14. Fourteen
Fourteen
Betsy
I swing by the drugstore on my way to a paint-your-own pottery night with my girlfriends and grab a pack of pregnancy tests. My stomach’s been churning, and I think it’s more than the stress of my stepdad and his brother both saying they love me. A couple interrupted sexual experiences. And an uncertain business future.
It would be a long shot for my do the right thing stepfather to have gotten me pregnant, but I need to know. It’s been ten days since the auction, barely enough time for the cheap and easy tests to work. If the first one is negative, I’ll have the second test to fall back on in a few days.
This evening will also give me a chance to talk to Jasmine about Bull and Rocky getting pissed over the bikini barista thing.
Jasmine, Naomi, and Sabrina arrive at the same time as me, and the second Jasmine steps inside, she clamps a hand over her mouth, beelining for the bathroom. Retching has commenced by the time I follow her inside.
I hand her a wad of paper towels then help her off the bathroom floor.
“Do you think you’re pregnant?” I feel the answer in my heart. We’re both pregnant, which is kind of cool that we can go through this together. And judging by Naomi and Sabrina’s faces, we’re not alone.
Jasmine recoils. “What? No. It’s probably just food poisoning or a flu.”
Naomi rubs her back. “When was your last period?”
“It’ll be in two days. My birth control makes it super easy to predict.” She almost retches again.
I grab the box of pregnancy tests from my purse.
“Why do you have those?” Sabrina asks.
Anyone who saw what happened at the Aubergine Affair might question if it’s even possible. “I was going to take one tonight.”
With the weight of the bikini barista thing adding to the possible pregnancy, I opt for tackling one problem at a time. I open the box, pull out two plastic packages, and hand one to Jasmine. “We can take them together.”
“Not the kind of bonding I was hoping for tonight. I’ll put my faith in my birth control pills and wait two days. Anyone else need it?” She waves the stick.
Sabrina and Naomi admit that they have tests at home, which leaves Jasmine to confirm whether she’s pregnant or if she’s sick and needs to go home.
Isolating myself in one of the stalls, I think of how fun it could be to be pregnant and raise a baby at the same time as a friend or two or three. The possibility lifts my spirits, helping remind me that even if I messed up Jasmine’s business plan, we’ll be there for each other.
Jasmine sets her test stick on the bathroom counter. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to distance herself from the result. I do the same.
It’s ironic that she doesn’t want a relationship and may have ended up pregnant, while I want a relationship with someone who doesn’t want me.
The timer goes off and I blink, processing the pink lines. Jasmine’s pregnant. I’m pregnant. Anxiety ripples through me. How the hell am I going to tell Bull? He wasn’t even willing to tell his mom we’re a thing. How’s he going to explain a baby? No one would believe we didn’t really have sex.
I text Rocky, hoping he can merge his cool uncle vibe and his feelings for me: Can we put the bikini barista thing aside? I need your help.
My phone rings. Rocky. I step away from my friends to take the call.
“What do you need help with? Are you okay, Betsy?” His concern is comforting.
“Basically.”
“Consider the bikini barista thing done. I’m sorry I overreacted again, but you seriously need to stop dropping bombs on us.”
Oops, this latest news isn’t going to land well. I’ll try to ease in. “So you’re okay with the bikinis?”
“Once again, I calmed the fuck down and researched it. I have concerns but I respect the concept. If Bull pulls his portion of the funding, I’ll make up for it. So what do you need?”
My stomach roils. I’d rather run to Jasmine with the good news of a crisis averted. “I need you to be my super-cool uncle.”
“Hmm… that doesn’t sound like a booty call.”
I can’t let him make this harder than it is. “I’m pregnant.”
Silence.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell Bull.”
More silence then he says, “I’ll help you.” But there’s little confidence in his tone.
I try to ease the tension. “Should we tell him at the Christmas party so he can move right past worrying how to tell Grandma?”
“Not funny.” He’s not usually one to wave off a joke.
I shrink a little. “Sorry, I’m stressed out.”
“Don’t be sorry. That’s on me. I meant that it’s not funny that you’re carrying his baby instead of mine.”
My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure what to do with that statement.
He continues, “We should probably wait until after the party to tell him.”