Chapter 20
Ireturn to the office and format the news bulletin with my brain functioning on autopilot. When I’m done, I email Pauline that I’m unwell and won’t be able to compile the international politics section today.
Then I shut down my computer and leave.
As I walk home, barely aware of my surroundings, I collide with a woman who stopped suddenly in front of the médiathèque. I apologize. She smiles, pats my arm, and tells me it was her fault.
She’s very pregnant.
A chill runs down my spine as I take in her rounded belly and realize I missed my period in June.
That means I haven’t had it for almost two months.
It could be nothing.
It has to be nothing.
I repeat those words in my head as I purchase two pregnancy tests at the pharmacy on the corner. I keep repeating them until I pee on the white stick and it gives me a smiley face.
I do the second test, and the stick smiles at me once more.
So, it isn’t nothing.
I wash my hands and pick up the tweezers on the little shelf under my bathroom mirror.
How is this possible?
Raphael and I never had sex without protection. Not once.
Absently, I study my face in the mirror and tell myself my eyebrows could do with some trimming.
I pull out a hair.
Ouch.
This is almost as painful as Brazilian wax. How can women do this daily?
It’s common knowledge that condoms only work ninety percent of the time. Given how much sex we’ve had since January, I should’ve asked my OB-GYN to put me on the pill.
I pluck more hairs on each side.
If I’m really pregnant, I could just go to a hospital and get an abortion. Thankfully, you can do that in France without a problem.
I study my thinned eyebrows in the mirror. They’re uneven.
Man, I’m crap at this.
I have another go at the left eyebrow.
Raphael never wanted this to happen. He doesn’t want a baby or a family. He doesn’t even want a regular girlfriend. What’s happening to me isn’t his fault, and it won’t be fair to make it his problem.
My left eyebrow is a thin line now, the way women wore their brows in the seventies. I’d better fix the right one so they match.
I’ll have an abortion.
And then I’ll become creepy Gaspard’s long-distance sex slave to make sure my dirty secret stays under wraps and Màma and Pàpa never see that video.
Or, I’ll take a chance on Raphael and tell him the truth. All of it—the gang bang, the blackmail, the pregnancy. The whole enchilada. He’ll probably think I’m just like that auditor, Adele. A gold digger out to trap and use him.
I’d rather die than have him think that of me.
Alternatively, I could just carry on and do nothing.
My brows now have holes in them and look like dotted lines. I pluck some more until I’m staring at a woman with no eyebrows.
I bare my teeth at her and wave.
Hello, everyone. I’m Mia Stoll, the slutty freak.
Here’s what will happen if I do nothing. The fetus inside me will grow and become a baby. Raphael will despise me. Gaspard will email the video to my parents. They’ll be devastated. They won’t want to see me again.
I put the tweezers back on the shelf and walk out of the bathroom.
Actually, there’s one more thing I could do.
Disappear.