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Luckily, Cherie lives nearby with her boyfriend, and I make it there without killing myself and I’ve mostly stopped crying when I arrive.
I’m so glad that her boyfriend’s car isn’t in the driveway. I don’t think I could deal with any men today. Not after all this.
Cherie pulls me into a hug as soon as I walk through the door and I hug her back tightly, feeling slightly better already. There are certain things only a best friend can fix.
“Tell me everything,” she says, and I spill it all, crying a little toward the end. When I’m done, she blinks at me, her brown eyes wide.
“Thatass,” she seethes. “How dare he?”
“It’s not like that,” I complain tiredly, slumping down on her couch, lying my head on the couch arm. I tell her about Eli, what he’d called me when he ran up to me.
“That happens, though,” she argues, but I know that it’s different for those kids. I could try to explain it but I’m just so exhausted emotionally and physically from the intense weekend.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say in a liquid voice, and then, suddenly, my stomach rolls and saliva fills my mouth and I know that I’m going to be sick. I barely make it to the restroom and Cherie follows me, standing just outside the door. When I open it, she takes my hand.
“Kenna,” she says slowly. “How long have you been sick?”
“I’ve been tired and had a few dizzy spells,” I tell her. “But I haven’t been sick. I’m sure it’s just the stress. It’s too much.”
Cherie bites her lip. “I’m sure it is. Just curious, anyway. When was the last time you had your period?”
I frown at her. “What’s that got to do with—” I start, and then Cherie keeps staring at me and slowly, my eyes widen. “Wait.”
“I have tests,” she says quickly, as if that’s supposed to make me feel better. Panic rises in my throat as I wrack my brain trying to think of the last time I’ve menstruated. It’s been longer than a month. Oh god, when was it? I’ve just been so busy with the kids and all this with Derek....
“It’s not possible,” I whisper, and Cherie raises an eyebrow.
“Did you use protection?”
“Shit,” I curse, and Cherie sighs and pats my shoulder.
“It could be just stress. Nine times out of ten it is,” she assures me. “But we better take one to be safe.”
She pulls out a grocery bag full of tests and I gape at her.
She shrugs. “You live with someone, sometimes you forget protection,” she defends herself, and I guess I’m not one to judge. I hadn’t eventhoughtabout protection.
To my credit, this is the first time I’ve ever been with anyone.
She hands me a test and I just stare at it.
“That’s not how you use it,” she says gently, and I bark out a laugh.
“I don’t know if I can take it,” I say honestly, looking up at her.
Cherie looks empathetic. “I understand. I’ve been there,” she says. “But I’m telling you, it’s probably going to be negative and then you’ll feel so much better.”
“Good,” I say, calming down a little. “Because Ican’tbe pregnant.”
Five minutes later, I’m standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at the back of the toilet where the test is sitting.
“Do you want me to check it?” Cherie asks, and I shake my head.
“I can do this,” I mutter. It’ll be negative. It’ll definitely be negative. I feel a sense of peace come across my body, having convinced myself that Cherie is right, and I pick up the test gingerly and look down at it, taking a deep breath.
It’s one of those simple ones, that just says pregnant or not pregnant in the indicator window.
I blink about ten times, thinking that it’ll change, but it doesn’t.
