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Although only if ‘better’ means I still feel like deep-fried death.
She takes out a pink box that my first instinct is to chuck at the wall and stomp on. “Come on. Humor me.”
“No.”
“Harley.”
“I said no.”
She crosses her arms across her chest. “You know I’m going to stand here until you do it.”
“I’m too tired,” I whine.
She doesn’t budge, gives me a hard look. “Scared, more like.”
“Go away.”
“C’mon.” She comes to the side of the bed and helps hoist me up. “Either we’re going to do this together, or I’m going to drag you there.”
“Can’t it… wait?”
Hannah gives me an even harder look. “You really want to wait on this.”
I sigh. She’s right. Of course she is. No way can I relax with the thought of oh-my-Lord-do-I-have-a-baby hanging over my head. “Fine.”
I snatch the drugstore bag from her arm and hurry to the bathroom. Inside, I close the door and look at my bedraggled expression.
Jesus, this is it. This is really it.
After this…
Don’t think about it.
I take out the applicator, go over to the toilet, pee on it and toss it into the sink.
“No, no, please God no,” I mutter as I wait.
This can’t be happening. I take my birth control pills religiously. Same time every day. I’ve never even had a pregnancy scare before. This can’t be happening.
“Har, you OK?” Hannah asks from outside the door.
“Yeah,” I say, “Don’t worry, I…”
I fall silent.
No. Fuck no.
“Harley?”
I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe. There, in the sink, is the applicator. With two thin but unmistakable blue lines.
I’m pregnant.
**
“I’m sorry,” Hannah says a few minutes later, after I’ve cried and sobbed and blubbered about it.
“Me too,” I say miserably, for probably the fifth time. “Jesus Han, what am I going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she says, “There’s always…”
I shake my head immediately. “That feels wrong. I don’t know, doesn’t mean it is wrong, right?”
My sidelong look at Hannah just makes her shake her head. “You know I can’t answer that for you.”
My gaze droops dully to my ugly orange and pink patchwork quilt, the one my mom made. God, Mom. She’s going to be so disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in myself. A week ago, I was on top of the world: dream job, dream guy, and now… Now there’s nothing left.
Nothing left other than the unwanted little being in my belly.
“Jesus,” I groan, “and what about Greyson?”
“Don’t you worry about him,” Hannah says firmly. “First you look after yourself.”
“He has a right to know,” I say simply.
“But not to make the decision for you.”
“I know,” I say. “He probably doesn’t even want to hear from me.”
Hannah pats me. “I think you should lie low for now. Rest up. Figure out what you want to do. You’ve got enough going on without involving Greyson right now.”
I lean back into bed, onto the pillows Hannah propped up for me. “You’re probably right. Thanks.”
Another one of those reassuring smiles, though this one works a bit better. “Later, we can watch some Charlie’s Angels too, if you’re up for it.”
“Thanks.” I yawn, my eyes closing. “See ya.”
She leaves and, while I should be fast asleep, all I do while I lie there is cycle through the same thoughts.
A baby—God, what am I going to do? How could this happen to me? What am I going to do? Why does everything keep going wrong? What am I going to tell Greyson? What am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do?
I toss and turn, and groan. I still feel like crap, although thankfully I don’t feel like barfing anymore.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I sit up in bed, grab my phone and dial Greyson’s number.
I can’t be strong right now, sick and pregnant. All I can be is weak.
Anyway, I need to tell him. To hear his voice. Might as well get this over with.
Of course, he doesn’t pick up.
“Idiot,” I mutter to the disappointed twist in my gut. “He’s not going to be overjoyed to pick up a call from his ex-employee/hookup.”
I can’t help but leave a message, though. Then, I sink back into bed. At some point, finally, sleep comes.
Then, my phone rings.Chapter 31Greyson
“Seriously Harley?” I grumble as I listen to her voicemail message for the second time. “Why call me and then refuse to fucking pick up?”
Yeah, I ended things with her. Yeah, she was 10/10 pissed with me. But then why call at all?
The next few hours at work, I hammer the tasks on my to-do list like my life depends on it. I need all the productive distractions I can get.
By the time the work day is done, I should be satisfied, only I’m not. Can’t be.
Not with Harley’s call still in the back of my mind. She hasn’t responded to my calls or texts. Is she messing with me?
