Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
I fly from my bed and pull on my clothes. It isn’t until I’m halfway out the door that I realize it’s still dark out and glance at my phone. It’s only four a.m. A quick search on my phone tells me that the nearest drugstore opens at seven, which is three hours from now.
How am I supposed to survive until then?
My phone chimes, and I glance down, my heart leaping. It’s a text from Ryan. Receiving a text from him at this odd hour isn’t that unusual because he’s been having trouble sleeping lately. It seems we’re so used to being in bed together, that the nights are long and lonely for both of us.
Hi sweetheart, he writes. I miss you. I’ve been thinking about you, and I can’t wait to see you again.
I can’t deal with this right now, but I know I have to answer, so I just send a heart emoji back. He sends one back as well, and my throat closes. Are we in love? But what if I’m pregnant?
I hurry to the shower and turn the cold water on full blast. I have to clear my mind. I have to get answers. For five minutes, I feel better, but when I’m out of the shower and drying off, I’m in full panic mode again. I try breathing exercises. I even try meditation, but my mind just goes in circles.
Ryan doesn’t want a baby.
But what if I’m pregnant?
Ryan doesn’t want a baby!
But what if I’m pregnant?
Ryan doesn’t—
“Damn it!” I curse softly. Suddenly, I realize there are tears in my eyes, and I look down at my hands. They’re twisting around each other, the knuckles almost white. Ryan doesn’t want a baby, but I could be pregnant right now. The thought just keeps repeating like an annoying song that won’t leave my head.
Miserably, an event from eighth grade pops into my head. We were doing a module called “Our Bodies, Ourselves” during that time, and they’d hired a special teacher to do lectures on adolescence and sexuality. My gym coach, already annoyed that her class time had been replaced, was irritated by the stupidity of the presentations. After the special instructor left, he got up and said, “Well that sucked. Girls, the bottom line is if you’re old enough to let a boy stick his dick inside of you, then you’re old enough to be responsible.”
An image of his craggy, judgmental face hovers before me.
“Fuck you, Coach Hoag,” I say softly. I’m old enough to take responsibility, but sometimes it’s not so clear. A baby isn’t just about being responsible. A baby is a child who needs love and laughter. What happens if the daddy doesn’t want to be part of the picture?
I start typing a text to Denise but then, I delete it. I pick up my phone and call her instead. By now, it’s about six thirty, so it’s not too bad.
“Urrrrumph,” she yawns when she answers. “Girlfriend, this better be good. I was having wet dreams about Spencer the Dispenser when…”
I cut her off.
“Oh my God,” I say, and then anything I might say is utterly irrelevant because I’m weeping. It’s ugly, soul-heaving sobs, and it has none of the cleansing power a good cry usually brings. If she asks why I cry, I don’t hear it. All I hear is the sound of my hopes and dreams crashing, tumbling to the ground, and falling apart. I can’t form words. I can’t think. I can’t do a damned thing.
“Girlfriend,” comes Denise’s panicky voice. “Regina! Answer me! What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I’m late,” I finally manage between sobs. “I haven’t gotten my period in two months, and I only just realized it.”
She pauses for a moment.
“Okay, but you don’t know for sure yet, right?”
I sob again.
“He doesn’t want any more kids. He’s dead set against more.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment and then she speaks.
“Right now, you just need to get a test, Regina. Your brain is going in circles with the what-ifs and it’s driving you crazy. Maybe you really are just late, but until you find out for sure, there’s no sense in climbing up the walls and making yourself miserable.”
I sniffle a bit on my end of the line.
“Honey, listen to me,” she says persuasively. “Let’s not get carried away until we know for sure, okay? When can you get a pregnancy test?”
Still sniffling, I answer, “Um, I think the drugstore opens at seven.”
“Okay,” Denise replies soothingly. “That’s only fifteen minutes from now. When the store opens, get yourself a test and call me after you’ve taken it. If you leave now, you’ll get there as soon as the store opens. I promise you, everything will be fine. Sound good?”
I nod and sniffle some more into the phone.
“That’s a good girl,” Denise soothes me. “Now get in your car. My computer says that the Walgreens over at Fifth and Ashwood is opening in five minutes. Head over there, okay?”