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Me: Sorry if I got a little touchy earlier. I screwed up. I should’ve called. I’m sorry I made you worry.
Three dots appear and disappear.Is he awake?
Ian: No worries.
* * *
The next three weeks pass without issue. It’s wedding season, so I’m busier than normal. There’s a saying that has more meaning now that I’m forty. The days pass slowly, but the months fly by. And it’s with the where-has-the-time-gone dismay that I find myself staring at the desk calendar in my office. I pull out my phone and check my period app, just to be certain.
Holy smokes and grasses. I’m two days late.
It’s probably nothing. But I immediately flick to the search browser.
“How pregnant do you need to be before a pregnancy test is accurate?”
The answer is in bold. Can be accurate on the day of a missed period, but more likely to be accurate if taken the day after a missed period.
I’m two days late. I’m in the accurate phase.
On the way home, I stop by the Rite Aid and buy a six-pack of pregnancy tests. The teenage guy ringing me up doesn’t seem to register what it is I’m buying. He’s got earbuds in and says all the appropriate things, like “do you have your loyalty number” and “thank you,” but I suspect he’s listening to something. Times have changed. Back when I was in high school, you couldn’t buy a pregnancy test without every single person in town knowing by nightfall. But, I suppose, a guy that young really doesn’t care what someone old enough to be his mom is buying.
Back in my house, I sit with the pregnancy tests. Excitement bubbles up beneath my skin in itchy patches. I can’t believe it. I mean, this is just very unlikely.
I snap a photo of the unopened box and text it to Ian with the caption, “Will know shortly.”
The plastic wrapper around the box proves difficult to open, and as I sit there scratching at it with my nails, my phone rings. Ian’s name shows on the screen. I grin. It’s an uncontrollable, giddy grin.
“I haven’t taken it yet,” I tell him the second I answer.
“Good. Don’t.” I hold the phone out a bit and look at it, then put it back up to my ear.
“What? Why?” It’s too late to have second thoughts.
“Wait for me. I want to be there.”
“Ian. That’s sweet. But you are three hours away. I’ll call you and tell you. Hang tight.”
ChapterTwenty
Ian
Last August
I pace my bedroom. Waiting.
Fuck. What if she’s pregnant?
It’s what she wants. It’s probably for the best. We had our one weekend. Things got weird between us after one weekend. If it went on and on…but damn, I wanted another weekend. I want tons of weekends.
And shit. I forgot to ask about Sunny’s pregnancy history. I thought I’d have more time. And that thought has me glancing at the clock on my bedside table. It’s too late to call my mom. Ask her exactly how Sunny’s mom died. No one ever talks about it, but that would’ve been forty years ago, so why would they?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The strap of my overnight bag hangs down from the shelf in my closet, taunting me. I should just throw some clothes in and jump in the car.
What? Where did that idea come from? I have an early morning surgery. My pulse hums in my veins. My skin nearly vibrates, alert and energized. I should sleep, but there’s no fucking way.
The phone lights in my hand. I hit accept so quickly it never vibrates.
