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Taking it automatically, I open the plastic bag to find a three-pack of home pregnancy tests and a specimen cup. I blink, looking up at him with confusion. “What is this about?”
“It is about you not leaving until I know if you’re carrying my child,” says Jayson, his expression unreadable.
Closing the bag, I try to push it back into his hands, but he won’t take it. “This is crazy. I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.” I stare pointedly at the bedside table before looking back at him. “You always used protection.”
“Always?” he asks smoothly. “I think you’re forgetting the first night we spent together. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll know we were so... passionate that we haven’t always acted responsibly.”
I shake my head. “I’d know if I were pregnant.”
He shrugs. “You haven’t had your uh…‘monthly visitor’ in weeks.”
My face burns. “How would you know? Are you keeping track?”
Jayson snorts. “Not at all, but since we became lovers, I would notice.”
I drop my gaze, not wanting to admit that I haven’t been keeping track. My mind races as I try to remember when I last had a cycle. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach when I realize I was in New York the last time. We’ve been here for weeks, and I’m usually regular.
I swallow audibly. “Fine, just to humor you, I’ll take one.” I look him in the eye now. “Just so we’re clear, when the test is negative, you aren’t stopping me from leaving.”
His mouth curls at one corner. “I wouldn’t dream of making you stay against your will, agape mou.” Turning toward the bathroom, I freeze when he adds, “Unless my child is inside you.”
I storm to the bathroom, uttering a sound of protest when he pushes open the door. “I can handle this alone.”
“Of course you can, but I don’t trust you to tell me the truth.” He takes the bag from me to withdraw the specimen cup. “You take care of this part, and I’ll supervise the testing process.”
“You’re such an insufferable bastard.” I snatch the cup from his hand. His chuckle follows me into the bathroom. Under my breath, I curse him as I set about the task at hand. It’s not easy when you’re being monitored, but I finally manage to produce a sample.
With a sinking heart, I set the cup on the counter. “You can come in now,” I say with reluctance, wanting to put off the test. Of course, I want to deny that I could be pregnant, but the more I think about it the more things make sense — like the bouts of nausea and fatigue. I’d attributed them to something else — anything else — but now I can’t help reevaluating the past few weeks, mentally searching for clues.
Jayson comes in, holding a test in his hand. He hands me the foil package and I rip it open, despite my shaking hands. With a deep breath, I dip the test stick into the cup. Even before I can put the cap back on and lay it flat, a faint test line starts to
appear. As I watch, the line gets clearer and darker than the control line.
Jayson’s breath stirs my hair as he exhales from behind me. “You are pregnant.”
You don’t have to sound so pleased about it, I think. “It could be a false positive. The instructions say it would take up to ten minutes to be accurate. The line appeared immediately, so it must be a faulty test.”
“That is unlikely, but test again.” He grabs another test. “This is a digital test.” This time, my hands shake too much to allow me to open the package, so he does it himself and puts the test in the cup. The small screen displays “Pregnant” in less than a minute. Jayson shows it to me. “This is also positive. You have to admit the odds of two tests being defective are pretty low.”
I shrug. “It could be a bad batch.”
“Okay, fine.” He nods decisively as he sweeps the tests into the trashcan. “We’ll leave for New York within the hour. I shall arrange for you to see the best obstetrician in the city, and he can confirm your pregnancy.”
“Don’t say that,” I hiss. “It isn’t my anything. I’m not pregnant.”
“We’ll see,” he says with apparent neutrality, though his eyes gleam.
Two days later, I sit in the car beside Jayson as the limousine takes us back to the apartment. I clutch a folder full of prenatal care tips in my hands but haven’t opened it. It’s surreal, but there’s no denying the pregnancy. The test at the doctor’s office yielded the same results, which the ob-gyn confirmed with an ultrasound.
“There he — or she — is,” Dr. Anderson had said, pointing with an elegantly manicured nail to a little blob on the screen. “That’s the fetal pole, which is a good sign. It’s too early to see the heartbeat, since you’re only about five weeks pregnant.” She must have seen my look of confusion, because she adds, “Don’t forget we’re counting from the first day of your last cycle, not the date of conception.”
My glance drops to the ultrasound picture Jayson holds in his hand. He had taken the printout reverently, while I wanted to run from the room and pretend like nothing was happening. The little blob looked like nothing discernable and certainly not the beginnings of our baby.
Our baby. I shake my head at the idea. Jayson, the father of my child. Anger still simmers within me at his lies. I should hate the idea of having his child. Instead, my heart swells, and a lump of moisture settles in my throat. Hesitantly, I place a hand low on my belly, amazed that a new life is growing there.
I jump when Jayson puts his hand over mine. “Don’t touch me.”
He sighs heavily. “Harper, you must move past this unreasonable anger. We have to make our marriage work, for the baby’s sake.”
