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I’m sorting through the textbooks I picked up from the campus bookstore this morning when I hear the doorbell ring. I’m probably the definition of a nerd, because preparing for the first day of classes tomorrow has me excited instead of apprehensive. For so long, vet school has felt far away. A finish line that never drew any closer, no matter how fast I walked.
It finally feels like I’m making some progress. Like I’m close.
I add my Genetics textbook to the stack on my desk, stand, stretch, and then leave my bedroom to answer the door.
My roommate, Nova, is on Richmond’s soccer team and so has already been back on campus for a couple of weeks. With the exception of my room, our apartment is well-settled. The open layout of the living room and kitchen is homey and organized.
I open the door, expecting it to be Nova forgetting her key.
It’s not.
I stare at Sydney, stunned. She’s come to see me—and Holden—on campus before, but those were always announced visits.
“Hi,” I greet, when she doesn’t speak first.
“Hi,” Sydney replies. She glances away, toward the apartment next door. Her arms are wrapped around her waist and her face is pale despite the heat.
Dread expands in my chest, my mind spinning with the only logical conclusion of why she’s shown up here without so much as a text. “Come in.”
She follows me into the kitchen.
“Want anything to eat? Or drink?” I ask, playing hostess.
“I took the test,” Sydney tells me.
I dropped the one I bought off at the condo on Thursday morning before leaving Pembrooke. And I hadn’t heard from her since. Part of me thought—hoped—that meant it was negative.
Sydney opens up the tote bag she’s carrying. It’s canvas, the side decorated with the logo of a famous New York theater. She pulls out a plastic baggie and tosses it on the counter.
“And then I went out and bought three more because I was hoping that one was wrong.”
“They wereallpositive?”
“Yep.” She draws out the word.
Sydney leaves both of her bags on the counter and wanders deeper into the apartment, passing the kitchen island and heading toward the living room.
The far wall is all windows, overlooking the woods behind campus that are in the shadow of the Green Mountains.
“Wow. This place is really nice,” she says, glancing over the couch and coffee table.
I pick up the plastic bag on the counter.
Sure enough, the four tests are all positive.
My best friend is pregnant. With Harrison Baker’s baby.
Even the thought sounds absurd.
And a crazy reminder of how quickly and completely life can change.
I exhale, setting the baggie back down and walking toward Sydney. She’s collapsed on the couch, head tilted back, feet up on the coffee table and eyes focused on the distant peaks.
“Do you have any alcohol?” she asks. “I couldreallyuse a drink.”
I huff a laugh. “Sydney.”
Even if she wasn’t pregnant, I wouldn’t think she was serious. She’s never been much of a drinker. Something to be said for having the choice, I guess.
