Adam
Eve is resting in her reading corner when I come back home from a day in the fields, and she looks so soft in her sleep; so carefree and sweet, that I almost regret having to wake her.
I still do so, pressing my lips to her smooth forehead, and when she blinks awake, I can’t resist my grin. “Long day?”
She yawns and nods, throwing her arms around my neck, and I scoop her up from the chair, carrying her up bridal style all the way up the staircase.
“I don’t even know why I’m so tired.” She sighs, her head resting against my chest. “It’s been like this all day. And my boobs are killing me.” She winces as she touches them.
“Did I bite you too hard?” I tease, laying her down on our bed.
“Maybe, but that was days ago.” She stretches like a cat over the covers. “They shouldn’t still be this sensitive.”
“Maybe your period is coming?” I suggest.
“Could be.” She flips to her side to look at me as I undo my belt. Her grin tells me she’s not too tired. “I haven’t gotten it in—”
Her voice dies.
“Love?” I lift a brow at her parted lips. “What…”
My words melt to silence, too.
“Fuck, no, no, no,” she chants with horror, springing to her feet and bolting out of the room. With my heart racing and palms sweating, I run after her.
“Eve!” I try to catch up, but she’s like lightning, not stopping until she gets to the calendar she keeps hung in the kitchen.
Dates don’t mean much, anymore, and it’s not even full with numbers or months, but she still makes sure to draw rows of seven to keep track of the passing weeks, for harvests and cycles of egg laying—and, I realize now, to also monitor her…
“This can’t be happening,” she croaks out, the pages almost tearing between her fingers.
“Maybe it’s not—” I don’t think she can even hear me, but now her fear is infecting me, too. “Your IUD? Is it—?”
“I got it replaced a few weeks before the school year started. It can’t be expired yet,” she rummages through the pages of the calendar, eyes torn wide open, hands shaking.
“It’s only been—how long has it been?” She lifts her glistening eyes up at me.
“My journal. What day are we on? I need to check my—”
“Eve.” I grab her hands. “You’re spiraling. Breathe.”
“Of course I’m spiraling! I’m fucking—” She cuts herself off and forces an inhale.
“We don’t know anything yet,” I try to reason with her. “You haven’t even taken a test.”
“An IUD is supposed to last three years. At least.” Her brain won’t let this go. I can see it in the way her eyes are running wild. Darting around, one corner to another, looking for a way out.
It hurts to see her like this. In our own home.
“I need to check the date,” she repeats, tearing away from me and rushing to her reading nook which also hosts her journals.
I let her go, watching from the kitchen as she flips through them, mumbling to herself, counting, comparing with the calendar in her other hand.
Her fear paralyzes me.
I should be there. At her side. But I can’t.
What if she is…?
“This can’t be right.” Her tearful voice is what snaps me out of my daze.
We lock eyes, and suddenly I’m there by her side, as she crouches against the sofa.
“I stopped properly writing when we got here, but my latest one was when we harvested the wheat in the summer. That was only day three hundred and twenty.” She’s barely breathing as she speaks, and I can tell the gears in her brain are spinning.
“I got the replacement six months before it all started. So it can’t—it hasn’t been—”
“Years,” I speak quietly, the single word halting her current of speech, and she seems desperate as she looks up at me. As if she’s begging me not to say it. “It’s been years.”
“Not three,” she protests, but her resolve is weak. I can see it crumbling in front of me. “It’s impossible.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves, love. Please.” I pull her up from the floor and tuck her against me. “This could be nothing. Maybe you’re just running a bit late. You’re the nurse.” I try to smile but the twitch of my lips is faltering. “You know that those things can happen.”
“It’s not a bit late.” She’s still teary when she looks up at me. “It’s been weeks. I should have gotten it weeks ago.”
“Let’s drive into town and get you a test.” I swipe my thumb under her eye before the tear can fall. “It’s late now, but we can go first thing tomorrow morning. Once we know for sure, then we can figure out a plan. Okay?”
Eve blinks and sniffles. It’s unlike her, to get so emotional. I think the only way I’ve gotten through to her is because I used some of her favorite words.
“A plan,” she repeats and nods. “Okay.”