“This has to be something else. Maybe I’m stressed and it’s just late.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I count the days again as I stare at the calendar. “Yes. We were at the hotel around the nineteenth,” I say more confidently. “It hasn’t been long enough. I missed my period last month, but Jordan and I didn’t start having sex until the day before it was due. There’s no way I can be pregnant.”
I let out a long breath and sit back on the couch. My hand slides between the cushions and something sharp pokes me. I slide over, looking down at the couch as I reach between the pillows. My fingers graze a flat paper object and I pull it out to look at it. It’s a picture of my parents in their early twenties. I know this because they look around the same age as they do in all of their wedding photos. My eyebrows pinch as I stare at the glossy photo. They are sitting on a hospital bed, my mother wrapped in a gown cradling a baby. My father sits next to her, his arm around her shoulder, smiling proudly. How did this get here? My mom usually keeps all my baby pictures tucked away in our album. Maybe this one got away from her when she was sorting.
“Zee,” Shana’s voice pulls my attention away.
“What?” I put the picture face down on the couch.
“Shit, when was the first night you two had sex?” she asks, but I’m quiet as I notice the purple writing on the back of the picture.
Daisy Teller. March 12th, 1995
What the hell?
“Zee.” She calls me again, her voice sharp. “When was the first time?”
“I told you, the weekend of the nineteenth.” I flip the picture again to look at the front. Who in the hell is Daisy?
“No,” she says, her voice heightening in intensity. “The very first time.”
I zone in to her question and my eyes go wide as fear grips me again. I stand, dropping the picture on the table. She’s talking about the night we got drunk; the night we got drunk and everything changed. How could I forget that? My mind races as I sort through my memory. Everything happened so fast and I can’t remember if we used a condom.
“Oh my God,” I say. Pressure builds in my chest. We both go silent and I count the days again, praying like hell I’m wrong. That night was almost two weeks before we got together at the hotel.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Don’t panic. You could be right. You were going through a lot last month with your parents and everything. It could just be stress like you said.”
“But what if it’s not, Shana?”
“It could be,” she says.
“What if it’s not, and I’m pregnant two fucking months after Jordan and I finally get together?” I’m speaking louder than I need to be. Though my mother is still shut in her room, she definitely isn’t deaf. Tears pool in my eyes and I dash to the kitchen, attempting to create some distance from the stairway.
“Calm down. You have options… but first of all, you need to figure out if you’re even pregnant,” Shana says, her tone even.
“I… I…” my words dry in my throat as I desperately try to blink the tears away. “This is going to ruin everything,” I finally say.
“What? No, it won’t. Jordan loves you.”
“We’ve been dating less than two months,” I whisper yell.
“You’ve been dating for years, you just didn’t know it,” she says. “Now, damnit, stop freaking out. Go buy a test. We’ll figure out what to do once you know for sure.”
I’m in a daze, shaking my head as I stare at the empty counter in front of me. I can’t think with words, all I hear is chaos and screaming.
“Okay?” Shana asks. Her voice seems loud.
“Okay,” I say, pulling in a deep breath. I’m nodding, trying to stifle my panic, but it only heightens when I hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. “Shit, let me call you back.”
I run into the living room and peek out the window to see Jordan’s blue Oldsmobile rolling to a stop. Oh fuck. I dash over to the mirror, the one my mother has hanging by the door, and quickly fix my hair and check my teeth. Then I open the door for him.
My thoughts are everywhere. Should I tell him there’s a chance I could be pregnant? Should I find out first? Should we do it together? He doesn’t see me right away. His head tilts, holding his phone in one hand, his computer and the other. His eyes grow bright when he sees me standing at the door.
“You’re up,” he says, ending his call. “Figured I’d check on you during my lunch break.” He walks across the porch and into the house.
“Aww,” I say, stepping to the side, allowing him in. “I’m definitely feeling a whole lot better.” I’m trying my best to seem normal when actually I want to scream.
“Good,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me in for a kiss. I pull away.
“No, no,” I say. “I don’t want you to get sick again.”
“I probably can’t, I’ve already built up antibodies.”
“What are you, a scientist now?” I place my hand on my hips and eye him curiously.
“Whatever.” He chuckles, walking further into the house. “What are you watching? God please tell me it’s not The Little Mermaid."
“No,” I say, my mind going completely blank for a second. I need to pull myself together before he notices something is up. “Um… It’s The Bachelor.”
“That’s not much better,” he deadpans.
Jordan shakes his head and walks toward the kitchen after scooping Casper into his arms. I’m always shocked when I see him do that. I have lived with that damn cat for years and he’s just now starting to like me.
I exhale as I watch him disappear into the kitchen. Okay… think. I could tell him now, but what if he freaks out? Hell, I’m freaking out enough for the both of us. Our friendship may have been solid, but is our relationship strong enough to deal with something like this already? God. I don’t know.
“Hey, I’m grabbing some menus for you to look over,” Jordan yells from the kitchen. “Since we can both finally eat, I want to go out to dinner. I figure if I give you the menus now you’ll have an idea where you want to go by the time I get back.” My stomach turns at the idea of food, reminding me again that I have no idea why. Am I sick? Was I ever sick?
“Oh, ha-ha,” I say, forcing a laugh. I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive dinner with Jordan without telling him about this. He reads me like a book and I know if I don’t get a handle on my shit he’ll end up grilling me, trying to find out what’s wrong. Maybe I should just cancel altogether, I don’t know if my stomach can stand a full meal as it is.
My eyes settle back on the TV, but the blinking light on my phone grabs my attention. I pick it up and find a message from Jordan’s dad.
Hey, Xia. I hear you and Jordan are together now. I think it's fantastic. You’ve always been like a daughter to me anyway. I’m making steaks tonight around 6 p.m. I’d love it if you two would come over.
“Ben is a dick,” Jordan says, walking into the room. “But he sure makes a great lasagna." He scoops a spoonful of noodles into his mouth. Three colorful menus sit neatly under the plate.