Chapter 24
Lucia
Khelani: Could you be pregnant?
It’s an innocuous question following a long message exchange with me wondering what I ate that could make me feel so nauseous. A wave of nausea hit me yesterday, but it went away. This morning I vomited at Tristan’s and on the walk to my place.
My forehead rests in my palm. There’s no fever. My breasts are sore.
Oh my god. I’m pregnant.
I haven’t missed a single day - ever. But I’ve been staying at Tristan’s. I don’t pack my pills. Sometimes I take them in the evening. And then there was one day that I doubled up because I the pack showed me I missed a day. My skin grows clammy and cold. This is my fault.
My phone rings. It’s Khelani.
I’m sitting on the floor, back against the wall, close to the toilet in case I need it again. My arms are so weak it actually takes effort to lift the phone. I answer, setting it to speaker.
“Lucia?” She sounds scared. A part of me wants to laugh, but tears well up. “Holy shit, girl. You are, aren’t you?”
I haven’t taken the test, but I know with a bone deep certainty. The tears well up in my throat and I sniffle.
“Deep breaths, okay? Take deep breaths.”
Arms wrapped around my legs, I follow Khelani’s directions. The nausea lessens with each deep breath, but a torrent of tears flow.
“Oh sweetie. I joked, but you are, aren’t you?”
I nod, but she can’t see me. The silence says everything.
“Are you going to tell him?”
No.
But you have to.
But he’ll think I did it on purpose.
There’s no winning here. God, how could I be so stupid?
“If you don’t want the baby, you can take a pill. You don’t have to have it.”
She’s right, of course. There are options.
If my mother were alive, I know what she would want me to do. She would tell me the Lord has a master plan, and a baby is a gift.
“Lucia, are you there?”
I tear off a piece of toilet paper, blow my nose, and sniffle. “I’m here. I can’t believe this. I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Are you on birth control?”
“The pill. I’ve been on it forever because I have painful cramps.” I should’ve switched to an IUD. “There have been some days where I missed it in the morning and didn’t remember until the end of the day.” A sob escapes from the depths of my soul.
Tristan trusted me when I told him I was on the pill, and now it’s going to look like I lied to him. How can you be on the pill for years and then get pregnant so quickly? It shouldn’t even be possible, should it?
“Do you need me to come out there?”
I sniffle again in response to the fresh tears. “You’d do that, wouldn’t you? Jump on a plane?”
“You betcha. That’s what best friends do.”
“I love you.” Another sniffle. “Oh, my god.”
“Honey, it’s going to be okay. No matter what you choose. I’m looking at flights right now.”
“You don’t need to do that.” The room spins. “I’m so lightheaded. I think I need to try to keep something down and then go to sleep.”
“Bread. Crackers. Go with something light.”
If I’m this nauseous for nine months, how will I work? And speaking of work, I wonder what the maternity policy is for someone working on a Visa? Would it be the same as other employees or?—
“Would your baby have citizenship?”
“No, it doesn’t work like that.” My head hits the back of the wall and I close my eyes. “I don’t think. But maybe, yes, because of Tristan. But I should probably ask to speak to the attorney working on my citizenship.” My lower lip trembles and I’m pretty sure it’s in reaction to telling Tristan.
“Tristan might be happy. Didn’t you say he’s older?”
“Early forties. But it’s not like that with us. We’ve just been having fun.” I bury my face in my knees and the tears dampen the pajama pants I’m wearing.
“But you said things are getting more serious with him. You guys spend every night together, right? This might not be bad news to him.”
“No.” I visualize Tristan’s expression when I tell him. Those cool gray eyes, his stern expression. He’s still a playboy. I had been fooling myself, hoping we might grow into something, and I have a special fool’s gift to show for it.
My arms cross over my belly and then still. There’s a baby growing in there.
“If you want this baby, you don’t need him.” She says the words that I already know. She’s right. I don’t need him. I’ve been living frugally my entire life and I’m a master with a budget. And since I haven’t been sending money back to Brazil, I’ve been saving.
I have a job. They won’t fire me for pregnancy. That gives me at least eight months to plan. In a worst-case scenario, I return to Portugal.
It’s affordable there and my experience with Lumina as an executive assistant will make me valuable, as does my British education. I have options. And I’m ten years older than my mother was when she had me.
I can do this. If I decide that’s what I want, I have choices. This doesn’t need to be the end of the world.
I also haven’t taken a pregnancy test. I should take a take a test.
“Lucia. You still there?”
I sniffle, snag a piece of toilet paper, and blot my nose. “Yeah. Look, I’m going to buy a test. If it comes back negative, I’ll feel like a real fool.”
The nausea subsides and I feel lighter somehow, like maybe this could be the most ridiculous thing ever.
“When was your last period?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I know this sounds ludicrous, but sometimes I don’t bleed in my off week.” Scratching my scalp, I will my memory to kick in. “I definitely didn’t bleed last time. Or at least not much. Maybe a little spotting.”
“So you’ve still been taking the pill?”
What she’s asking is how long have I been taking the pill that I might’ve been pregnant? I might’ve hurt my baby.
“Go get the test. First things first.”
She’s right. I need that test.
The walk down the street to the apothecary is a blur, both visually and mentally. Fresh air cools my salt burned cheeks. The person behind the counter smiles at me, takes in what I’m sure speaks to my emotional state of being, looks at the box I’ve handed over, and averts his gaze.
I rush out, breathing in deeply. The nausea subsides with each breath of crisp air. Storm clouds hang overhead, but there are pockets of bright sun shining through. I’m uncertain if the storm is passing us, or if it’s blowing in. I haven’t paid attention to the weather in days.
At the house, Emelia lifts her cigarette in greeting. The smell swirls up my nostrils and the nausea resurfaces. My fingers clutch my shopping bag tight to my side.
“Sch?tzli?” I avoid looking into her kind blue eyes, because I know her concern will bring out all the tears. She’s a wonderful landlady, but we’re more acquaintances than tight friends. And what would she think? A cross dangles from her neck.
“I’m okay,” I reassure her, head down. “I’m not feeling well and might be contagious. Best stay away from me.”
I rush to the door, not giving her a chance to say more. She has to be suspicious, but I don’t have it in me to do more.
In minutes, I’ll know exactly how big of a fool I am. Either I’m a fool for getting worked up over nothing, or I’m a fool for getting myself pregnant.
As I take out the box and read the instructions, my mind reels. If I’m not pregnant, from here on out, I will keep my pills in my wallet and will always have them with me, and I’ll take them at the same time every single day. I’ll set an alarm on weekends. I will never ever let taking the pill slip again. No, if I’m not pregnant, I’ll make an appointment with the doctor. I’ll pay whatever I need to for an IUD. The hormonal IUD should also help with cramps. That’s what I’ll do. I will never let myself have this scare again.
I pee on the stick, set it on the side of the sink on the wrapper, wash my hands, and wait.
My phone vibrates from beside the cloth reusable bag that I left pooled on the floor by the door. But I don’t have the energy to check it.
It’s Kehlani, I’m sure. I don’t have an answer yet.
Nerves twist with nausea and I curl in on myself. My eyes are dry, but my nerves are rioting.
The phone vibrates again.
Kehlani is texting me. She’s sending me words of encouragement.
Or maybe it’s work. If it’s work, Mr. Peltz might need something. But I can’t do anything until I know.
I push up off the floor, gaze locked on the plastic stick. Two pink lines.
For some indeterminate amount of time, I can’t look anywhere except at the two lines. They are thick and clear. There’s no question. There’s no need to take the other test for confirmation.
A sense of calm washes over me and I close my eyelids. My eyes burn and I dig my nails into my palms. The pain is welcome.
The vibrations pull me out of my stupor. If it’s work, then I need to work.
I leave the test and the wrapper on the sink. Something to be dealt with later.
I reach for my mobile and don’t bother checking my messaging app.
With one press of my finger, there’s a pause, clicks, and then a ringing.
“So?”
“Positive.”
“Okay. Well, now you know. Are you sure you don’t want me to come out?”
I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “No, you don’t need to spend a few grand to come out and check on me. I’m going to be fine.”
In the depths of my soul, I know this is true.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I need to sleep. I need to process and…” She can discern the rest. Choices need to be made, but not this second.
There’s a rapping on my door. “Lucia? Are you there?”
Tristan’s voice sucks the oxygen from my lungs and drops the temperature so low water would surely turn to ice.