AMBER
‘I’m sorry about the other day. I should have been clearer when I invited you to spend the night that I had surfing practice the next day. Can we try again?’
I’ve read the message from Tucker what feels like a thousand times over the last few days, and my head still spins.
His hot and cold reactions to me are driving me crazy. I don’t know if I’m coming or going. And my confusion isn’t helped by the fact I feel awful. Not just run down, and morose because things with Tucker went badly last time. But actually unwell, oh shit, I think I’m coming down with something.
My body is wracked with exhaustion, and I haven’t been able to keep any food down for days.
My fingers hover above my phone, as I think about if I should reply to Tucker or not.
The fact he couldn’t spend the day with me because he had surfing practice is fair enough, and if he’d just told me that from the start -- when he invited me to spend the night -- I wouldn’t have minded.
I get it, people have lives, and jobs. It’s the fact he didn’t even think to mention he had plans until I brought up spending the day together. Like I’m an afterthought to him.
I can’t be anyone’s after thought.
I put the phone down, still unsure what I should text in response. Or even if I should respond to him at all.
I sigh. I’m meant to be at work soon, but I just can’t face it. Would Caitlyn hate me if I called in sick? Probably not. She’d understand. As we’re our own bosses, we’re both clear that if we need to take ‘mental health’ days or whatever, we can do so.
I’m about to call Cait and let her know I won’t be in today, when I’m hit by a wave of nausea. I run to the bathroom and throw up. Shuddering all over, I push myself up off the bathroom floor, and brush my teeth.
I thought I had food poisoning caused by something I’ve eaten, but surely, I wouldn’t be sick first thing in the morning if that was the case?
More likely after I’d eaten, but I haven’t been able to eat properly in days thanks to this constant nausea.
I’ve probably picked up a stomach virus or …
the thought slams into my head so suddenly it feels like I’ve been physically hit by something.
Nausea, tiredness, mood-swings. Where have I seen these symptoms before?
When Caitlyn found out she was pregnant!
But I can’t be … Tucker and I have been so careful both times we’ve slept together …
But what about the first time, back when he still lived at Josh’s place?
Honestly, the night was such a blur I can’t properly remember.
I remember it was great, and I very much enjoyed it …
but I really don’t remember if we used protection or not.
Fuck!
It’s not like I can just call Tucker to ask, either. How would that be in response to him asking if we can see each other again.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckerty-fuck!!
This can’t be happening. There has to be some sort of mistake.
I take a deep breath to calm myself down.
Okay, so I have some of the classic symptoms of pregnancy, and I can’t remember if Tucker and I used protection the first time we slept together, but that doesn’t mean I’m definitely pregnant.
I could just be unwell, and all this is a coincidence.
Knowing I always get sick around my period, I pull up the calendar app on my phone and check when my next one is due … two days ago.
Fuck! I never even noticed I was late.
This doesn’t mean anything though. I’ve been stressed and unwell … I’m just late. Right. Right?!
In the pit of my stomach, I know I’ll only be certain once I’ve taken a test. Yeah, it probably is a virus or PMS making me feel so awful, but on the off chance it isn’t, and that I really am pregnant, I need to be sure.
Before I can even process the thought, I’m hitting the speed-dial for Caitlyn’s number.
It’s only when she answers that I realize I can’t share this with her.
She doesn’t even know Tucker and I slept together again, twice!
I never told her what was going on between me and Tucker because I didn’t want to force her to choose a side, and I won’t do that now.
I was going to tell her I’m not coming into work today anyway, so I’ll just go with that.
“Hey Amber, what’s up?” My friend sounds bright and cheery. It’s adorable. She’s sounded that way ever since she and Josh sorted things out, and she moved in with him. I might find it irritating, if I wasn’t so damn happy for her. Girl deserves it.
“I’m really sorry to do this at the last minute, but I don’t think I can come to work today. My period just came, and I feel terrible.”
I hate lying to my best friend, but until I know for sure if I really am pregnant, it’s best if Caitlyn doesn’t know.
“Aww, you poor thing. That’s one thing I do not miss about being pregnant. Do you want me to come over at lunchtime and bring you some supplies?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks. I’ve always got an emergency bar of chocolate tucked away for occasions like this. I’m just going to snuggle in bed with a movie.”
“Okay. Give me a call tomorrow to let me know if you’re coming in or not. And call me if there’s anything you need.”
“Thanks. I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up with a feeling of guilt gnawing at my stomach.
Caitlyn and I share everything. She’s practically a sister to me, and I was the one who helped her figure out she was pregnant with Josh.
It seems alien to me not to tell her, but what would I even say?
I’m not even certain I’m pregnant yet, and even if I am, I’m not sure if I’m going to keep the baby …
I push all those thoughts out of my head.
Just get the damn test.
I throw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt and drive to the furthest pharmacist I can think of. I know it’s dumb, but I don’t want this getting back to Tucker, or someone seeing me, or anything like that.
I buy the test, and a bunch of chocolate and candy. Regardless of the result, I really do need a self-indulgent day on my own, pigging out and watching lame movies. I even grab one of those luxurious bath bombs, with the plan of having a long, relaxing soak in the tub later.
When I get home, I make sure Elsa is occupied with one of her chew-toys, so she won’t disturb me.
She’s having separation anxiety at the moment, and even quick trips to the bathroom have her howling outside the door like she’s never going to see me again.
The last thing I need when taking a pregnancy test is a needy puppy causing a fuss.
With Elsa occupied, I take the test and then set the timer on my phone for three minutes. It takes all my willpower not to keep checking on the test until the three minutes are up, and instead I pass the time by reading the message from Tucker again.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep running around in circles. I promised myself after Cody I’d never get involved with someone who didn’t want the same thing as I do, and it’s clear that Tucker isn’t looking for the same type of long-term commitment as I am.
I’m about to text him and let him know I don’t think it’s a good idea if we see each other again, when the alarm on my phone sounds.
My stomach drops, and I go cold all over as I cross the hallway to the bathroom and pick up the test.
It’s going to be negative; I tell myself. You’re worrying over nothing.
I stare down at the results and see two faint, pink lines.
I’m pregnant.
I immediately open the toilet lid and throw up.
This can’t be happening.
After throwing up, and brushing my teeth, I take the test and pad through to my bedroom. Closing the message from Tucker, I pull up Google and search ‘Can a positive pregnancy test be wrong?’
The first result tells me: ‘Although rare, it's possible to get a positive result from a home pregnancy test when you're not actually pregnant. This is known as a false-positive.’
The next thing I do is search for stats on how rare a false-positive result is.
According to Google: ‘A false-positive test result only happens less than 1% of the time.’
I read the article that tells me that false-positive can be caused by a variety of reasons, including recently having had a miscarriage or abortion, certain medical conditions and medications, or even an ectopic pregnancy.
None of those apply to me, and while I won’t know for certain until I see my doctor, it seems pretty safe to assume I am, in fact, pregnant.
Clutching the test in one hand and my phone in another, I collapse onto my bed, and pull the duvet yup over my head. Curled into a ball, I feel tears running down my cheeks.
What the hell am I going to do?
I’ve always known I wanted to get married and have children eventually … but not like this. You couldn’t even classify what Tucker and I had as a proper relationship.
So, what choices do I have? I could call Tucker now and tell him about the baby. The idea is so absurd I almost burst out laughing despite my internal misery.
Can you imagine?
“Oh, hey Tuck, I know you don’t do relationships, and things between us have been weird, but I’m having your baby. Yay!”
Never gonna happen.
Even if Tucker didn’t completely flip his shit when I told him, I doubt he’d want to be a father at just twenty-one.
And even if he did, let’s be honest here, he’d be terrible.
He’s barely boyfriend material, let alone father-material.
Sure, he’s an amazing lover, but he’s into drinking and drugs, and has anger issues, all of which are stopping him from meeting his full potential as a world-class surfer.
I don’t want that in mine or my child’s life.
Shit. I hadn’t even given any thought if I wanted to keep the baby yet, and here I am, already making decisions to protect it. I know a lot could happen in the future, I can’t be more than five-weeks pregnant at most, but I already know, without a doubt, I want this baby.
Maybe I’m setting myself up for future heartache -- especially when I haven’t had the results confirmed by a doctor yet -- but I can feel a bond forming. It’s my child, and even if it’s only the size of a strawberry seed, I love them. I want to be the best mother I can.
And being the best mother possible means providing the best future for my child. A future where they aren’t branded as the bastard child of the surfer-junkie-no-good-bad-boy. A future where my child doesn’t have to deal with a father blowing hot-and-cold on them.
I’ve never been close to my parents, but that’s not to say I had a bad childhood, or ever felt unloved by either my mom or dad. In fact, my childhood was pretty much perfect. But I’ve always been independent, and needed to do everything on my own, in my own way.
And why can’t I do this on my own? I own a business, which is growing more successful by the day, I’m financially secure, and own my own home.
I don’t need anyone. Especially not Tucker Braddock.
No, even before I found out I was pregnant, I knew things with me, and Tucker couldn’t continue -- there’s no future for us -- and knowing I’m carrying his child just makes me more certain of that.
Finally, I uncurl from the ball I’m in, place the pregnancy test on the nightstand, and reply to Tucker’s message.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m just not interested in seeing you again.’