Emily fixes her makeup in the murky mirror while I pee on each of the three sticks. I play Candy Crush on my phone while I wait for the results, panicking when a text pops up from Paul asking where I'm at. He must've stopped by the coffee shop and I wasn't there.
"What should I say?" I ask Emily.
I should probably tell him what's going on, but I don't want to worry him unnecessarily if there's no reason for it.
The lights flicker and buzz. There's a glory hole in the wall and an advertisement written in black Sharpie that says, "For a good time call … " and someone's number next to it. Great place to find out if I'm pregnant or not.
"Tell him we're shopping," Emily says.
"I don't want to lie to him."
Emily uses her nail to clean up the edges of the red lipstick she just applied. "Fine. Tell him you're pissing on a pregnancy strip at a stop-n-rob in the slums."
I text him back and tell him I'm shopping with Emily.
The timer goes off on my phone. Emily and I look at each other.
Here we go.
"It'll be okay," she says without any confidence in her delivery what-so-ever. She's trying to be comforting but right now that's the opposite of how I'm feeling.
The tests are on the back of the toilet. I remind myself to stop into the store on the way home for a large bottle of hand sanitizer. I pick one test up and stare down at the little square. It shows two pink lines.
I grab my stomach. "Oh shit."
Emily takes it from me. "Holy hell."
I pick up the next one, a different brand than the first. It has a plus sign.
"Double shit," I say. The nausea is back.
My breath is coming in whooshes and vertigo is setting in. I try to calm myself by lying and telling myself everything is going to be okay, but I know it's not. Nothing is okay and might not ever be again.
The third test simply says ‘pregnant', and all I can think is, I'm so fucked.
At home I need some time alone to process everything and get right out of my head. I decide to watch TV. Maybe some mindless entertainment will help relieve some stress. Except every time I change the channel, there's a cartoon on, or a commercial for extra-absorbent diapers. Suddenly, everything is about babies. I turn off the TV and curl up in a blanket even though it's fairly warm in my apartment. Right now I just need the comfort of it wrapped around me, like my ratty old woobie from when I was a kid whose corners I used to suck on until the blanket was soaked in my slobber.
Time to read a book instead. This was a better idea. A nice horror about a stalker breaking into a woman's house is just what I need. I spend all day reading and have nearly finished the entire thing when there's a knock on my door.
I don't want to see anyone. It's probably my mom. She's definitely the last person I want to see. Scratch that. My dad is actually the last person I want to see. What if it's both of them? Where's a tropical storm and road closures when you need it?
Filling my lungs with air, I open the door. There's a deep ache in my chest when I see Paul standing there, looking so brilliantly handsome. But this time it's not necessarily a good ache. Now might be the one and only time I've ever not been thrilled by his presence. He's still lovely and makes me weak in the knees to see him, but I'm afraid-terrified, is probably a better word for it.
All it takes is one look for him to know something's wrong with me.
"Is everything all right?" he asks, concern knitting a line into the skin between his eyes. He steps past me, into the apartment. I close the door behind him and lean against it. My legs are barely holding me up.
"Um, yeah, things are fine," I say, voice wavering. "Can we talk, though?"
"Sure." He starts to head for the couch but I stop him.
"Can we go somewhere? I'm sick of being in my apartment."
"Of course."
We go downstairs and get into his truck. Before, when I smelled the oil and gasoline, I'd liked it. Now every smell makes me feel sick.
The sun is setting. I hadn't realized how late it had gotten. We go to the cliffs on a piece of private property my dad's friend owns. No one ever goes up there and it's fenced off from the public so I know we'll be alone without interruption.
He turns off the engine and twists in his seat to look at me. "What's this about? You're starting to scare me."
I'm scared too. Mostly of what his reaction will be. But I can't keep this from him.
I can't seem to get the words out so I reach into my purse and hand him the three tests.
He studies them, face unreadable.
"I'm so sorry," I say. Tears well up in my eyes. As soon as I blink they streak down my cheeks. "I didn't do this on purpose. I would never try to trap you."
He still hasn't said anything, just stares down at the tests. Several seconds pass, but they feel like minutes.
"Fuck, Rachael," he finally says, sounding furious. I flinch. "I thought you were breaking up with me. I was half out of my mind." He lets out a long breath and sinks back into his seat.
Wait, what? He's more upset at the thought of me breaking up with him than me being pregnant?
"So … you're not mad about the … ?" My voice trails off.
He starts to laugh. I don't know what the hell is going on. He's not being loud but it feels that way, trapped in the cab of his truck.
He takes my hand, face easing into a smile. "How can I be mad? I'm going to be a dad-the father of our child."
That was not the reaction I was expecting.
He unlatches my seatbelt and pulls me toward him, wrapping me in a tight hug. He continues to laugh and pets my hair. "We're going to make great parents. You and this child will never want for anything."
I lean away from him. "Paul, I don't know. I have school-"
"And you'll continue on with school. I'll stay at home with the baby while you get your degree, and if you want to work after that, you can work. Or if you want to stay home, you can stay home. I'll do whatever you want to do." He leans away from me and takes my chin in his hand, lifting it so our eyes meet. "Rachael, I love you. I want to be with you forever. I want us to be a family."
Suddenly I see a vision of our little family so clear in my head and happy tears begin to toddle down my cheeks. He wipes them away with his thumb. "What about my parents?" I say.
His smile falters. "You leave your parents up to me. I don't want you stressing about anything right now."
He presses a delicate kiss on my mouth and down my neck. He takes off my shirt and then my bra and finds a nipple. I close my eyes and bask in the feel of having my breast sucked.
"That feels amazing," I tell him.
He moves to my other nipple, giving it plenty of attention too. By the time he's done, I'm wetter than I've ever been before. I reach over and unbutton his jeans and release his meaty cock. It bounces out from the open hole of his boxer briefs as if it were spring-loaded, reaching up to his belly button. I suck the head of it in my mouth, teasing, running my tongue down his length. His hand is on the back of my head; not pushing me down, but helping to keep the pace. I can tell by the way his hand shakes that he's showing great restraint. He's being careful with me when he doesn't need to. If he wants to fuck me like a porn star, I'm all for it.
I come up for air and look at him. "Do whatever you want with me. Don't be gentle just because I'm … I can take it."
He laughs. "You have no idea what you do to me when you talk like that."
I glance down at his massive cock, the way the veins strain and protrude. "I think I have an idea."
"Open your mouth," he says.
I do what I'm told.
"Wider." He licks his lips. "Good girl. Now suck my cock."
I go down on him, relaxing my throat so he slides all the way in and my lips touch his pubes. I'm able to breathe through my nose and get air around my lips when I open wide enough. He's grunting and moaning and I gag several times, but it's so hot I don't let go when he tries to stop.
"Wait, I don't want to come in your mouth," he says.
This time I release him and sit up.
He smiles at me and wipes my lips. "God, you give one hell of a blow job, you know that?"
He lays me down on the bench seat. It's a big truck, but Paul's a big man and there's not much room. Still, we move easily enough. He takes off the rest of my clothes. Grabbing me behind the knees, he folds me in half, placing my ankles on each of his shoulders. The entire time his eyes lock on mine. He enters me in one long, slow push. His gaze never wavers as he moves in and out of me in languid, swimmer strokes.
"You're so beautiful," he says as he makes love to me.
I always hated that term, making love. Sounds sappy and old fashioned. But this isn't some fast and furious fuck, a race to get each other off. This feels like love. Full, and content, and emotional enough to make me cry. I don't do that though. I'm not trying to scare him away. Instead, I watch his face, long for him, consume him, absorb him inside of me until we melt together into a single organism.