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IT ISN’T YOURS
PAST
It’s been two weeks since I agreed to be Peter’s girlfriend. Two weeks since he bought me the flowers that I just dumped in the trash.
It’s been eight weeks since I tiptoed out of Abraham’s hotel room.
It’s been ten weeks since my last period.
Sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting on a timer to go off isn’t how I thought I’d be spending my Friday night.
The cool tile under my bare thighs has me lifting my knees to my chest and I hold onto them for dear life.
Fuck.
In all of the business preparation and excitement, I hadn’t realized—
The timer goes off and it jolts me from my thoughts. I scramble to stand, reaching blindly for the edge of the sink behind me.
The pregnancy test clatters to the floor, and I suck in a breath when the plus sign stares back at me.
I can’t tell Denise. It’s the first thought that flashes to my mind. My sister’s pain from her miscarriage is still entirely too fresh for me to be able to call her with my freak out. But she’s the person I want to call as a single tear falls, my vision blurring.
I hear knocking in the distance and I sniff as I wipe away the traces of my panic. I lean down to grab the test and, not sure what to do with it, I tuck it into the waistband of my shorts. It rubs against my back as I straighten and walk toward my front door.
Peter walks in, a fresh bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“Hello, dearest,” he greets me, kissing me on my forehead. I’m numb as I let him in, unable to return his affection. He’s going on about something, grabbing an empty vase from my cabinet, filling it with water and arranging the perfectly beautiful red roses he got me.
I stare at the wall the entire time and finally, after he’s finished wiping his hands on a dish towel, he stares at me.
Hereallystares at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, wanting to cover my face but not letting my shame take over. I stare him in his eyes, watching them narrow in confusion before he shakes his head.
“We only had sex for the first time like three weeks ago,” his confused smile starts to fade, and his eyes widen now. I shake my head to confirm just before he stares at my stomach, as if he could get an answer from the unknown party in the room.
“It isn’t yours,” I confirm, preparing for his anger. Preparing to be called a whore and for him to leave and never come back.
“Do you know who the father is?” he asks, staring at my kitchen island as if he can’t bear the shame of anI don’t know, which angers me.
“Of course I do,” I snap. Then I take a deep breath and start again. “He’s…someone I used to see in college.”
“You never told me about a college boyfriend,” Peter says, finally looking up at me with his brows drawn.
“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”
“So, you got pregnant by some asshole you used to fuck in college who wasn’t even your boyfriend?”
When he puts it like that…
“I guess you could say that,” I whisper, wanting to hurry up and get to the part where he leaves me.
“Sabrina…” he trails off, turning his back to me. I watch his back as he runs his fingers through his hair, seemingly working through his emotions. I can hear the clock in my living room ticking and I look around, wondering how to prepare this space for a baby.
“Are you planning on keeping it?”
