Page 148 of Blush Crush

I smile, glad I pushed myself to come after all.

In the middle of a one-on-one date featuring an extravagant helicopter ride, my third glass of water hits me. “Be right back,” I murmur to no one in particular, slipping off the couch.

The upstairs bathroom is at the end of the hall, past the nursery Elyse and Dominic have been slowly putting together. The door is cracked and I catch a glimpse of the light pink walls as I pass.

I’ve barely closed the bathroom door behind me when my phone buzzes.

LAYLA

OMG can you check if Elyse has any tampons up there, I think I just started

I root through the cabinet under the sink, moving past some spare hand soap bottles and cleaning supplies, and find a box of tampons tucked toward the back. I pull one out and set it aside for her.

And then I stay crouched there on the bathroom floor for a moment longer than necessary.

Because something just occurred to me.

If Layla just got her period, then where the hell is mine? We’ve always been synced up. Literally since the day we both started, right before Sydney Holm’s pool party in middle school.

I rack my brain, trying to recall the last time I had my period. Last month? Maybe the month before? I run through the past several weeks in my head, retracing routines, countingbackward, and the further back I go the more unease begins to settle at the base of my spine.

I can’t remember.

I can’t remember the last time I got my period. I’ve never really been the type to track it anyway, but it’s more than alarming that I have no recollection of having it at all recently.

I sit down fully on the tile floor, my back against the cabinet, staring at the wall across from me.

I’ve been on the pill for years—ever since I complained to my doctor about heavy periods. It was never about preventing pregnancy, that was just supposed to be a given. And up until a few months ago, that was the least of my concerns.

My hand moves to my stomach without my permission.

There’s no way I’m pregnant. I’m just not. I’m late, that’s all. Barely late.

Right?

I feel fine. I’m not nauseous or achy or any of those symptoms everyone talks about. I’m just tired. Everyone gets tired.

I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.

Please, I can’t be.

Panic starts to ensue. Slowly, I get back up and open the cabinet again, searching this time with more intention. Elyse and Dominic were actively trying to get pregnant. There has to be some sort of pregnancy test in the house. At least I’m hoping so because I’m not sure my panic can withstand having to drive to the closest twenty-four hour pharmacy all the way in Badger Canyon. I’ll lose my mind by then.

Luckily, behind some spare rolls of toilet paper is a single unopened pregnancy test.

I stare at it, afraid to touch it, like the box itself will impregnate me.

Eventually my shaking hands grab hold of it and I set it on the counter, eyes fixed on it.

I’ve never taken one before so I turn it over and read the instructions.

From there it’s a bit of a blur. Like I’m present but out of my body at the same time.

I pee and place the stick on the edge of the sink, pacing back and forth while the allotted time passes.

This is not how I imagined possibly finding out I’m pregnant.

This was supposed to be years from now, with my husband, in our home and finding out together because we were trying. Because we’re excited.