Chapter 8
Less than twenty-four hours later, I find myself back in the bathroom with Farrah. Only this time we have a test.
“I don’t know if I want to take it.” I bring my long nails up to my mouth and start chewing on them.
With the money I spent on the acrylics, I really shouldn’t be ruining them like this. Farrah grabs my hand from my mouth, holding it in her firm grip.
“You have no choice. You need to know one way or the other.”
I start smacking the box against my shaking leg. Throwing my head back to look up at the ceiling, I count my breaths.
“But what if…” I stop myself, not even sure what I’m asking. She hears it all the same.
“Then we will figure it out.”
With a sigh, I tear through the packet just to place the test on the counter. Continuing to stare at it like it will transform into a solution, I know it might just show me a problem.
“Do you know what you’re going to do if you are pregnant?” Sliding crisscross in front of me, she rests her hands on my knees.
It forces them to stay still, only making my mind race to make up the difference.
“Like, are you going to keep it?”
I look into her brown eyes and find no judgment. There is only concern and understanding.
“I don’t know,” I say, throwing my face into my hands.
She strokes my head, her thumb pressing into my forehead every once in a while. It’s the only thing that stops me from full-on crying.
“I don’t think I could live with myself if I got rid of it, but I’m also not ready to be a mom.”
She keeps stroking me, her other hand finding its way into mine.
“There’s always adoption.”
Trying to give me a third option to this two-way street, I appreciate the thought.
“My dad would take it before I even got a chance, not to mention I’m sure the father will want a say.”
“Oh shit. Do you even know whose it would be?”
The laughter that bubbles up from my throat is harsh and loud. I sound like a maniac as I cackle out my delirium. Of course, I don’t know who the father is. I finally lose the fight against the tears after my laughter subsides.
“I’m a fucking episode of Maury.” I rub at my face trying to dry it off, but they come so fast I don’t have a chance.
“Take the test before you do all of that. There might not even be a point in getting this worked up.”
Grabbing the stick, I finally pee on it, ready to see the results. The time it takes for the little screen to give us an answer feels like the longest two minutes of my life. There is no audible sound. Both of us are holding our breaths while we wait.
When it lights up with the clear-as-day pregnant confirmation, we both scream. The scary movie wail seems fitting since my life is about to end.
I pick up the stick and throw it against the door. The little thud of it hitting the wood doesn’t feel satisfying enough.
“Fuck!” I yell.
“It could be a false positive.”
“Really, Farrah?” I stand up and clap my hands together like the sudden noise will stop time. I just need everything to pause so that I don’t have to face this right now.
“Look, you should see a doctor before you jump to any conclusions.”
“You just told me to take the test before I jumped to any conclusions. What next? You want me to wait for the baby to be born?” I know it’s not right to take this out on her, but she is the only one here to witness my downfall. “There is only one conclusion.”
I slide down the floor in front of her and let a sob out. It escapes through my crumbling sanity that was just holding the emotions back.
“I’m supposed to leave for the tour in a week. Even if I don’t keep it, do you think I should still go?”
I can feel her heart breaking right alongside mine with the exhale that leaves her body. She pulls me into her arms, and despite the awkwardness of being stuck between the tub and the cupboard, she holds me in just the right way.
“I’ll book an appointment for tomorrow, and we can see exactly what is going on. Even if we can’t get you out there in time, let’s get you back in a space where you can still do what you love.”
I flinch at that. Even if it’s no longer my heart’s desire, this pregnancy could be the end of my career. I might not ever make it back to the stage, even if the music starts to sing to me again.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” I say, trying to take my mind off that.
“I’m happy you’re letting me be.”
I pat her leg and sit up, wiping away the last of the tears. No more crying for me. I need to get my act together. No, what I need is a drink.
“I can’t even get drunk to deal with this.”
“Will chocolate do?”
“It will have to.”
We peel ourselves off the floor, our knees sore in a way that tells our age. No longer capable of dropping it low without some sort of ache, things might be worse off after the next seven months.
My leg is bouncing. Always moving when given the chance, I need an outlet to push all my pent-up energy into. This is my only solution as we sit in the waiting area of an obstetrician’s office.
“Do you think I should’ve told them?” Finding the leg to not be enough, I stand and start pacing in front of Farrah. She watches me go, her head moving from side to side as she follows my movements.
“Do you mean your baby daddies?”
I stop and glare at her, which just causes her to find more humor in it.
“There is no point in telling anyone until you have more of an idea of what you’re going to do.”
I sigh and sit back down, resting my head in my hands.
I don’t know what either one of them would even think if they found out.
Somehow, I feel like both of them would be happy.
If it is Callahan’s, should I give being with him a try?
If it’s Charlie, do we fast forward our relationship? I don’t want to be a single mom.
“This is ghetto.”
She starts laughing, and soon I join in, relishing in the release of the emotions. At least in the face of tragedy, we can find some sense of relief.
“What I do is going to be dependent on how far along I am.”
“Can’t be very far since you just had sex with them around Christmas. It’s not even been a full two months.” She rests her head on my shoulder and links her arm through mine. Like she always is, I know she will be here to see me through this. All I have to do is let her.
“You have to have a kid right away so our children can grow up together.” I turn to look at her, and my hair shifts to the side of my body.
“I don’t think I can promise that.”
“Why not? At least you’re married.” My father is going to kill me. I sigh again, and rub my eyes, fighting to keep the tears in.
“Errol might not want kids.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that is our latest argument. He says we’re too busy to focus on anyone else.
His career is at an all-time high, and mine is going steady as well.
He says we should focus on that.” She lifts her head and places it against the wall.
Closing her eyes, she pinches her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
“Well, what are you going to do?” I ask, grabbing her hand.
“I can’t force him to have kids, but I’m thirty-three. I can’t wait much longer or I’ll be in my sixties, driving the kids to college.”
The image almost makes me want to keep the baby. At least if I do it now, I can still be active in their life. Plenty of people work and have kids. It doesn’t mean I have to entirely put my dreams on hold.
“Why don’t I give you my baby, and we can raise it together? You’re doing most of the work, of course.”
This gets her to sit up, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“Then I won’t even have to tell anyone because they will just think it’s yours.”
She shakes her head, her teeth gnawing on her lip. “If the dad is Callahan, there might be a lot of questions,” she says.
“Shit,” I say throwing my face into my hands again. “This is why I don’t date white guys!” I yell loud enough for Farrah to shush me.
I look up, and more than a few pregnant women are giving me the side-eye.
“With our combined genes, the kid is not going to look like me or my dad at all. When I have kids, I want them to be Black.”
I step outside my comfort zone once, and life knocks me down as a reminder. This is why I do the things that I do. To prevent stuff like this from happening.
“Culturally, your kid will be Black,” Farrah says, trying to comfort me.
Her words aren’t the salve on the wound that is my childhood. I don’t want the kid to experience what it was like for me to have a white parent. I don’t want them to start off in this life with any type of self-hatred. But maybe them being passing might prevent that.
Before I can respond to her, a nurse is calling my name.
We walk to the back room, and the machine feels like a reality check kick to the gut. I lose my breath and find myself coming up short every time I try to get it back.
We both sit quietly while the technician puts the gel on my stomach. The cold sensation of it wakes me up a little bit. She doesn’t ask if I’m ready before she starts to press down on my gut. I close my eyes and turn my head.
“I don’t want to see,” I say.
Farrah grabs my hand. Her gentle squeeze tells me I don’t have to.
I nod my thanks before sinking into the quiet of the room. I don’t know if it’s too soon to hear a heartbeat, but the long silence tempts me to take a look.
“Am I supposed to see something?” Farrah asks, making me open my eyes.
I wait for the tech to respond, but she just keeps looking.
“I am going to have to ask the doctor to come in for his opinion.” She stands and turns the light back on, on her way out.
Farrah and I both stare at each other while we wait for him to come in. More time passes than either one of us is comfortable with before he finally walks into the room.
He takes over what the tech was doing and starts pressing on my stomach. I hold my breath the whole time.
“What’s going on?” Farrah asks, already switching into an authoritative mode.
The girl knows how to dress someone down and get all the answers she needs in under five minutes.
“We aren’t exactly sure. We need to run more tests,” he says finally, lifting the thing off of me.
“How aren’t you sure?” she asks, her voice picking up a pitch.
I squeeze her hand to let her know it’s okay, prompting her to lower her hackles.
“Your blood test measured high levels of HCG, which usually means you are pregnant. It could be something else causing the levels to be high, like a chemical pregnancy or something from the medications you have taken. So we need to do more bloodwork and a vaginal ultrasound.”
“So what is she supposed to do in the meantime? Just not know what is going on with her? You have to know more than that.”
“I can’t make any statements until we have more information. There is no need to go down any paths just yet. Let’s start with doing the ultrasound before you leave.”
She continues to argue with him, demanding more information than what they are providing.
She also requests all the bloodwork to be done today as well, and the results to be given this week.
He tries to leave the room, but she follows him, likely making sure her requests are met.
I just sit in silence, trying to process everything.
Thirty minutes ago I wished so badly not to be pregnant. Now the possibility of it being anything else seems more frightening. I guess this is why you should be careful what you wish for.
I look down at my stomach like it will hold some sort of answer, and don’t look back up until Farrah is in the room. She leads me out, explaining everything as we go. I barely register her words, too busy trying to find mine to express how I feel.