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I can’t actuallybepregnant.
“Caitie...” Mom lifts my face and sees the concern. At least I think she does when she turns to Nonna. “Could you grab me my phone, Nonna?”
“What do you need your phone for? You’re not taking a picture, are you?” I moan.
“No, principessa. I’m DoorDashing a pregnancy test.”
Fuck my life.
One hour, two bottles of water, and four positive pregnancy tests later, I’m back in the fetal position on a bathroom floor. The difference is this one has radiant heating and is attached to Mom’s master bedroom. And this door is closed and locked.
“I can’t be pregnant,” I sob. “I can’t. This can’t be happening.”
Mom runs her fingers through my hair, trying to calm me down, but there is no calming down. Not now. Maybe not ever. What the hell am I supposed to do with a baby when some days I’m pretty sure I fail at taking care of myself? I had a bag of chips for dinner last night. You can’t feed a baby a bag of chips.
“Ma...” Lucky bangs on the door. “I’m hungry. When are we going to eat?”
She kisses my forehead and gets up as primly as she can from the floor, then cracks open the door. “Luciano Beneventi, I swear on all that is holy if you do not get the fuck out of my room right this second, I will tell that trashy little tramp you snuck outof the house this morning that she’s one of no less than three women you think I don’t know you sneak in and out of your room. And after she’s done clawing you apart with those daggers she calls nails, I will call the other two. And don’t you think I don’t know who they are or how to get hold of them. I’ve been your father’s wife for nearly three decades. I know things. Now get downstairs and do not come back up.”
When he doesn’t move fast enough, she shoves him back with a push. “Go.”
Under different circumstances, I’d laugh at the look on Lucky’s face.
Under these circumstances, I may never laugh again.
Mom shuts the door and locks it. “Honey... I have a few questions.”
“Yeah,” I croak. “So do I.”
Mom gets back down on the floor next to me and lays my head in her lap, then goes back to running her fingers through my hair. “Well, you know, kiddo. The time to ask may have been before you started having sex.”
A hysterical laughter bubbles up my throat and past my lips.
One I can’t control.
One I can’t stop until I’m sobbing again.
“We used a condom,” I protest.
“It only takes one time?—”
“We used them every time.” My heart cracks all over again, just thinking aboutthatweek.
“Oh...” Her hands stop. “Every time.There were a lot of times?”
“Mom...” I close my eyes. “There were apparently enough times.”
“Was it good?”
“Oh. My. God. Mother.” I never knew I’d one day wish the earth would open up and swallow me whole like some kind of bad sci-fi movie. But I’d take that over this any day.
“Honey, I just want to know that it was at least good sex. Trust me. Good sex can make a lot of things better.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I realize I’m too shell-shocked to even care that she’s talking about sex with my father.
“It was good sex. Really good sex. The kind of sex you never want to end because you know you’re going to be changed on a molecular level when it’s all over,” I whisper, remembering what it was like to be held in that asshole’s arms and wishing desperately that I was still there. That he was holding me now, making this all better.
She pushes up the sleeves of her sweater and fans her flushed face. “Damn, honey. I think I might need a cigarette after that.”
“You don’t smoke.”
