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I step out of the bathroom and stop when a wave of queasiness rolls over me. “No, no, no,” I mutter.
I inhale through my nose, breathing through it. I think it’s the water and the heat. I’m still getting used to things and my stomach has not been happy with all the changes.
The wave passes and I grab my phone and keys. I typically walk to work. We sold the other car and bought another used one in case of emergencies. Although things have been quiet and it doesn’t appear anyone knows where we are, we are ready to escape on a moment’s notice should the need arise.
The Miami humidity hits me like a brick wall as I make my way to the restaurant. I never look at my phone when I’m walking. I stay aware, constantly looking for threats.
“Hello,” I nod at my coworker as I walk into the restaurant.
I go to the back to put on my apron and head back to the floor to get to work.
“You look pale,” Maria says.
“I’ve been battling a stomach bug the last few days,” I tell her.
“You should have called in.”
I scoff. “Yeah, that’s not an option. I need this job.”
“Drink some Sprite,” she advises.
“Thanks.”
I got to work, taking orders and getting into the swing of things. I feel like I’m getting the hang of this waitress thing. As I balance a plate of eggs in one hand and a pitcher of coffee in the other, a wave of nausea washes over me so suddenly that I nearly stumble. Ignoring the queasy feeling in my stomach, I force a smile onto my face and deliver the plate to the waiting customer before making a beeline for the bathroom.
My heart pounds in my chest as I throw open the door, relief flooding through me when I find it empty. But before I can even reach the sink, the nausea hits me full force, and I'm doubled over, retching into the toilet bowl. After emptying my stomach, I get up on shaking legs.
Maria walks into the bathroom and hands me a glass of Sprite. “I thought you might need this.”
“Thank you.”
I quickly wash my face and rinse out my mouth before taking the glass. “Thank you. I thought I was feeling better. It just hit me. The smell of those eggs was just too much.”
"Are you pregnant?"
I laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion, dismissing it with a wave of my hand. But as I catch sight of my own reflection in the mirror, a nagging doubt creeps into the back of my mind. I haven't been great about taking my birth control pills lately, and there's a slim chance that she might be onto something.
“I can’t be.”
“Honey, I’ve seen your handsome boyfriend,” she grins. “If I was sleeping in the same bed with that man, I would be pregnant.”
I blush at her candidness, quickly changing the subject. “Thank you for the Sprite.”
“You're welcome,” she says with a knowing smile.
Throughout my shift, I can't shake Maria's words from my mind. Could I really be pregnant? The prospect is terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. I can’t believe how careless I’ve been. But I think back to the night at the motel. And then the next motel stay. It’s true…there has been a lot of sex. I can’t be pregnant. I’m barely able to support myself let alone a baby. And Hunter. He did not sign up for this.
After work, I make a detour to the pharmacy and purchase a pregnancy test. I know I’ll be home before Hunter. The poor man puts in twelve-hour days and he can’t say a word about it. That’s the problem with working for cash. Neither of us are afforded the same protections as other employees.
I let myself into the apartment and go straight to the bathroom. My hands tremble as I tear open the packaging. I pee on the stick and hold my breath as I wait for the results to appear, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then, there it is—a faint pink line that sends a surge of panic coursing through me. I'm pregnant. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, I'm paralyzed with fear. I slowly stand up, the pregnancy test shaking in my hand as I stumble to the mirror and stare at my reflection. The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes wide with shock and fear.
"No," I whisper, but there's no denying it. What was once a quiet suspicion has now turned into an undeniable reality.
I sink to the floor, my back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. I wrap my arms around my legs, hugging them to my chest as the weight of what this means sinks in. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready to become a mother. But as I sit there, huddled on the cool bathroom floor, another wave of emotion rolls over me—acceptance. No, I'm not ready. But life has a funny way of throwing you into situations that you don't think you can handle.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up and wipe the tears from my cheeks. I am going to be a mother. Whether I was ready or not doesn’t matter now. I’m going to have to be strong for my child. I go about making dinner for Hunter, which is nothing more than a box of mac and cheese and grilled cheese sandwiches. I don’t really know how to cool. I’ve been watching YouTube videos and there are plenty of things I want to try and make, but now it’s about affording the groceries. For now, ramen noodles, sandwiches and generic macaroni and cheese are our staples.
