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If Ryker were to see me now he’d wonder what he got himself into getting involved with me.
Guess it’s a good thing he’s no longer involved with me.
The shirt is more slightly snug against my stomach, but I don’t think anything of it because I can’t recall the last time I wore the damn thing. It’s when I slide the jeans up my legs and go to button them that my stomach curls inside of itself with anxiety. I pull the fabric away from me, double checking that these are the same ones I wore last week, then frown at the confirmation.
How could these possibly be too small?
I shake my head and walk over to my dresser, pulling out yet another pair of jeans, but the same thing happens again. At this point, the anxiety is only getting worse and I worry I’m letting my body go without any care in the world. Before I make myself worry too much, I find a pair of leggings that will look just as good with the blouse and throw them on.
There’s a soft knock on my front door, letting me know my mother is right on time, and I hurriedly pull it open while simultaneously reaching for my knee-high leather boots. My mother eyes me curiously, surveying me, and I clam up under her scrutinizing gaze. If anyone will notice something different with my weight, it would be her, and I’m not sure I want to hear her say it aloud.
My mother clears her throat and cocks her head to the side when I straighten my spine, my boots zipped up and ready for a day on the town.
“Wren, sweetie, how are you feeling? You look a little pale.”
I sigh heavily and shake my head. “I’m good, Mom, just got sick this morning but it seems to be subsiding.”
She nods slowly, then chews on the inside of her cheek before asking, “And this has been happening a lot?”
“Uh, I guess, maybe a few times this week already?”
When I look into her eyes, noticing the question in them as she stares back, and she reaches out to grab my hand. “Sweetie, is it possible you’re pregnant?”
What?
Pregnant. That can’t be what’s going on. I’d know if I was pregnant, right?
I just had my period… over a month ago.
My mother’s eyebrows dip in concern as the blood drains from my face and I stumble back until my ass lands on the arm of my couch. Thank goodness I’ve got a small place, or else I’d be on the floor by now.
“Uh, no,” I manage to choke out, then brush a curl behind my ear. “I c-can’t be, Mom.”
This would ruin any amount of progress I’ve made in the last four weeks, or has it been longer than a month? I bring my phone out nervously and take in the date flashing in front of me, then dip my eyebrows together with a frown.
It’s been over a month, how could I have lost track of so much time?
“Maybe we can take you to the doctor, or I can go to the drug store for you?”
“Why would I need that?” I ask incredulously, like it’s the most insane thing for her to ask me. “I already said there’s no way it’s possible.”
It can’t be, I repeat to myself silently.
Instinctively, I bring a hand to stomach and run small circles over it while my mother starts toward the front door without looking back at me. “What are you doing?”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder, giving me a bright smile in the process as a way to help me feel better – which doesn’t work, by the way – and says, “I’m just running down the road, I’ll be back.”
“O-okay.” It’s barely a whisper, nothing that she can hear, but I’m sure the loud thumping of my pulse could be heard from a mile away.
I don’t move from my spot on the couch the entire time she’s gone, even when my mother comes to a stop in front of me I don’t move my gaze away from the threads sticking out of my carpet in the entryway.
This can’t be happening.
My mother snaps her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back to the present, and dangles a plastic from the tips of her fingers with a small smile. “Let’s go find out, yeah?”
I don’t have the energy to argue more with her about the results right now. She’ll see when I flip the test over and it shows I’m not, then everything can go back to normal.
Like life has ever given me that luxury before.
