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I shake my head. “Around here, we all understand. When I—” I cut myself short, blood draining from my face. I wanted to tell her what I do when I’m on my period but thinking about my period reminds me that I can’t remember the last time I had it.
“What is it?” Rachel looks concerned about me now. The tables turned quickly.
“It’s nothing,” I say, waving it off. “If you need to take the morning, you’re welcome to. I just want to finalize this and we can send it to Raven once you’re happy, and we run it by Michelle.”
Rachel nods. “I think it will be a good idea if I just take it easy. Let me know when you’re done.”
I say that I will and Rachel leaves the conference room. I pick up the tablet and carry it to my office, where I close myself in. But I don’t continue drawing—not yet. I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. My head spins and throbs wildly, my blood pressure up suddenly thanks to panic.
When last did I have a period? I feel like it’s been too long. Generally, I don’t keep track of exactly when it happens. I’m fairly regular, and having my period is the last thing I thought about in a long time.
I sit down behind my desk and try to remember. If I can anchor it to an event where something important happened, I can find a date and count the days. But nothing significant has happened in the past while, besides Mason’s date and spending time with him. And I haven’t had a period since then.
Oh, God.
It’s nothing. Seriously, it can’t be. There’s no way I’m pregnant. Except…it’s not impossible. Mason and I have been seeing each other for long enough that it can count for something. And my periodfeelslate. Not that I know for sure.
My mind spins, and the more I think about it, the more my stomach bunches into a twist of panic and I can’t focus on what I’m doing anymore.
I need to find out what the hell is going on. Maybe I’m just late and it’s not a big deal.
Maybe I’m not even late but because I can’t count the days since my last period—I have no way of knowing when it was—I can’t remember.
Maybe it’s hormones.
It probably is. I just have to prove that to myself. I have a tendency to overthink, and to panic. Since David died, I’m paranoid over everything, and it takes the smallest thing to turn me into a wreck.
That’s all this is—I’m overreacting.
But I know myself well enough to know that I’m not going to let it go. Not until I know for sure. I won’t be able to relax until I know for a fact I’m not pregnant.
I grab my handbag and leave the office. I won’t be gone long. I drive to the drug store not too far from the office and walk to the aisle where the home pregnancy tests are shelved. I have a choice between a couple of different brands. Some of them cost more than others.
Some of them promise more accuracy; others promise speedy results.
And they’re all sandwiched between condoms and lubricants on the left, and baby products on the right, creating a timeline of responsibility in various forms.
I grab two different tests and walk to the counter with it. On the way, I add a bottle of water to my stash.
The last time I did this, I was filled with excitement and hope.
David and I wanted to be pregnant, and it was our first cycle trying.
Now, as I walk to the counter, I’m filled with dread. I can’t be pregnant now. I’m not married; I’m not in a relationship where a baby is on our list.
I’m working on a career—I just started something new and exciting and I want to see it through as a possible designer.
Stop it, I scold myself.
I don’t even have answers yet.
The cashier rings up the tests without even looking at them properly, and when I pay, she gives me change and an empty smile.
“Have a nice day.”
“You, too,” I say automatically and leave the store.
When I’m back in the office, I crack open the water bottle and down most of the contents while I flip absently through the sketches I already digitized. I still have a few to do, but I can’t get my mind back on work until I know for sure that I’m not pregnant. I won’t be able to concentrate.
