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“Someone has to be,” she points out. “Why would you stop the Pill?”
“I don’t know,” I sulk. “I have no idea who I am anymore! I got so caught up in having fun that I just forgot one day and didn’t think it would be a big deal since we used protection anyway.”
I sink into the sofa, smothering myself with cushions and praying that they would turn into monsters and suffocate me to death. Instead, I sit here feeling like a cheap hooker. I am worthy of being on Jerry Springer or Maury Povich. How could I not know who the father is of the ba
by I’m carrying? This isn’t how I was raised; this isn’t who I am. I know better than this.
“It’s okay to cry, Pres.” Vicky rubs my shoulder.
My hands are shaking. “I don’t want to cry. I’m so angry at myself. How could I be so irresponsible? I planned to have kids with the right man when we were married. I didn’t sign up for being a single mother. What will my parents think? What will everyone think?!”
“It doesn’t matter what everyone thinks, Pres. This is your life, not theirs.” She continues, “As for your parents . . . they’ll get over the initial shock and I’m sure they’ll be excited to have a grandbaby. It’s not like Gemma is popping one out any time soon, you know, eating pussy and all.”
“Vicky!”
“What?! It’s true. You’ll look back at this moment one day and be thankful you’re blessed with a child. Think about all those women trying their asses off . . . well, not their asses but you know what I mean.”
“So in the meantime can I wish I could climb into a time machine and stay celibate?”
“Yes, but first you need to find out who the baby daddy is. Then you can revert back to OCD Presley and plan your life away.”
***
Stupid doctor’s office with its sterile walls that make you feel like you’re in a nuthouse.
It took me a week to find the courage to make an appointment and have my blood taken. In that week, I avoided Marcus at all costs with every believable excuse I could muster. He understood, but warned me that if he hadn’t fucked me by Saturday, I was in major trouble.
What does a pregnant woman say to that? I had no response but to send him a smiley face.
“Miss Malone, I have your results here.”
Dr. Taylor procrastinates in the most annoying way possible. He’s pushing close to a hundred (okay, exaggerating a little) and even the way he writes everything on paper versus using a computer bugs me. Hormones . . . blame the hormones.
“You’re definitely pregnant, and the blood work shows you’re about four months along.”
The lump in my throat is the size of the planet Jupiter. My chest tightens, constricting my ability to breathe. My eyes start to twitch followed by the room spinning in circles. Dr. Taylor is concerned, calling my name in the distance. I focus in on his face, mumbling the question that is bursting to come out.
“So when you say four months . . . I fell pregnant around . . .”
“March,” he confirms.
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
This. Cannot. Be. Happening.
“But it was only one time,” I beg, almost in tears. “I was on the Pill back then and we used condoms.”
“Miss Malone, I always advise my patients that the Pill is only ninety-nine percent effective. You did the right thing using a condom, but even condoms aren’t one hundred percent.”
“Why does everyone say that?!” I raise my voice. “I can’t be pregnant! If nothing’s one hundred percent then why are people having sex?”
“Abstinence is your one hundred percent,” he reminds me.
What a stupid remark. No one is going to abstain from having sex.
“I was with the same man prior to that for five years. I was on the Pill but that’s it. How come I didn’t fall pregnant with him?”
“It could be a number of things. Perhaps you weren’t actually having intercourse during ovulation but most likely you’ve found a male partner with strong sperm that’s extremely compatible with your eggs.”
