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I open the cabinet drawer underneath the double sinks and pause on my tampons. It all comes rushing to me, choking me, warning me of a new potential reality.
Shit.
No—there’s no way.
The sickness. The nausea.
Your tits are fuller, Gemma.
I know that I’m late, but it isn’t a novelty—irregular periods come and go in waves for me. I grab a wipe to clean my mouth, then brush my teeth and moisturize my face.
I head to the walk-in closet and grab a gray shirt from Damon’s side.
A million emotions pass through me, thinking of Damon, of Harvey, of my future career, thinking of what the hell I’m going to do if I’m pregnant.
Then I check inside my makeup bag. And I scoff. I really did. I missed over two weeks’ worth of birth control pills without even realizing it.
Why can’t I have my life together? Just for once?
I was never responsible like Gia. I knew I wanted kids one day but figured I’d be fully grown. I’d have my career. I’d know I was ready.
I’m not. I’mnot.
I was supposed to figure out what to do withusbefore introducing another complicated element to our relationship.
I take a deep breath, knowing I need to muster my best poker face. Damon can’t know. Not until I’m certain. I won’t lose him for a what-if.
The thought itself makes me shake my head. It’s the underlying issue in our relationship. No matter what he says between kisses in bed, when the going gets tough, Damon stays far away from me.
He’ll leave me.
He’llleave, Gemma.
I push my hair behind my ears, giving myself a mental pep talk.
In the bedroom, Damon’s still asleep. I grab my phone on the night table and tiptoe out of the room until I’m sitting on the living room couch with a blanket draped over my legs.
From the period app on my phone, I notice that I’m late.
I feel like calling Gia and running into her arms. My mind knows that I should take a test before freaking out, but my body already realizes the truth.
So, I rip off the Band-Aid.
Right before leaving for the drugstore, I put on leggings and grab my purse. I text Damon, letting him know I need to get girl stuff. I even hide the tampon box in my purse so he can’t wonder why I needed more.
My fingers shake against the steering wheel, and my stomach clenches as my mind overthinks the worst-case scenarios.
What if I’m pregnant?
I call Gia using Bluetooth.
“Morning, sunshine,” she quips. Athena sings in the background.
“Gia, I need you.” My voice cracks midsentence.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m pregnant.”
