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“Ah-ha! It’s a date?”
She smiles coyly. “I’ll tell you about him when I know it’s gonna turn into something. I promise.”
I don’t have the right to be annoyed. It’s not like I’m being honest with her about my little roll in the hay with Adonis. Everyone’s entitled to their little secrets.
Celine’s got hers.
And I’ve got him.
TAYLOR
SIX WEEKS LATER
There should be a more graceful way to determine if your life is about to fall to pieces than squatting down to pee on a stick.
Terrifying things shouldn't also be humiliating.
As if that weren’t bad enough, my phone vibrates right when I start peeing. I jerk forward on instinct like the Pavlov-conditioned Gen Z’er that I am—and promptly feel pee running over my fingers while I try to keep the stick at the right angle.
Oh, you havegotto be kidding me.
I’m forced to sit there and soak until the job is done. Only then can I deposit the test on the bathroom counter in my premade nest of paper towels before lunging to the sink and washing my hands three times over.
“Fantastic,” I mutter to my reflection. “Really dignified. This’ll be a great story to tell my future kid one day. ‘I ended up peeing on my hand while I was waiting to find out if I was pregnant with you. It was a sacred and beautiful moment of motherhood.’”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, though, I feel a wave of nausea, followed by a wave of fear. Suddenly, nothing is funny.
“Oh God. Please, please… This can’t be how it happens…”
I button my pants and pace around the tiny bathroom. I pointedly avoid looking at the pregnancy test. Instead, I pick up my phone to see who rang.
I’ve got a missed call from Celine and one from Mom. I decide to call Mom first.
“Hey, sweetie,” she answers. She sounds tired today. “Did you talk to Celine?”
“No, should I have?”
“She called me twice and I missed both calls, then didn’t pick up when I rang her back. I was just wondering if everything was okay?”
“I missed Celine’s call, too. I was, uh…busy.”
I don’t add that I was busy peeing on a stick. And my hand. And questioning my life choices.
“Find out if everything is okay and then call me back.”
“Mom,” I say patiently, “doesn’t Celine live with you?”
“She hasn’t been at home the last two nights.”
Whoa. That’s news to me. “Really?”
“It’s that new boy she’s dating,” Mom says, oblivious to the shock in my voice. “I think things are getting serious between them.”
I glance towards the test stick, but I can’t see anything from here. I push it out of my head for the duration of this call. For the next few minutes, I decide to believe that I’m not pregnant. I’m pretty sure this is what all the woo-woo TikTok girlies mean by “manifesting.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s just in such a good mood all the time,” Mom explains. “Plus, she’s spending more and more time over at his place. She basically only comes home for a change of clothes.”
