27. Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Tessa
M egan spills through the front door the second I pull it wide, hurling herself into my arms and almost knocking me off my feet as she clings to me with a surprising strength. She’s trembling, sobbing, and babbling something about how she’s never been a day late in her life.
My stomach takes a nosedive when the meaning behind her muffled words begins to sink in. I pull back and take her ice-cold hand in mine, leading the way over to the couch and urging her to sit. Then I wait for her to calm down enough to confirm my suspicions.
When she finally does, I immediately drag her to my dad’s store, where I force her to choose between the ungodly amount of flavors Ben & Jerry has to offer.
She might’ve insisted she wasn’t hungry and couldn’t possibly keep anything down, but this is a crisis, and everyone knows a crisis calls for unhealthy amounts of ice cream.
Once the lucky winner safely rests at the bottom of our basket, Megan keeps a lookout while I commit my very first crime.
Snatching a pregnancy test off the shelves and shoving it to the bottom of my purse in a lightning-fast move, we hastily pay for our icy treat, squirming under the watchful eye of my father, before hightailing it back home.
Listen, I’m no thief, and I feel tremendous guilt over my questionable actions.
Stealing–from my own family, no less–is not something I’d typically condone.
But Megan has been the most amazing friend to me over the years, and she deserves a chance to come to terms with whatever outcome might present itself without our overbearing parents breathing down her neck.
I’d make it right with my dad once we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.
“Did you pee on it?” I ask when Megan emerges from my ensuite bathroom, looking a little green around the gills.
“I can’t believe you’re even asking me this?
” she moans, throwing me a concerned look while we wait for an inanimate object the size of a popsicle stick to determine my friend’s future.
Worry gnaws a hole into my stomach lining, and the metallic taste of blood explodes on my tongue, letting me know I’ve chewed my poor lip raw.
And to think I was jealous of Megan’s near-perfect life only a few short days ago.
You just never know what kind of surprises might be waiting for you just around the corner.
Megan throws herself facedown across my bed in a theatrical display and releases a tortured groan before she lifts her head off the mattress just high enough to hit me with the full force of her pleading gaze.
“Please tell me everything’s going to be okay. Oh my God,” she wails, eyes popping wide. “What am I going to do if this thing comes back positive? I can’t have a fricking baby, Tess. I’m still a baby myself.”
“I know you’re freaking out right now, but—”
“Freaking out?” she squeals, pushing herself off the bed and into a standing position in a move Bruce Lee would’ve been impressed by.
“I’d freak out over a bad grade on a math test, given we’re this close to graduation.
” Pinching the air between her thumb and index finger, she begins pacing the length of the room.
“I’d freak out over a pimple popping up in the middle of my forehead the day Carter wants to take me out on a date.
Someone buying up the last cupcake at Carla’s when I’m about to start my period might be worthy of a freak-out because we all know I need that sugar boost. I mean, how dare that arrogant prick in his fancy monkey suit deprive me of the one thing that has the power to make or break my day just because he’s had a challenging morning at the office?
This?” she screeches, waving a hand in the direction of the bathroom where the little stick of doom is currently marinating away from prying eyes.
“This is so not a freak-out moment. This is a full-on panic-inducing-breathe-into-a-paper bag type of situation, and I shit you not, I feel like I might pass out.”
Coming to a sudden halt, Megan doubles over, throwing an arm out sideways and wriggling her fingers to let me know she’s in need of more than simple moral support.
I jump into action and rush to her side, rubbing soothing circles over her back until the shrill sound of a cell phone going off indicates the end of our grace period. Time to face the music.
Megan straightens on a deep inhale and stares into my soul, like the prolonged eye contact is the only thing keeping her from unraveling.
I squeeze her clammy hands, silently reassuring her that I will always be there no matter the outcome.
Then I lead my terrified friend into the bathroom, not letting go until it’s time for Megan to reach for the test that has the potential to turn her life upside down.
Her gaze drops to the result window, and I watch in horror as instant tears spring to her eyes. She brings the item up between us and holds it out to me with a trembling hand. And there it is. In black and white. Or, in this case, in the form of a couple of undeniable, bright pink lines.
My best friend is about to become a mother at the tender age of eighteen. As we stand frozen on the tiled floor, looking at each other with matching expressions of shocked disbelief, all I can think is that a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s is not going to fix this.