Page 54 of The Trouble with Flings

I’ll get my period, and this will be a story you and I will laugh about someday.

I hold on to that thought, and Mia’s hand, like lifelines.

Chapter Fourteen

Jennifer

Dr. Valesco’s exam room is too quiet, magnifying the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. I have handled some trying situations. I’ve talked two suicidal teenagers off ledges, faced down an auditorium of angry parents, broken up too many fights to count, and managed a school lockdown without flinching, and not one of those instances paralyzed me the way waiting for the pregnancy test results has.

It’s been three weeks since Mia and I sat on the edge of my bathtub staring at two lines that couldn’t possibly mean what they were supposed to. Three weeks of telling myself it was a false positive, of Googling validity of store-bought pregnancy tests, false-positive pregnancy tests, and effectiveness of the pill more times than I’ll ever admit. Three weeks of lying awake running the date calculations over and over like the answer might change if I just approached it from a different angle.

Three weeks of being afraid to see the doctor, and more afraid not to.

If the blood test comes back negative, I’ll be relieved. But another worry has been gnawing at me. What if the barely there period I thought I got the week of New Year’s and the one I’m fairly certain never came in February indicate something else? Could I be going into menopause this early? What if it’s something worse?

My stomach knots up. At least I’m in the right place to find out.

That’s the rational part of my brain speaking. The part that makes decisions and follows through. The other part, the one that has been white-knuckling its way through life the last few weeks, has been running on a completely different narration.

What if it’s positive?

I love my family and I love kids, but I’ve never dreamed of having one of my own. I’ve built my life deliberately and carefully so I would never need anyone outside of my family. I trust them. But tying myself to a man for life and trusting he won’t turn into Gary 2.0? Gary was wonderful, too…until he wasn’t.

Discomfort moves through me.

Then there’s the practical reality that an unplanned pregnancy for a single woman shouldn’t matter or raise eyebrows in this day and age. But when you’re the person setting examples for a school full of children, it kind of does. Plus, my apartment is not big enough for a baby and all its paraphernalia, and childcare in Manhattan is astronomical. I would need a second job, and then the baby would need more childcare. There’s just no version of my life that has room for a baby, which is why I’ve decided that if I’m pregnant, I’m not keeping it.

My chest aches at the magnitude of such a decision, but there’s a relief there, too. It’s the rational choice. The one that makes sense for me.

But that relief is treading water, because I can’t stop thinking about Fitz. I know he doesn’t need his life upended, either. He didn’t ask for this any more than I did. But we did this together. Is it fair for me to make this decision without telling him?

That’s been sitting in my heart like a splinter I can’t dislodge.

If I’m pregnant, I have to tell him. He deserves to know.

I think he’d agree with me and understand my position. He’s reasonable and intelligent. He’d have to. It’s my body, and we’re not even a couple. We’re just two people who can’t go a day without being in touch. I swear it feels like we’re connected by some invisible energy. His texts roll in when he’s on my mind, which is pretty much all the time. I don’t know what to do with that, and this possible pregnancy has me so confused and anxious, I’ve hardly texted him the last two weeks. I was afraid I’d say something, and I had no answers to give him. Not texting him has made me even more anxious. I miss him, and that’s scary, too, because I don’t connect like that with people. Or at least I haven’t in a very long time.

The door opens, startling me as Dr. Valesco comes in. “I’m sorry that took so long.”

“That’s okay,” I say, studying her as she sits on the stool. She’s been my doctor for a decade. Her dark hair is fastened at the base of her neck in a low ponytail, and her eyes give nothing away but calm reassurance.

“Jennifer, the blood test confirms you’re pregnant.”

A sharp jolt of disbelief paralyzes me anew. The room tilts for a few seconds before my mind can catch up. I grip the edges of the chair. She’s still talking, but her voice is white noise to the pregnant echoing in my head.

“Jennifer?” Her voice is gentler now. “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm,” I manage.

She gives me a moment before saying, “Do you have any questions?”

I shake my head, because my mind has gone completely blank.

“I’d like to give you an ultrasound to see how things are progressing. Would that be okay with you?”

I think I say yes, but I can’t be sure. My chest constricts, and I swallow against it, moving to the exam table like an automaton. The paper sheet crinkles beneath me as I sit on it, then lie back. I lift my sweater and open the top of my slacks, staring blankly at the ceiling while Dr. Valesco prepares the Doppler. My mind goes someplace else. Somewhere far away, where none of this is happening.

The gel is cold on my stomach.