Twelve #2
I want to argue, but the reality is that this is a hundred percent my fault, and I am, at this moment, equal parts horrified and relieved.
I flop into the nearest chair, hands flat on the table, heart jackhammering in my chest. The sound of my own pulse is so loud that it takes a minute to realize that Luca is now standing in front of me, a paper napkin in one hand and the kind of expression usually reserved for hostage situations.
“Harper,” he says gently, “let’s use our inside voice next time we want to announce life-altering news.”
I am not sure I have an inside voice left, but I nod.
He sits across from me, leans forward, and speaks in a hush so intense I have to lean in to hear. “When was your last period?”
I make a strangled noise. “I don’t know.”
He tilts his head.
I say, “I don’t. I’ve been…” I gesture at my own body, as if that explains anything. “I’ve been busy.”
Liv slides in next to me, sets her coffee down with a clink, and fixes me with a look that says, “I am here for this breakdown and will only laugh a little.”
She says, “You told me you were getting headaches again last week.”
I blink. I did.
“You said you thought it was the lights in your kitchen.”
I want to deny it, but it’s true. And I know what she is getting at, my pregnancy with Leo was wrought with hundreds of the damn things.
Luca says, “When did you last feel… normal?”
I don’t answer right away, because the truth is that I haven’t felt “normal” since the night I woke up in another man’s bed with no idea how to explain it to myself, let alone the universe.
I say, “It’s probably just stress. I’m writing under a deadline. I’ve been drinking a lot of coffee.”
Luca nods, as if this is a credible medical theory, but Liv is less convinced. She leans closer, voice even softer. “Are you sure it’s stress?”
I do not answer.
There is a beat of silence, and then the front door explodes inward.
Elsie barrels in, breathless, clutching a pharmacy bag in one hand and her phone in the other, toddler now strapped to her back in a complicated origami of pink cloth.
You can tell how out of it I am that I didn't even wonder until now where the other twin is until now.
Ah, there he is, playing in the kids’ corner. She deposits the bag on the table with the flourish of a magician revealing her final trick.
She says, “I got three kinds, just in case.”
Luca says, “What do you want to do, Harp?”
I stare at the bag. It stares back.
I say, “I can’t be.”
Liv, “It’s possible.”
Me, “I write for a living. I survive on caffeine and panic. I haven’t slept a full night in two months.”
Elsie, “Me neither but mine is because of the twins and has never caused me to miss periods.”
Me, “That’s not the same.”
Luca, softly, “It’s the same result though.”
Elsie nudges the bag closer. “Go to the bathroom.”
I say, “I don’t think I want to.”
Liv, “You’ll feel better if you know.”
I want to argue. I want to list all the logical reasons this is impossible. I want to time-travel back thirty minutes or erase the last twenty-four hours of my life. Instead, I pick up the bag and shuffle to the single-occupant bathroom at the back of the shop.
The light in the bathroom is harsh, the kind of blue-white that renders every pore a crime scene and every shadow a new reason to question your entire existence. I close the door, set the bag on the sink, and stare at it like it might sprout legs and run.
The instructions on the box are simple. Pee. Wait. Observe.
My hands are shaking so badly that I nearly drop the test twice, and when I finally manage to get the cap off, I realize I have no idea what I’m doing. I read the directions three times, then perform the most anxious, neurotic version of the process ever attempted by a human.
Then, I wait.
It does not take three minutes. It does not even take one. The result blooms almost instantly, two lines, stark and immediate, no room for interpretation.
It is just two pink lines.
I set the test on the sink and do not look away from it.
My period came the week I found the underwear, I remember because I cried in the bathroom and thought it was hormones before I understood it was grief.
That was over two months ago. Ethan and I hadn’t touched each other in the two months before that.
The math is not that complicated. I pick the test back up and look at the two lines and think of an apartment I have not let myself think about since I left it, and a man whose last name I never asked for.
I walk back out into the café. The whole room has gone back to normal, but my friends are arrayed around the table like a jury waiting to deliver a verdict. I set the test down in the middle, without saying a word.
Elsie’s hand closes over mine. Liv is the first to speak.
She says, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, then nod, then shake it again. My chest is hollow, and my skin feels like it doesn’t fit anymore.
Luca, soft as a confession: “Are you okay?”
I open my mouth, and for a second, nothing comes out. Then, so quiet I am not sure it’s audible, I say, “I’m pregnant.” I find myself spiralling between emotions. I wanted this so bad when I thought Ethan and I were on the same page.
Liv is stone-faced, but she moves her coffee closer, as if preparing to shield me from all external threats. Elsie squeezes my hand harder, her eyes so bright I can barely look at them.
Luca puts a gentle arm around my shoulders. “We’re here, Harp. Whatever you want to do, we’re here.”
I study the pregnancy test, then their faces, then the strip again. In any café, among any crowd, I’d be frozen right here: clutching this secret that feels too heavy for my hands.
Finally, I answer the question that I see on their faces.
“I know whose it is.”
Luca blinks. “Does it matter?”
My throat closes. “It matters more than anything.”
My voice splinters. “I’m not even divorced yet. I have no playbook for this…” I choke on the words. For the first time in years, I’m too exhausted to hide the weakness.
Elsie’s eyes are gentle. “Do you want to call Clara?”
I nod, because there’s nothing else I can do.
Liv leans closer, almost inaudible. “Is it… man meat?”
I meet her gaze and smile slightly. “Yes. Alexander.”
She doesn’t say a thing, but her hand drifts toward mine, anchoring me. My phone buzzes on the table. I fish it out, an email from Clara.
“Ethan is contesting the financial settlement. He’s demanding a share of your royalties, and claims the books were written during the marriage.”
A harsh laugh fractures free, part sob, part scream.
“He wants half my books,” I say. “He never even read them.”
Liv snorts. “Classic.”
Elsie’s face tightens. “He can’t do that.”
“He will try,” Luca says quietly.
I laugh again, louder this time, as if I’m watching someone else’s life spiral out from above. I look at the three friends who’ve been propping up the rafters of my world for the past three months. I breathe it out:
“Leo asked if his dad still loves him last night.”
Silence envelops us, soft and protective, the kind you build around someone so they can unravel without a sound.
I close my eyes and finally let the weight of it all press in.
I am pregnant.
My little boy is already learning that love doesn’t always mean that people will show up for you.
I open my eyes. They’re watching me, waiting for the next move.
***