18. Life support system #2
Jules chokes on a laugh, looking at Trish, who’s still frowning. Probably wondering if Trish is ready to joke about her recent brush with the law yet or not.
“Too soon?” I ask, feeling very much like the smartass I am.
Trish’s lips twitch.
“It was the one-armed man!” I yell, and Trish gives in, laughing.
“You’re such a bitch.” Trish wipes under her eye.
“I know, I know.” I help her step into her jumpsuit.
“What does yours say?” Jackie leans to the side, trying to read my back.
I make a dramatic turn so everyone can see.
“G.I. Juggs,” Jackie reads.
Jules snorts. “And the letters are bedazzled.”
“Well, I do have bedazzling boobs.” I reach into my jumpsuit to situate my girls better in my sports bra.
I look over my shoulder and see Trish rolling her eyes. “You’re too much.”
“That’s what she said,” I deadpan.
Jules, finished with her jumpsuit, sticks out her fist. “Nice one.”
We bump.
“You two think you’re so funny.” Trish shakes her head at us. “We’ll just see who’s laughing once I light up your vest.”
“That’s big talk for such a little lady,” I drawl.
A herd of cows moo as they amble across the next field.
“I feel like I’m back in basic training, but with a farm theme.” Jules picks up one of the guns, pew-pewing it in the air.
“How does it work, exactly?” Jackie inspects her gun.
“For the next forty-five minutes we’ll shoot at each other.” I tap my chest. “At the end of the round we’ll check the monitor in your vest that keeps track of how many times you got hit.”
When we’re all covered, vested, and ready to shoot, I get out my selfie stick and take a picture. “This is going to be awesome.”
“This sucks.” I rest my forehead on my arm, which is resting on the windowsill of one of the treehouse forts. My stomach muscles contract again, and I shove my head out the window once more. “ Huah .”
Thankfully I stopped upchucking a few heaves ago. Now I’m just gagging on air.
Jules reaches out with her leg from her seat on the opposite side of the fort and taps my shoe with hers. “There, there.”
“You’re a real caregiver, Jules.” Trish’s sarcasm makes me smile until?—
“Huah .”
“I’m a regular Mother Teresa,” Jules sarcasms right back, then catches my eye. “Um, not to make this any weirder than it already is, but why are you rubbing your boob?”
I glance down to see my arm that’s not holding my head up is massaging lefty. “Huh. I guess it’s still sore from the Black Friday tit punch.”
Jules snorts. “Damn, I would’ve paid money to see the great Rose West taken down by a Croc-wearing Godzilla.”
“Har, har.” I pause, thinking I might heave again, but manage to head it off with a calming breath through my nose.
“I thought you were punched in your right breast?” Jackie asks.
I pause mid-rub. “Croc-zilla hit so hard my left one hurts now too.” I sit back, leaning against the fort wall, taking another deep breath through my nose, the nausea abating.
We sit in silence for a bit, enjoying the rare breeze cutting through the tree fort’s windows and the distant sounds of farm animals and equipment.
“When was your last menstrual cycle?” Jackie looks oddly serious.
Jules snorts. “We really have to work on your girl talk, hooker.”
Trish’s eyes go wide. “You’re not thinking…”
“What?” Jules sits up straighter. “What am I missing?”
“Nausea and sore boobs?” Trish prompts.
Jules’ mouth drops open. “Holy shit.” She turns to me. “You pregnant?”
I’d laugh at their expressions, but I’m worried that would set me off again.
“Listen, guys.” I swallow some saliva, testing my stomach.
“It’s like I told Vance”—I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand—"I have an IUD and he used a condom. The chances of pregnancy are like…” I wave my hand around, trying to think of some minuscule number.
“One point three to one point seven percent,” Jackie says, tugging at her laser tag vest.
“Exactly!” I point at Jackie. “What she said.”
“So you’re saying there’s a chance.” Jules’ Dumb and Dumber impersonation is not amusing.
“Correct,” Jackie says, not picking up on the comedic undertones.
“Bullshit.” But I don’t sound as sure as I’d like. Before, I could explain the sore breasts and nausea—Thanksgiving overload and Croc Woman spinning—but why am I sick now? And if Jackie says there’s a chance…
“Listen.” Trish shifts forward in her cross-legged position between us. “Why don’t we just get a pregnancy test?” Her voice is unnaturally bright. “You’ll pee on a stick, prove you’re not pregnant, and then we can move on to planning our girls’ trip.”
I take a minute to mourn the end of my epic laser tag battle.
“Fine.” I slide my gun out from my pocket and point it at Jules’ vest. “But first”—I hold down the trigger until her entire vest lights up red—"I win.”
Open mouthed, Jules looks down at her vest. “What the fuck?”
I smirk. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
Jules fires at me with her gun until my vest glows blue. “There.”
“Dead people can’t shoot, Jules,” I say, enjoying her defeat. “Doesn’t count.”
Narrowing her eyes, she aims her gun at my head. “Just be glad these aren’t real bullets, G.I. Juggs.”
“Come on, now.” Trish takes Jules’ gun away from her. “We’ve got a drugstore to get to.”
“Fine.” I rip open the Velcro of my vest and turn off the power. “But when I prove you worry warts wrong, y’all have to promise to take me out for sushi tonight.” I narrow my eyes at Jules. “And none of this ‘I know a place’ where it turns out all the men are waiting.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to say sorry about that,” Jules says, not looking very sorry. “Kind of a dickish move on my part.”
“Kind of?” I toss my vest down and crawl over to the edge of the platform where the ladder is. “Try very .”
“To be fair, though, it wasn’t really for me. It was more for Holt.” Jules crawls after me. “He rarely goes out, so when he does, I like him to be surrounded by his favorite people.”
“Aw, we’re his favorite people?” Trish asks, waiting for her turn to get down.
“No. Me.” Jules looks at Trish like she’s dumb. “ I’m his favorite people.”
Jackie and Trish laugh.
I try to but end up gagging.
“Holy Mercury.” Jackie’s voice echoes in the small half-bath off the kitchen.
After a race to the nearest drugstore in our camouflage jumpsuits, we’re back at the ranch, piled into the four-by-four tiled space, staring at the white wand of fate sitting on the bathroom vanity.
The wand I peed on.
And even though we haven’t waited the recommended three minutes, there’s no mistaking the blue plus sign that’s getting darker and darker by the second.
“Does this mean we’re going to be aunts?” Trish’s surprising excitement is tempered by the what-the-fuck nature of this moment.
“We should first ask if she wants to keep it.” Jules’ cool logic makes me flinch.
Their eyes move from the plus sign to me.
I’m sitting on the closed toilet, my hand hovering over my stomach. “Am I going to keep it?”
It’s a rhetorical question, aimed more at myself than my three friends who are wearing a mixture of emotions. Of course, that doesn’t stop them from answering and reassuring me all at once.
“It’s your choice.”
“We’ll support you no matter what.”
“Legally, you have options.”
I don’t know who is saying what; my brain is busy repeating the question over and over again.
Am I going to keep it?
There are a thousand reasons not to.
I’m only twenty-one.
I’m unemployed.
I have a history of causing drama that ends with official badges being waved and lawyer fees.
I drive like a maniac.
“Maybe you should talk this over with Vance,” Jules ventures, the seriousness of her words underscored by using Vance’s real name.
Vance . The man I’m only friends with bennies with. The man I’m in love with. It only took a week of silence and a fried laptop to figure that out.
I settle my hand against my abdomen, the weight and warmth reassuring.
One by one I dismiss the reasons for why I shouldn’t have it and think about it . What’s growing under my hand.
A baby. My baby.
The elusive feeling I’ve been chasing these past few months settles over me, radiating inside my chest. The feeling of purpose and certainty I was missing in my life.
This . This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is what I was meant to do.
“I’m keeping it.” My voice is soft but strong and met with a beat of silence. Until Trish claps her hands and squeals while Jules and Jackie share a look I can’t decipher.
Clearing her throat, Jules leans against the door frame, crossing her arms and motorcycle boots. “How you gonna tell Flashlight?”
I pull my phone out of my jumpsuit pocket. When the screen lights up, it tells me what I already know. Three outgoing texts to ‘Old Man,’ no responses. “I have no idea.”