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“Heidi?” Zoe calls, bolting out of her seat as she follows close behind me.
I barely make it to the bathroom in time, and I throw myself down on my knees before my lunch comes back up and hits the porcelain bowl with a revolting sound.
“Ugh.”
Zoe quickly backpedals, giving me some space as I hold my hair back with one hand and grip the toilet seat with my other.
“You think you got food poisoning?” she asks tentatively after I finish dry heaving and collapse onto the bathroom tiles. “I told you that chicken smelled a bit off last night.”
But I get a sinking feeling because I don’t think this is food poisoning. My period is several weeks late. I thought I might have missed it due to stress over starting school a week after the semester already began and then having my mom take a turn for the worse. But it was just over six weeks ago when Maks and I had sex. The timing is too coincidental.
Sure, we used a condom, but those aren’t a hundred percent effective, and I didn’t touch the chicken that Zoe was complaining about.
Looking up at her from my seat on the floor, I press my eyebrows into a reluctant frown. “I think I need a pregnancy test,” I confess.
Zoe’s face falls. “No,” she objects. “Not with the sexy Russian billionaire you said was old enough to be your father. You said you used protection.”
“We did. But I’m also two weeks late, and I’m never late.”
“Fuck.” Zoe combs her fingers into her wispy pixie, and when she releases the short strands, they stand even more wildly around her face. “Stay put. I’ll be back in five.” Then she vanishes from the doorway.
Slumping against the cabinets, I tip my head back and close my eyes.What have I done?I’m not ready to be a mom. I’ve barely gotten my feet on the ground to start my career. I don’t know the first thing about being a mother, and with my mom so sick, I can’t even imagine trying to take on the responsibility of caring for a baby of my own.
A surge of denial washes through me. I’m getting way ahead of myself. Maks and I used protection, and we only had sex the one time. I can’t be pregnant. Zoe’s probably right. After all, that chicken dish came from the same Chinese restaurant as the Mongolian beef I ate. It’s probably food poisoning.
Talking myself down, I manage to rein in my panic. When Zoe finally returns, I’ve nearly convinced myself that this is not as bad as it seems. I just have a stomach bug. I’ll be fine by tomorrow with no more life-altering surprises on my horizon beyond the terrifying fact that my mom is likely terminal and not going to be with me much longer.
“I got you a latte too,” Zoe says, handing me the box of tests and the coffee all at once.
“Thanks, Zoe.” She knows me so well. Coffee’s my comfort drink, and right now, I could use a splash of caffeine to help my flitting thoughts focus.
Taking a deep breath, I push myself up off the bathroom floor and set my coffee on the counter so I can open the box of pregnancy tests.
“I’ll, uh, give you a sec,” she says and steps back out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.
I read the instructions carefully, though the principle seems basic enough. Then I take the test and cap it before setting it on the edge of the tub to wait the three minutes it’s supposed to take.
“Can I come in?” Zoe asks, her voice muffled by the wood of the door.
“Yeah.” My knee bounces, jiggling my elbow as I watch the test from my perch on top of the toilet lid. Stomach in knots, I can hardly breathe.What if I am pregnant?
I don’t have an answer for that yet.
Zoe leans against the counter, her hip within a foot of my shoulder, and wordlessly, she passes me my latte. I take a gulp and relish the burn as it scalds my throat on the way down.
When the timer on my phone goes off, I nearly jump out of my skin. In a flash, I snatch up the test and stare down at the two innocent pink lines looking back at me.
“Well?” Zoe demands, bringing her head next to mine to read over my shoulder. “Oh, shit.”
All I can do is nod. My lips are too numb to form a sentence. But for once, my Southern upbringing can’t wash away the word ringing in my mind.Fuck.
“What are you going to do?” Zoe asks gently, kneeling beside me and giving my wrist a gentle squeeze. “Whatever you decide, you know I’m here for you, right?”
Tears sting my eyes at the immediate support. “Thanks, Zoe.”
“Will you... keep it?”
“I can’t see myself getting an abortion.” That’s not entirely an answer to her question, but as soon as the words leave my lips, I know they’re true. And quickly following that, I nix the idea of putting my child up for adoption.
