Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
What the hell?
Clearly, it’s malfunctioned. Pretty sure three seconds isn’t enough time for this test to really know if I’ve got a baby growing inside my uterus.
I barely give myself time to wash my hands before I head back out of the bathroom and go straight for the feminine products aisle where two rows of pregnancy tests sit. I grab one at first, but figure four more is better, all made by different brands, just in case I get another one that’s broken.
Once I have a receipt and I’m sixty dollars poorer, I head back to the bathroom, guzzling more orange juice as I go.
Locked in the stall again, I grab the first box out of my bag, rip it open like a heathen, and pee on it. When I realize that my bladder is still practically bursting full, I hold my stream briefly, tear open the other four boxes, and pee on those too.
I avert my eyes as I wipe and pull up my underwear, but once I’m dry and covered, I look down at the opened bag, where all five pregnancy tests sit.
The first two each showcase two bright pink lines.
And the other three say Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Oh my God. I think I might be pregnant.
You think?
Six pregnancy tests say you are.
My shoulders sag as I hop off the subway when it reaches my stop, and those shoulders stay hunched forward as I trek the two blocks to my building.
I’m pregnant? It’s all I can think. Over and over and over again. I’m pregnant?
I’M PREGNANT?
I have no idea what time it is or if the sidewalk is crowded or even what the weather is like right now. I can barely see anything but the way the word pregnant looked on four of those digital tests.
When I walk into my building, I can barely muster a smile for my doorman, Terry, and by the time I ride the elevator seven flights to my apartment, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the universe on my back.
Though, that weight doesn’t get any lighter when I step inside my apartment, and I’m faced with the sounds of rock music blaring from my Bluetooth speakers like someone has decided to throw a party without my presence.
What the…?
“Katy!” my dad bellows over the noise the instant the door clicks shut behind me. He’s made himself comfortable on my sofa, and my mother sits on the ottoman across from him. They’re both sharing a bag of Doritos that I guess they found in my pantry.
“Honey!” my mother greets, but it mostly just sounds like she’s screaming at the top of her lungs so I can hear her over the music.
My nerves feel frazzled as it is, so I immediately head over to my speakers and turn the volume down.
“Ah, man!” my dad groans. “Zeppelin was just about to hit my favorite part in ‘Stairway to Heaven’!”
“How did you guys get in here?”
“Your mom got a key made when you were in Savannah over Christmas.”
This is the first time I’ve heard this. Normally, I’d focus on how that is not an appropriate thing to do behind my back, but with the way this day has already gone, I don’t have the brainpower for scolding my parents.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?” my mom asks. “Sunday is the big day. Gran is going to spread Granddad’s ashes on the Staten Island Ferry. Anniversary of the day they met and all.” When I don’t respond she adds, “Surely you didn’t forget?”
Oh, but I did, because evidently, these days, I’m a woman who has spent the last several weeks practically shacking up with Mack Houston so much so that she just so happens to be pregnant by him and is, for all intents and purposes, a complete mess.
I ignore that thought like my life depends on it.
“Of course I didn’t forget,” I offer a little white lie. The last thing I want to do is let the current drama of my life bleed into what should be a very emotional and poignant weekend for my family. My gran’s been planning this since two days after my granddad died eight months ago. I guess when you’re married for sixty years, doing the right thing by your partner is important to you even after they’re dead. “Where’s Gran?”
“She’s at the hotel taking a nap.”
Both my mom and dad stand up to give me big hugs, and I try my darndest to look like a daughter who is happy to see them and make myself smile through my current mental discomfort.
“It’s so good to see you, Katy,” my mom whispers into my ear. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you too, Mom.”
“Glad to see ya, Katybug.” My dad grips my shoulders in his big hands and playfully jostles me back and forth before giving me a kiss on the forehead.