19. Liv
19
LIV
M issing my period last month was nothing to panic over. Clearly, it was just stress. I was literally being hunted like an animal and slandered by the media, not exactly a relaxing time.
I’ve missed cycles before, like during final exam week in college. I didn’t have one the first three months I started working for Dave in the ECHL offices, either. The same thing happened when I started working for Caroline.
Missing my period during extremely stressful times in my life is normal for me. So this second missed period is definitely due to stress.
It has to be.
Right?
Except things are starting to settle down. The guys and I have established a routine that works for us. I’m having multiple orgasms from the hottest hockey players in the city every other day. My body should be relaxed enough now to have a cycle.
Being with them doesn’t shrink my workload, though. I’m just as busy as they are, if not busier, during the season. I still have to deal with Travis and his bullshit, so it's not all sunshine and daisies.
Stress could still be the reason my cycle is off.
You’d think that a near constant post-orgasmic haze would be enough to take the edge off though.
Even Travis’s microaggressions and thinly veiled misogyny are likely to end soon. Between Grace and me, we’ve compiled enough evidence that should get him fired when we decide to go to HR.
After his little stunt with the media failed, he’s been escalating enough for some of the men in my office to notice. Every time they say something to me about it, I tell them to file something with HR or to at least keep a record to give to them later. Some of them have actually done it.
Change is happening right in front of me. Hardly anyone is laughing at his jokes anymore, and even his threats about calling his cousin aren’t holding as much weight. People are finally standing up to him. That’s definitely taken some stress off my plate.
So where the hell is my period?
I’m halfway through my sugar pills, and there’s not a cramp in sight. I am a little bloated though, so maybe it’s on its way.
It has to be the media that’s causing my stress. Although it’s calmed down a bit, it’s constantly hovering in the background, just waiting to catch me doing something they can embellish.
You’re rationalizing harder than a politician caught up in a sex scandal. You know it’s damn well possible you could be pregnant.
That’s nonsense. I’m not pregnant. I’m on the pill, and that’s practically foolproof.
Practically foolproof isn’t foolproof. Seven percent margin, Olivia.
I’m not pregnant. My ten-year plan has me engaged at thirty and pregnant or at least trying at thirty-two. There’s no wiggle room to allow for a pregnancy at twenty-six.
So your sore breasts, fatigue, and continued nausea is what? Coincidence?
My boobs are sore because I’ve gotten fucked more times in the past three weeks than the rest of my life combined. That and the nipple clamps we tried out last night.
I’ve been so busy lately that I’m not eating like I should, thus burning more calories than I’m taking in. Waking up so hungry each morning causes me to feel nauseated.
I’m tired because I’m up most nights with my men which explains the fatigue.
Sure it does.
Shut up.
I try to focus on the report in front of me but the numbers just keep dancing around on the page. For the life of me, I can’t get them to sit still and make sense.
My stomach makes a suspicious gurgle.
Did I eat today?
I planned on stopping at noon to grab something. It’s now three o’clock, definitely too late to grab lunch.
Besides, I only have two hours left and I have to get this report done by the end of the day. I’ve gone this long without eating. I’ll be fine waiting until after work.
Except now that I’ve started to think about food that's all I can think about. I’m overcome by an intense desire for a sandwich.
Pregnancy craving.
No, it’s not. It’s just been a while since I’ve had a good sandwich. That's all it is.
The cafe downstairs has sandwiches. They’re not the best, but I’ve had worse. That should tide me over for a bit.
My stomach threatens mutiny at the thought of eating one of those pre-packaged sandwiches. I’ve gone almost the whole day without getting sick and I’d really like to keep it that way. So no cafe sandwich.
Okay, what else is close?
There’s a new deli down the block called King Kosher. It’s nearby, and my stomach doesn’t seem opposed to the thought. I pull up their website and place an order.
Ready in ten minutes. Perfect.
There’s usually a line out the door at that place but seeing as it’s mid-afternoon I guess I caught them between the lunch and dinner rush.
I’ll give it five minutes then head out. Surely I can focus on this spreadsheet for five minutes.
Or not.
The quiet of the office only makes my thoughts seem louder. It’s the perfect opportunity for my worries to stage a takeover .
What if I am pregnant? There are quite a lot of signs pointing in that direction, too many of them, actually. It would be foolish of me not to get a test at this point.
I could be overreacting, but buying the test might get the little voice in my head to shut up. I just have to figure out how to do it without anyone noticing.
What if that little stick says positive? Do I see this through?
The maternity leave at Pro Rink is actually pretty good, but I just got started at this office. The team, minus Travis, is finally working out the way I want them to. If I go on leave, the office culture Grace and I are trying so hard to create could all be gone by the time I get back.
That’s the least of my worries, though. There is a handful of paparazzi still interested in me. They know my schedule, showing up when I arrive at work and when I’m heading home.
Although they are mostly trying to get information about Max now that they know I’m his sister. Every time I leave my house or work, I’m peppered with questions from people determined to get dirt on him.
That’s not to say they’ve lost interest in my love life. Just last week, Spotlight Secrets published an article about a hickey I forgot to cover up.
The only reason the guys and I have been able to keep things under wraps so far is because of how careful we’ve been. Our plans for meeting up have more safety checks than a rocket launch.
What happens to me if I am pregnant and they notice the baby bump after a few months? They would be obsessed with who the father is.
I don’t know if I could handle that kind of media frenzy again, especially not in that condition. Just the thought of it makes my hands start to shake. My mouth is dry and I feel as if the room just got smaller, like there is a cluster of reporters crowding me already.
Don’t do this here. Not at work. The last thing you need is Travis, or anyone else for that matter, seeing a chink in your armor.
My stomach rumbles. I look at the clock and immediately feel too many things at once.
On the one hand, my body is thrilled that it’s sandwich time, like it wants to skip excitedly the entire way to the deli.
On the other hand, I’ve just spent five minutes working myself up into a panic over something that might not even be happening to me.
I let out a frustrated sigh.
Maybe the walk will do me some good. I’ll be able to get out of my own head and move my body. Plus, I’ll be coming back with food which will hopefully help me focus a little better.
There’s also a corner store right next to the deli. If there aren’t any press following me, I’ll grab a pregnancy test. Just the thought of getting a definitive answer eases my mind a little. Tomorrow morning the matter will be settled one way or another, and then I can decide what to do.
After the sandwich and a quick trip to the store, the rest of my day gets easier. I finish my report and successfully ignore the two guys with cameras outside when I leave.
Part of me wants to take the test as soon as I walk in the door but the more rational side of my brain knows I’ll get a more accurate result in the morning.
So the question now is how to fill my time, and my mind.
Normally, I’d send a message in our group chat, asking the guys to come over, but the coach is hosting some type of team bonding event tonight. Initially, I’d been bummed about it but now I’m kind of glad that they’re unavailable.
Things have been going so well lately. The last thing I want is a possible pregnancy to send things back into chaos. The fight they’d had before we came up with this arrangement had bled over into practice. If they don’t stay in line, it could cost them the game next time.
If they were to found out there’s a chance I could be pregnant, they might start fighting again. Scratch that, they will start fighting again. They’d be all over me, insisting on figuring out who the father is so that person could step up and do the right thing. Truth is, there’s no way of knowing that until the baby comes and we can do a DNA test.
The three of them are so much alike and so damn competitive that it could ultimately cost them their friendship, and that’s not something I want to be responsible for. Selfishly, I don’t want to give up any of them because of some outdated moral standard coming from a time where women were seen as property.
On the off chance that I am pregnant, I wouldn’t want to know which one of them was the father anyway. I wouldn’t want anything to change. I’d still want to be with the three of them, but I know they’d never go for that.
Our arrangement has been working for several weeks, with jealousy only an occasional issue. We talk it through whenever it arises, but adding a child to the mix would be like adding kerosene to a fire.
There’s an easy solution if I am pregnant. Boston has a handful of clinics but could I actually go through with that?
I do want kids someday. Even if the marriage part of my ten-year plan falls through and I’m alone, I’ve got a backup plan. There are reputable sperm banks out there—I researched them—and I know the basics of the adoption process.
I knew what I wanted my future to look like from an early age, and I put a plan in place to help me achieve it. Children have always been a part of that.
I’m not sure that I could end a pregnancy just because it happened a few years too soon.
No, I know I couldn’t.
I just need to wait until morning to see if I’ve been working myself up over nothing, or if my life is about to drastically change.
Suffice it to say I don’t sleep well. I toss and turn to such a degree that I make rotisserie chickens look lazy.
I give up around three in the morning. I’m not going to be able to sleep until I know, and depending on the result, I may not be able to sleep once I do know.
Those are the longest three minutes of my life.
I couldn’t bring myself to stay in the bathroom with the little stick, so I pace outside the door until my phone timer goes off.
Okay. Here we go.
When I flip the test over, it takes my brain almost a full minute to register what my eyes are seeing.
Right there in that teeny tiny window is an unmistakable plus sign.
I know three things for certain:
One, I’m keeping this baby.
Two, if I don’t want to destroy their friendship, I’m going to have to end things with them and go it alone.
Three, I don’t care how selfish it is or how bad a person it makes me, but I’m not telling them about the baby until I absolutely have to.