After about a week of almost losing it, I went back to Angela’s. She welcomed me with open arms, without asking any questions, even though I was sure she wanted to. I did my best to hide my feelings. Looking like I was okay took all I had, especially when I’d spent an entire week crying endlessly, unable to control it. The only time I wasn’t crying was when I was sleeping, then I’d just wake up and start crying again.
“Lauren.”
I lift my head to see Angela standing in front of me with a slightly worried expression. She’s been so sweet to me, and I’ve barely said three sentences to her other than “I’m fine,” “don’t worry,” and “good night.”
“Yeah?” I say, quickly putting on a fake smile, which I’m sure isn’t convincing.
“Can we talk?” she asks before biting her lip.
The talk. I knew it would come eventually. Even the most patient person in the world would ask me what I’m doing here sooner or later.
“Sure.” I nod, sitting up from the fetal position, my default these past couple of weeks.
“Good.” She smiles then disappears for a moment.
I get up to fold up my sheets. As I finish, she returns with a gallon of ice cream and two spoons. I smile, wishing this was going to be as fun as ice cream and girl talk. She sits on the couch and pats the seat next to her. I sit beside her and take the spoon she’s handing me. I quickly pop a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth to avoid speaking first.
“So you know I’m not nosy or trying to pry, right?” she asks quietly.
I nod, knowing what’s coming next.
“But since you’ve come back, you’ve been like a zombie. You don’t say much, which is fine. I can understand that you may not feel up to talking about how you’re feeling. But whenever I’m home, all you do is sleep. You’re not just napping, Lauren—you’re, like, in REM when I leave and when I get home.” She pauses, giving me a chance to respond.
I really don’t know what to say to her. She’s right.
“You don’t have to talk to me, but I’m here to listen,” she tells me.
I take a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong.” I take another spoonful of ice cream and look at her from the corner of my eye.
“I heard you crying last night,” she reveals quietly. “I’ve heard you crying the past three nights, and I’m worried about you.”
I open my mouth to tell her again that she doesn’t have to worry, that I’m okay, but suddenly, my stomach churns. I run to the bathroom as fast as I can. Thankfully, the contents in my stomach don’t spill out until I’m over the toilet. When I lift my head, Angela is standing in the doorway silently with her arms crossed. I look away from her skeptical expression and grab my toothbrush.
“Can you guess what I’m about to ask?” she says, handing me the toothpaste.
“It’s not what you think.” I stuff the paste-filled brush in my mouth, taking as long as I can to brush so I won’t have to face her.
“And you know this for sure?” she asks, sitting on the edge of her tub.
I see she’s not going to let up on this. I smile tightly and rinse my mouth.
“I know my body,” I tell her simply and leave the bathroom. There is no way that I can be…
She follows me to the living room. “When is the last time you had your period?”
“Three weeks ago,” I say off the top of my head, hoping the questions will stop.
“Was it a full one or…”
I stop and turn around to face her. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not pregnant.” I should have gone to a hotel.
“Willing yourself not to be pregnant doesn’t work.”
“Well, birth control does.”
“It isn’t a hundred percent.”
“Well, it is for me,” I say, anger creeping into my voice.
“You’re telling me that you never missed using it, and whenever you and Cal had sex, he always wore a condom?” She laughs.
I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t want to talk about this, okay?”
“Lauren, you can’t ignore this!”
“I’m not ignoring anything because there’s nothing to ignore. So what? I’ve thrown up once. It could be what I ate. I could have the flu. It doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.”
“No, but since you’ve been here, you’ve done nothing but eat, sleep, and cry. I don’t know what happened when I took you home. I haven’t asked you anything, but you aren’t the person I know. Tell me what’s going on,” she asks sincerely.
“He left me, Angie! Cal left me. That is why I’ve been crying,” I say, my voice rising. I bite my lip, begging my eyes to stop watering. “I sleep so I won’t have to think about him being gone. I miss him, and I want him back. As screwed up as our relationship was, I want him back. I love him.” I cover my face again.
Angela wraps her arm around me. “Lauren, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, but I couldn’t stay in that house or go back to my aunt’s. I didn’t want to be alone either. I didn’t want to admit that it’s happening,” I tell her amidst my tears falling.
“I’m so sorry, Lauren. I didn’t know. It’s okay to miss him. There’s nothing wrong with that—you’ve been with him the last three years of your life. I’d be worried if you didn’t. I’m sorry. What did he say to you? He didn’t tell you why or where he was going?”
“It’s not important. He’s gone; that’s all.” I grip my forehead. “Just gone.” I try to compose myself, and I sit on the couch that has been my bed for the past week. “I don’t know, Angie,” I say honestly, wiping my face.
“Don’t know what?” she asks, carefully sitting beside me.
I run my hands through my hair out of frustration. “The last time I had a full period was two months ago. So I really don’t know if-if I’m pregnant. It’s possible. What I do know is that this would be the worst time, the absolute worst.” I whimper, covering my face. “A baby is not what I need right now. I can’t be pregnant.” I fold my arms around my stomach.
“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions. You may not be. After all, stress would cause your period to stop, and you’ve been sleeping because you’re emotionally drained.” She tries to comfort me, but the look on her face is anything but convinced. “The important thing is that you find out, then you can figure out what you’re going to do about it, okay?”
She lifts my head. I smile weakly. She goes to the fridge and hands me an iced tea.
“So I’ll run to the store and get a test. You stay here and chill. Don’t go to sleep. Watch TV, listen to some music, but I’m kicking your ass if you’re passed out when I get back,” she jokes.
I smile. I’m not pregnant. I’m not.
“It says to wait five minutes. It’ll be a plus sign if positive, a minus if negative.” She smiles, trying to cover up her own nervousness.