“Kroppy—”
“Be quiet or I'll make you regret it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She finds several torn strips of foil and starts fitting them together across the tile like pieces of a treasure map. I watch in silence. Finally, she sits back on her heels and stares at the tiny printed numbers. Her mouth falls open.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“It’s expired.”
I crawl closer. “Expired?”
“It expired almost a year ago.”
“Pregnancy tests expire?”
“Everything also expires, Misiu.”
She looks at me like I’m the dumbest and most adorable creature ever placed on this earth.
“Right,” I say.
“It’d been in my purse forever. I’ve never had a reason to use it.”
“So it could be wrong?”
“It could be.” She fumbles for her phone. “I need another test. Shit. I need a couple just to be sure.”
I take the phone from her before she can start typing with shaking hands. I hook my hands beneath her arms and lift her.
“What're you doing?”
“Putting you somewhere that isn’t a bathroom floor.”
I guide her to the bed anyway and sit her against the pillows. Then I grab a bottle of water from the minibar and twist off the cap.
“Drink.”
“You’re acting like I’m pregnant already.”
“I’m acting like you’re a crocodile who might bite my hand off if I don’t take care of you. Do you want food?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fries?”
“Maybe.”
“Shake?”
She considers it. “Yes.”
I pass her the bottle first, then the shake.
“I’ll get new tests. You stay here, eat something, and try not to convince yourself of anything until we know.”