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“Oh, all right. Another time, maybe, dear.” She shuffled off, and Chocolate gave me a choice bark.
I let myself into the apartment and shut the door, trembling all over. I slammed my head back against it, biting back tears.
That’s going to be me one day. All alone. Living in the same little apartment with my dog.
Was it fair that I judged Mrs. Krimmel’s life as bad? Probably. But it wasn’t what I wanted. That was the point.
Maybe, though, I wouldn’t be alone.
I lifted the brown paper bag and stared at it, accusingly. This isn’t happening. You’re not pregnant. But I had missed my period, and I’d been feeling strange. My breasts hurt to the touch, I could smell things I shouldn’t have been able to, and my emotions were up and down and every friggin’ which way.
I’d even tried calling Matt the other day. Like an idiot.
I’d gotten his personal assistant instead, and she’d promised to give him a message from me. Of course, he’d never called me back.
Why would he? We’d hardly ended things on good terms. Not that there was anything to end.
I pushed off the wall and headed for the bathroom. I tipped the contents of the bag onto my dingy countertop and lifted the pregnancy test. I stripped off its packaging and clicked on the bathroom light. I read the instructions then unwrapped the stick.
I can’t believe I’m really doing this.
After I’d followed the instructions exactly and peed on the damn stick, I washed my hands and set a timer on my phone.
Oh god. Oh god. Please be negative. Please be fucking negative. I can’t handle this right now.
“Think. Think about what it means, that’s what you have to do.”
If I wasn’t pregnant, it would mean carrying on as usual. I’d keep working until I reached my goal. It would be difficult, and I’d be constantly tired, but it would be OK. I would manage.
And if I was pregnant?
Nausea beset me.
I sucked in a breath.
If I was pregnant, I would have to forget about my dreams and focus on the baby. I was not the type of person who would give a child up or get rid of it. I would have to change everything. Myself, my plans.
I’d have to tell Matt.
Because it was his. I hadn’t slept with anyone else.
How was this possible?
I had taken my pill religiously, and we’d used a condom. Even without it, we’d been safe. There had always been a layer of contraceptive between us. God, this was probably just me being stressed. It had messed up my cycle—working so much and sleeping so little. That was all.
The timer on my phone went off, and I jumped.
I lifted the pregnancy test off the countertop.
Pregnant.
3+ weeks.
“Oh my god. Oh my god.” I dropped the pregnancy stick and sat down on the edge of my cracked bathtub, tugging on the shower curtain accidentally. I gripped tight on the porcelain, and I hissed breaths in and out.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant.
I fumbled for my phone and dialed Emilia’s number.
“Hello?” she answered almost immediately.
“I need your help,” I croaked. “Please.”
A gravid pause followed. “I’m on my way.”
“What’s going on?” Emilia asked, the minute she entered my apartment.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Was it wrong to want to talk to her about this? Probably. She deserved better than to have me contact her after everything that had happened, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.
I had no one else to turn to.
I didn’t have a mother or father to look after me, nor any extended family. And god knew, I wasn’t about to go downstairs and dump on Mrs. Krimmel about what had happened.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” I said.
“Just tell me what’s going on. You’re white as a sheet.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come over.”
Emilia grabbed hold of my arms and guided me to the sofa. “Come on, honey, tell me what’s going on.” She sat me down.
I sucked in breaths and steadied myself. I wasn’t going to hyperventilate. This was bullshit. I had to take control and be a damn woman. “I’m pregnant,” I said.
Emilia’s eyes went round as dinner plates. She sat down heavily beside me. “Holy shit,” she breathed and placed a palm on her forehead.
She was so pretty and well put-together too. She wore a cream cardigan and a pair of jean shorts and a strappy top. She had a tan from her honeymoon, and she wore a pair of sterling silver earrings that perfectly complemented her outfit.
Meanwhile, I was still in my damn waitress outfit. I hadn’t had the presence of mind to change after taking the pregnancy test.
“Wow. Oh my god. That’s huge. How do you feel?” Emilia asked, placing a hand on my arm.
Clearly, she hadn’t registered who the father was, or she wouldn’t have been so calm. “Scared,” I said. “Em. Do you get what I’m telling you here? I’m pregnant.”
