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“No need for Sam to see exactly how much stuff I have,” I mutter while digging around the clothes pile. “He’d be shocked, seeing that he has two sweaters total.”
Not that my man would judge my habits, or even really have anything to say about them at all. No, one thing I’ve come to love about Sam is just how much he seems to like me for exactly who I am, even with my sassy personality, horsey laugh, and annoying habits.
“Wait,love?” I whisper to the empty room. “Do I love Sam?”
It makes me come up full stop, my hands paused in their sorting. It’s such a simple but powerful word, and I look deep into myself.
Yes, you love that man, the voice in my head whispers.
OMG, this is both exhilarating and scary and my heart pounds in my chest. I guess I haven’t let myself really embrace that notion quite yet, but now that I’ve admitted it to myself, I realize that maybe I’ve been in love with Sam for some time now. Is that even possible? I suppose so because it kind of just snuck up on me without me realizing it. After all, we’ve fallen into such a wonderful routine. Sam goes into work in the mornings, while I spend my time working on my music. I’ve been taking virtual guitar lessons, which has definitely helped me expand my songwriting, and I’m even taking up the cymbals too, just to add some variety to my repertoire.
But then in the evenings, my man comes home and despite my early fails as a domestic goddess, a little perseverance eventually paid off. I’ve started making meals for us to enjoy together each evening, dessert and all, and Sam loves it. Well, maybe he doesn’t love it that much, but he certainly eats a lot to encourage my culinary adventures. In fact, that rosemary chicken last night was delicious, come to think of it. At the memory, my stomach gurgles slightly, making a weird bubbly noise.
Ugh,chicken. Then, my belly drops, almost like I’m on a roller coaster even though I’m just standing in my room. The gurgle comes again, and nausea makes me go still.
A few seconds later, the sensation passes.
I wonder if I’ve got a bug of some kind, is my miserable thought. I don’t tend to get sick very often, but when I do, I’m a complete wimp about it. I blame Griselda because she always babied me and made the best Spanish chickpea stew whenever I was sick. I wish I could have some of that now, in fact.
But then my stomach gurgles again, and I frown. The truth is, I’ve been feeling a little off over the last couple of weeks, as if I’ve been on the cusp of the flu or a stomach bug, but it never quite reaches the point of being a full on cold.
“Maybe I’m pregnant,” I think aloud and then immediately roll my eyes because there’s no way I could be pregnant. Sam gave me the Depo shot a couple weeks back, and I’ve actually been really happy with the lack of side effects. It’s been an easy-breezy cakewalk, and we’ve been having straight sex, in addition to our usual backdoor love.
And yet…
I bite my bottom lip and scurry to the adjoining en suite, reminding myself not to stress. After all, I’m literally on chemical birth control, so the chances are near zero. But my hands shake as I retrieve a pregnancy test from the bottom drawer, and afterI pee on the indicator, I realize that my heart’s racing.
You’re on birth control. It’s going to be fine, I remind myself through gritted teeth. Yet why do I feel nauseated? Maybe the Depo didn’t work? Oh God.
I set the pregnancy test on the counter, set a timer, and continue pawing through my vanity drawers for God knows what. Tampons? Pads? I can’t think and my mind is buzzing.
But then, my phone alarm chimes, and I grab the little stick, still shaking a bit.
A blue plus sign.
I squint, disbelieving for a moment, but then my fingers go numb and the indicator clatters to the floor.
I’m pregnant.
But how can this be? The world seems to spin on its axis, and I sit down hard on the cool tile floor, my back against the tub.
“What the hell?” I mutter, staring into space. “What the hell?” I repeat in a louder voice, an echo reverberating in the tiled chamber.
After I’m not sure how long, I hear a knock on the door.
“Harlow?” my man’s deep voice calls. “You okay? I just got home.”
Am I in shock? I wonder absently, not bothering to answer. But then I get myself together because this is not the way to talk about an unexpected pregnancy.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I call in a mostly steady voice. “Just give me a sec.”
“Okay,” he growls, pausing for a moment. “I’ve missed you today,” he adds in a low voice full of promise. Oh shit. We’d talked about trying out that new toy in bed, and it sounds like he wants it before dinner, and not after.
But that’s going to have to go on the back burner because we have more important issues to discuss. Slowly, I get up off the bathroom floor and splash my face with cold water. Okay, I’m still pale, but I look more or less normal. Then, I let myself out of the suite and head downstairs to the living room before taking a seat on the couch.
A few moments later, Sam comes bounding down the stairs.
“Hey hon,” he growls after dropping a kiss on my head. “You look beautiful as always.”
