Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Tori
Positive. Two dark pink lines stare back at me from the white countertop in my bathroom, where the pregnancy test sits.
I’ve avoided taking it but I couldn’t delay it any longer.
My hands tremble as I lift the plastic stick to get a closer look.
Yep, I am definitely pregnant. It’s been six weeks since Trent left.
When my period didn’t arrive like clockwork, my boobs no longer fit in my bra, and I threw up in the trash can at work yesterday, I knew I was pregnant.
I haven’t heard a word from Trent in two weeks.
I’ve had two letters and one phone call.
He said communication would be few and far between for the first few months, something I am all too familiar with, but now more than ever, I wish I could call him.
Actually, if we are wishing for stuff, I wish he were here to share this moment with me.
Am I ready to be a mother? Not really. Sure, I’m not super young; I’m twenty-seven, I have my own apartment and a good job, but Trent and I haven’t even said I love you yet. Does that matter? I know he does. I know I do, and this baby will be so loved by the both of us.
I leave the bathroom and go in search of my notepad to write a letter to Trent to get him to call me as soon as he can.
I decide on a chamomile tea to settle my nerves, and as I fill the kettle, I notice his mug still on the drainer.
I haven’t been able to bring myself to put it away because putting it away makes the reality of him being away all the more real.
It’s the little things I miss the most. The good morning texts and the goodnight calls.
The ability to pick up the phone and ask how they are.
It’s coming home to an empty apartment and sleeping in a bed that feels so big and empty with sheets that never rumple or crinkle on one side.
It’s not seeing his shoes by the door, his wet towel on the bathroom floor, or loose change on the nightstand.
It’s the everyday, ordinary parts of life that we miss the most when they are gone; the things that we don’t realize that we take for granted until we no longer have the luxury of having those moments anymore.
So, I keep his coffee mug on the drainer and a pair of his shoes by the door and count down the days on my calendar until he’s home to fill the empty spaces he left behind.