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“Your birthday?” Maria suggests.
“What about it?”
I turned eighteen three days ago, but the usually lavish parties our parents throw to celebrate the occasion didn’t happen. Not that I need a party. I’m an adult now. But it does sting a little that Father forbid my mom and sisters from anything more than telling me a happy birthday. Somehow, that made their birthday wishes seem all the more ironic.
“I got you something.” Maria glances toward the door, checking to make sure the coast is clear before she pulls out a small box.
“Maria,” I scold. “Father told you not to.”
My younger sister levels me with a look that says, Really?
Yeah, I have no room to speak.
Then she passes me the box.
“Thank you,” I say more gently this time, accepting it.
“You’re welcome.” Maria watches me with an intent gaze as I untie the ribbon and lift the lid.
Inside is a beautiful glass millefiori necklace, the tiny floral discs forming a ring of colorful circles that spread across the beautiful pendant. It’s roughly the size of a quarter and hangs on a delicate silver chain.
“Maria, it’s beautiful,” I gasp, stroking the smooth glass with my fingertip.
She must have had it shipped all the way from Murano, the only place in the world that makes this traditional Venetian glass. No wonder she wanted to give it to me despite Father’s orders.
Fighting back the tears, I look up once more to meet my little sister’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Maria smiles, hopping up off the bed. “Now you can go back to moping alone on your computer if you want. But really, you should come join us.”
“I’ll be down in a bit,” I promise.
My sister plants a quick kiss on my cheek before skipping from the room. Heart thawing after over a month locked in ice, I take a moment to smile after her. Then, only after I’m sure I’m alone do I don the sweet piece of jewelry.
Its cool, smooth surface resting just above my heart gives me the strength to turn my attention back to my computer screen. Clicking the icon to retrieve the webpage I minimized, I take a fortifying breath and resume my research. Nerves tremble in my stomach, pushing me to the brink of nausea, and a fresh wave of panic fills me.
Is that an early sign of morning sickness?
I don’t even know when that might begin.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I scan the results for what I’m looking for—anything to discredit my suspicion, really. But so far, it doesn’t look so good. It’s too early for morning sickness, so the fact that I’m not throwing up, unfortunately, tells me nothing.
I have been pretty stressed lately—for good reason—but I haven’t really lost weight, and pregnancy seems to be the primary cause of a delayed menstrual cycle. My fingers shake as they hover over my keyboard, and I scan my frantically racing mind for another question I could ask that might ease my anxiety.
I try again, this time typing How late can a period be?
There, I find results that would indicate two weeks overdue isn’t unheard of. The website suggests that a hormone imbalance is most likely if my cycles are irregular. But they aren’t really. This is the first time I’ve been late since I started menstruating.
God, please, please, let this be a hormone imbalance. I’d even take a stress-induced mental breakdown over pregnancy.
That website suggests that tender breasts could be an indication of imbalance. And when I cup mine, they feel fairly tender. But didn’t the previous website say that sensitive breasts were a sign of pregnancy?
Trying to contain the wave of panic that washes through me, I hover my fingers over the keyboard, thinking of what words to put in next. How can you be certain you’re pregnant?
I really don’t want to bring this up to my parents until I’m sure. Even then, I would rather not, but what else can I do?
“You’re late?”
The sound of my mother’s voice behind me feels like a bucket of ice being dumped over my head. My heart skips a beat, and I whirl in my seat to find her staring at my computer screen over my shoulder. I didn’t even hear her come in. Did she knock?
