FOUR WEEKS LATER
I ran for the bathroom, hoping rather desperately that Jessica was still sound enough asleep that she wouldn’t hear me barf. Again. Today marked the fifth time that I’d woken up puking . . .
At first I’d been in denial.
Maybe it was just stress—my boyfriend was in jail, after all. She’d dragged him off and locked him up and there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do to stop her. That kind of stress lowers your immune system’s ability to fight off bugs. That had to be why I was so tired out all the time and why I was having strange hormonal swings . . . and no period . . . and the throwing up . . .
Unfortunately, after a life like mine (drunk dad, missing mom—Go team!) you can’t afford denial long-term. Not if you want to survive. That’s why I’d stopped by Walgreens last night and picked up a couple pregnancy kits (two different brands, because if they carried news that would explode my life, I wanted to be damned sure). I planned to take them just as soon as I stopped puking long enough to pee.
Ten minutes later I sat leaning against the tub, staring down at the two sticks on the floor. One of them had a bright blue plus sign. The other had a picture of a baby on it, like they thought I wasn’t smart enough to read the results without illustrations.
This couldn’t be happening. I refused to accept this as my reality. True, we hadn’t always used a condom, but he’d never actually come inside me, either. I mean, what were the odds?
The sticks pointed toward me accusingly.
Okay, in my case apparently the odds were 100 percent.
“Hey, you almost done in there?” Jess shouted through the door. “I have a test this morning—I need to get showered. Not much time left.”
I ignored her because I didn’t care about her test. I didn’t care about school or friendship or anything, because I was pregnant and it was real and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it . . . except I could. I could just make this problem go away.
Nobody ever had to know.
It could be my little secret, just a quick visit to the doctor and poof! Problem solved. Running a hand over my stomach, I tried to picture a baby inside. I couldn’t feel it yet, but there was definitely a little more pooch around my tummy lately. I had a kid in there. For real. An actual, live baby inside me.
In that instant, I knew that I absolutely couldn’t kill it.
No fucking way.
“Open the door, Mel!” Jess called again.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the tub, trying to wrap my head around the situation. Okay, so I was going to have a baby. Counting down the months, I figured out that it would come this summer, after the semester finished. That was something . . . The door rattled again.
“Mel, if you don’t say something right now I’m breaking in,” Jessica told me, sounding worried.
“Don’t be silly,” I replied mildly. This was all so unreal . . . “There’s a skeleton key on top of the ledge over the door. That should work.”
I heard more rattling noises, then the door was opening and Jessica walked inside. She looked down at me, frowning.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sitting on the bathroom floor.”
“Um, Mel?”
“Yeah?”
She knelt down slowly in front of me, picking up one of the sticks.
“Is this what I think it is?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“That depends on what you think it is,” I told her, feeling distant and detached. Was I in shock? I must’ve been in shock. Fascinating.
“It looks like two positive pregnancy tests.”
“Oh yeah. Then it’s definitely what you thought it was.”
“And these are yours?” she asked carefully, looking at me like I was a very fragile glass that might shatter at any minute. I sighed, then turned my head to meet her eyes.
“They’re mine,” I whispered, feeling tears start to run down my face. “Shit, Jessica. How could I be so stupid? I know better. I’m smarter than this.”
Scooting over close to me, she pulled me into her arms, running a hand over my hair. “Oh, Mellie. We’ll get through this—I promise. We’ll get through it together . . . Whatever you decide to do.”
“I’m not killing it,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to kill it.”
“Then you won’t kill it,” she told me, her voice firm. “And if someone has a problem, you can send them to me. I’m the crazy one, remember? I’ll just cut them—problem solved.”
Then she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at me.
Suddenly I felt better.
This was scary—terrifying—but I didn’t have to do it alone. Jessica was here, and despite her crazy, flaky ways, there was one thing she never flaked out on. Kids. She loved those kiddos at the community center, put her heart and soul into teaching and mentoring them.
If I had Jess to help me, I’d be okay.
“I’m headed over to the jail today,” I said quietly. “Do you think I should tell him now?”
Jessica frowned.
“Do you have any idea how he’s going to react?”
“None. We’ve never talked about kids or anything.”
“Well, maybe you can feel him out today,” she said. “Get a sense for where he stands on the subject. If the moment’s right, tell him. Otherwise just wait until you’re ready. I know this probably feels like the end of the world, but you have months and months to figure things out. You don’t have to do it all today.”