new, but I’m dying to know the answer. “How did this happen?”
Her face turns slightly toward me but I can only see the pillows surrounding her head. “Uh, I had sex. Duh.”
My cheeks burn again. “I know that,” I say sarcastically. “But how did the pregnancy happen? You should know better.”
“I do know better. We used a condom and everything. Trust me, I thought we did it right.”
