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I sob again and say in a small voice, “Thank you.”
Denise’s voice is kind.
“Anytime, girlfriend.”
Slowly, I hang up and take a big, shuddering breath. Then, I grab my keys and head out. The morning is still gray, and dew clings to the grass. The neighborhood is silent, and nothing moves as I drive to the Walgreens. After I park the car, I merely sit there for a bit. My heart races and my cheeks feel flushed. It’s now or never.
When I enter the store, I’m the first customer. A portly man in a blue vest greets me.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
My voice comes out faint. “Where are your pregnancy tests, please?”
My cheeks color immediately, and I feel like I’m back in junior school. But thankfully, the man is kind and doesn’t blink an eye.
“Right up against the back wall,” he says. “I’ll get the registers ready for you.”
I mumble my thanks and hurry to the back of the store. But when I come upon the display, my heart sinks.
There are far too many choices. There are big boxes, small boxes, different brands, different types of tests, and so many options that I feel overwhelmed. You can do this, Regina, the voice in my head speaks. You have to do this.
I grab a store brand and hurry to the self-checkout counter before rushing out with my purchase in a plastic bag. Then I sit in my car, weeping again like a four-year-old who’s scraped her knee. It must be pregnancy hormones, although that thought merely makes me cry even harder.
Fifteen minutes later, and I’m home. The sun is peeping out now, and sparkling lights dance off the grass. It feels like this could be any other day, but I know the truth. One of the most important moments of my life is just around the corner, and my heart races. Suddenly, my cell chirps again. It’s Ryan, and for the first time, my heart plummets when I see his message.
Love you, pretty girl.
I can’t believe it. Right when I feel like my world is about to crash down, he texts me to tell me that he loves me? What does that even mean? Does it mean “I love you” like lovers say to one another? Or is it a casual “Hi, hello” salutation? Even Denise and I tell each other that we love one another, but clearly, we’re not talking about deep, romantic love. Denise and I share a different kind of love. So what kind of love is Ryan talking about?
The tears start again, but I make myself get out of the car. I creep into the house and use the guest bathroom on the first floor, as my parents are still asleep on the second floor. Quietly, I unwrap the package, my feelings almost numb now. What will be, will be.
Minutes later, the indicator is lying on the bathroom counter as I flush quietly. My heart pounds, but I force myself to stay still. It only takes two minutes, and then I’ll know. My breathing is shallow even as a sweat breaks out on my forehead. I feel clammy and hot. Maybe it’s the confined space doing it to me. Or maybe it’s the hormones.
I desperately want to look at the test, but at the same time, I desperately want to avoid looking at it. While I sit there trying to work up the courage, I realize I’ll be disappointed no matter the result.
If I’m not pregnant, I’ll feel the loss of the baby that never was. I’ve always wanted children, and now the seed has been planted: could I really be with a man who doesn’t want more kids?
If I am pregnant, I’ll feel a loss because I’ll be losing Ryan. The billionaire who’s charmed his way into my heart will drop me like a hat once I announce I’m expecting his child. In the pit of my stomach, dread builds. He’s made clear his views on this subject, and I can’t pretend to misunderstand.
In short, it’s a lose-lose situation. But I have to make myself look. With trembling fingers, I reach over and see the results: I’m pregnant. Immediately, the indicator clatters to the floor and I shoot over to the toilet, ready to heave again. Vomit comes pouring out of my mouth, and I retch horrifically, with sweat forming in my armpits.
Finally, I finish and wash my hands in the sink. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror with my pale skin, my hair stuck to my temples, and my forehead shiny with sweat. I’m going to be a mother.
Suddenly, I know I want this baby. Tears come to my eyes, and I’m weeping again. The sobs are soft this time, and I sit on the edge of the tub, my shoulders slumped. I’m going to be a single mother, and yet the baby still fills me with joy. This child is a reminder of the love Ryan and I shared, and I’m going to treasure him or her, no matter what.
