I went to the common kitchen area with my cup. When I smelled the coffee pot, it made me nauseous.
“Man, who made the coffee this morning? It smells terrible.”
An analyst named Sam was also in the kitchen; he was busy slathering a bagel with cream cheese. He took a bite of his bagel then a sip of his mug. “Hmm tastes fine to me. I don’t smell anything unusual.”
“You don’t smell it? It smells like dirty feet and tires.”
“Maybe you got a super sniffer.”
“A what?”
“You know, like someone who has super sensitive taste buds except with smell. I saw it on an episode of Law & Order. When the police dog was unable to sniff out drugs from a crime scene, they brought in this guy who was a super sniffer.”
Suddenly curious that I might have a superpower, I asked, “Did he find anything at the scene?”
He nodded vigorously. “He sniffed out this scent that the dog wasn’t trained to detect. It was some weird chemical that led the police to this abandoned paint factory where they found incriminating evidence.”
“Interesting.”
“See if you can sniff my deodorant.” He lifted up his armpit and I noticed a faint sweat stain on the shirt fabric. Fortunately he was several feet away.
“I can’t smell anything from here.”
“Maybe you’re not a super sniffer then.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I have that ability. Otherwise, I would’ve probably figured it out earlier.”
He took another bite of his bagel. “Could be you’re pregnant.”
I nearly dropped my empty mug but caught it at the last moment. “What?”
He finished chewing. “When my wife was pregnant, she couldn’t stand certain smells. Like coffee and the smell of the grocery store.”
I laughed nervously and batted my hand at the notion. Sam shrugged and went off to his own desk to do work or perhaps ponder the mystery.
I remained in the kitchen. What if I really was pregnant?
The past couple weeks raced through my mind. I’d vomited twice. The first time I’d attributed to bad Chinese food. The second time happened because I was distraught over Marty showing up and the argument with Vincent that followed. Surely it wasn’t morning sickness . . .
My hand flew to cover my open mouth when I realized something: it was almost a week now that my period was late.
Oh no.
During lunch, I made a trip to Duane Reade and picked up a pregnancy test. When I got to the family planning aisle, I felt like I was walking into a sex shop looking over my shoulder every second like I was about to do something scandalous. I found what I was looking for and tucked the box under my arm until I reached the register. After paying, I hurriedly put the box in my purse hoping no one saw me buy it.
When I got home, I spotted Riley in her usual spot on the couch watching TV. I set down my tote in a kitchen chair and headed for the bathroom with the test box in hand, careful to keep it hidden from Riley.
I locked the door and stared at the box for a moment. The picture on the front showed a woman smiling brightly. I glanced in the mirror and saw that my expression looked nothing like that.
I took out a strip and followed the directions, my hands trembling the entire time.
It would take a few minutes before the results showed. I closed my eyes and started a countdown in my mind, dreading to see the result.
Deep breaths, Kristen.
Finally, five minutes had passed. I looked down at the test in my hand.
Pink line. I was pregnant.
I dropped the test on the floor. My hands were shaking. This had to be a mistake. No way I was pregnant. I’d been on birth control. Even though Vincent came inside me when we were in the Caribbean, there was no way he got me pregnant. It didn’t matter how potent his sperm was, it couldn’t beat birth control . . . right?
I took another one.
Five excruciatingly long minutes later, I looked at it.
Pink line again.
Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit. Fuck.
My world was coming apart. This can’t be happening.
I frantically examined the box, hoping to find a warning about its inaccuracy.
“Over 99% accurate. Take comfort in knowing your results.”
I stepped out of the bathroom and went to the living room where Riley was sipping a diet coke.
“Riley, I need to ask you something.” I tried to keep my voice as calm as possible for someone who just discovered they were pregnant.
She put her drink down on the coffee table and turned her attention to me. “Sure, what is it?”
“Is it possible to get two false-positives on a pregnancy test?”
“Huh? Why are you . . .” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. Are you pregnant?”
I tried holding the tears back but they started flowing against my will. “I just took a test and that’s what it said.”