1. SARAH
ONE MONTH LATER
“Shit.”
I stare at the two vibrant pink lines, hoping that the longer I do, the greater the chance that one of them will disappear and I’ll wake up from this living nightmare.
My fingers grip the white stick, bringing it to my eyes for a closer inspection. Unfortunately, both lines are displayed smugly, mocking me, with no intentions of going anywhere. I drop the stick onto the bathroom counter and pick up the box, flipping it over for directions, which I quickly scan.
How complicated is it to pee on a stick?
My eyes dart back and forth until I get to the part I’m looking for, and my fear is confirmed.
One line:not pregnant.
Two lines:pregnant.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Absently, I drop the box in the trash and push the stick off the counter and into the small metal barrel, seeing that staring at it won’t change the results.
A rush of anxiety sweeps through me, and I quickly sit on the edge of the bathtub, gripping the porcelain tile with shaky fingers as the seriousness of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks.
And then it dawns on me.
I don’t even know who the father is.
Oh. My. God.
I mean, I know who the father is. He’s the only guy I’ve slept with since that night, but what I don’t know is his goddamn name.
A high-pitched laugh bubbles out of me at the insanity of that statement. Oh great. I’m not just pregnant, but I’m also officially losing my mind.
How could this happen?
We used a condom. I know we used a condom. I rolled it on his huge dick, for God’s sake!
Did it break?
How am I going to be able to afford a baby?
How do you even take care of a baby?
Are they like pets that can care for themselves while you go to work and school?
Can I do this alone?
What am I going to do?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a throbbing headache forming with each question assaulting me one after the other, and I can’t make them stop.
Deep breath. You’ll figure this out. You always do.
I stand and turn to the side, looking in the mirror. So far, there’s no baby bump. At this stage, not a soul would even know I’m pregnant, but I wonder how long I have until a bump does show because I need time to figure everything out.
My hand rests on my flat stomach, hoping to feel something that will give me a sign, but even I know it’s too early.
I let my hand fall to my side as I make my way out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. My textbooks are stacked on my desk, ready for my first day of classes as a junior next week at Linrey University. My new paints remain bagged in the corner of my room, waiting for inspiration to find me. And the terrifying pile of bills on my dresser makes my stomach plummet. But maybe that’s just the pregnancy and not the impending doom looming over me.
Up until this point, I’ve been able to get by financially. Get by meaning I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. I have a decent apartment thanks to my small trust fund, I received academic scholarships that covered most of my school expenses, and I’ve worked for as long as I can remember to cover any and all necessities, never needing much.
But my trust fund is almost depleted, and getting by isn’t going to be enough with a baby on the way.
There’s diapers and formula and bottles and toys and a crib and…
Breathe!
I rest my hands on my chest, the intense spike of my heartbeat concerning me as I take a deep breath, trying to figure out what step one should be.
As long as I make a game plan and don’t let anything mess with this plan, then everything will be fine.
Everything will be fine.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I reach for Teddy, hugging him tightly against my chest. The poor guy has seen better days. His once bright beige sherpa fabric has dulled out with several little stains. One of his eyes hangs on by a thread. Literally. And the pink bow around his neck has a few splits at the end, the fabric fraying. He’s not much to look at, but he’s my teddy bear.
My teddy bear that has been with me through the good and the bad of the past twelve years.
Even if the bad days have outweighed the good ones.
He’s always been here for me.
And yes, I know he’s an inanimate object, but…he’s all I have.
Placing Teddy back in his spot in the center of my bed, I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath.
I guess step one should be to make an appointment at a doctor’s office to confirm whether I am pregnant or not. Maybe that stupid stick was lying to me, and I’m worrying over nothing.
Quickly, I take my phone out of my pocket and call to make an appointment nearby. The receptionist informs me that they’ll be able to see me in an hour, which is great. The sooner, the better. And then I’m sure they’ll tell me I’m not pregnant, and everything will go back to normal.
But what if they do tell me I’m pregnant?
Then what?
I chew on my black-painted thumbnail, contemplating this.
It will be so embarrassing to admit to people that I don’t even know who the father is.
He was just some guy at the right place at the right time.
Some guy who was the perfect distraction.
Some guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for the past month.
And some guy who gave me the best sex of my life.
The best night of my life, if I’m being honest.
I look up at the ceiling toward the “Big Man” upstairs.
“Well played, sir. You got me. Lesson learned. No more one-night stands for me.”
I throw my hands in the air, jutting out my middle fingers in frustration before turning to my closet to grab a black T-shirt to wear over my black lace bra. I reach for a pair of denim shorts on the floor and throw those on, too, before sliding my feet into a pair of black sneakers. Throwing my long, dark hair in a pony, I take one final look in the mirror and then make my way out of my apartment, ready to end this little nightmare.
Because there is no way that I’m pregnant.
* * *
“You’re pregnant,” Dr. Martin, the obstetrician, says matter-of-factly, looking over the test results in her hands.
“Are you sure there’s no way it could be wrong?” I ask, praying for a sliver of a chance it could be negative. “Aren’t there like false positives all the time?”
“Afraid not,” she responds. “Your blood work shows a high level of hCG, the hormone produced during pregnancy.”
“But we used a condom,” I complain as though it’s her fault I’m in this predicament.
“I’m afraid condoms are only ninety-eight percent effective when not used with another form of contraception like the pill or an IUD. And when not used correctly, the effectiveness drops to eighty-five percent.” She places her clipboard on the counter, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Well, they should put that in a big, bold font on the front of the box,” I mumble, anxiously biting my bottom lip.
Dr. Martin pushes her glasses to the top of her head over her short, auburn hair and gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say this wasn’t planned?”
“Gee, what gave it away?” I ask with sarcasm dripping from my voice. I sigh and lean back on the awkward table with stirrups at one end, planting the palms of my hands into my eyes. “Sorry. No. This was definitely not planned.”
She rolls her little stool closer to me and takes a seat. “And the father?”
I drop my hands to my sides and let out a long breath, shaking my head.
It’s my own fault.
“Any family?” she asks.
My throat tightens as I shake my head again.
It’s just me.
There’s no way I’m discussing my family or lack thereof right now. All it will get me is a look of pity, and I don’t think I can handle one of those looks at the moment.
“You know, there are options for you.” She opens a drawer, digs around, and then extends her arm toward me, handing me a few brochures. The top one reads, Adoption. Is it for me? My stomach immediately coils into tight, guilty knots. She then pushes a thick packet into my hands titled Hello, New Mom, containing all the essential information needed to have a baby. “Why don’t you take these home and do some research? Think about what feels best for you and the baby.”
I give her a tight lip smile, trying to rein in the overwhelming urge to cry.
“Call us when you’re ready to schedule your next appointment, and we’ll take it one step at a time. I know it might feel like you’re alone, but there’s a whole team of amazing doctors here who will do everything they can to help you through this.” She smiles warmly, like a loving mother, and my heart constricts.
“Thank you,” I choke out, holding in the tears.
She stands and walks out, giving me the room to myself. And that’s when the tears rain down, cascading over my cheeks. I look down at the floral tattoo pattern covering my left arm as my finger traces the lily located right over the inside of my wrist.
My mom’s favorite flower.
I take a deep breath and look out the far window, noting the ominous grey clouds producing big rain droplets, mirroring my tears.
How am I going to be a good mother when I barely had enough time with my own?