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So, I’m aware I’ll need to take a pregnancy test soon to make sure I’m getting the proper care. It’s simply a test to answer a question I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to.
I’ll take the GED, and then I’ll ask Rachelle or Liliana for a different kind of test I suppose.
Fuck. This isn’t what most almost eighteen-year-olds are thinking about, huh?
Pulling myself back to the present, I stare down at my drawing. Gasping, I realize I drew one of my first foster fathers. Talk about a jump scare. He’s wearing a white, stained tank top and worn jeans, tattoos that are colorful with racial slurs, and he has a thick belt folded over in his hand.
I have no idea how he made it into the system as a foster parent. His wife was a saint, but she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him. She reminded me a lot of my own mother in that way.
Mason Tinkers. Of all the things I’ve forgotten, I don’t know why his name couldn’t have been one of them. His mouth is open as he screams at me through the image, and I remember the way his belt used to feel across my body. I was young, traumatized after watching my parents’ murder-suicide, and I had a long list of medical issues.
I’m not sure how anyone thought I’d be a good fit for the Tinkers. He was always mad that I’d barely talk, cried a lot, and wouldn’t eat. I was only there a month, but it seemed like much longer.
“That’s enough of that,” I mutter as I pull my earbuds out.
“Hey,” Liliana says, making me blink as I glance up. While I’m facing the door, I haven’t been very aware of surroundings. “Taking a break?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I have a lot of calculations and words running through my brain. It was time for a mental time out.”
Making a face at my sketch book, I close the heavy cover over it. This may not have been the break I thought I needed, but I feel calmer now. The sketch reminds me of what I’ve survived, and where I came from.
It also solidified my decision to keep this baby if I am pregnant. The only way I can make sure she or he is properly protected and adored is to do it myself, regardless of my age.
Nothing will change my mind on this.
My stomach makes a sound of hunger and I can’t help but laugh. Okay then.
“Well, it looks like I came at the right time because Calvin is making lunch,” Lili says, pushing her hair over her shoulder. Ugh, I miss my hair so much. “He wants to know if you’d like a sandwich or something else?”
Thinking, I suddenly have a weird craving.
“What do you want?” Lili asks, eyebrow raising. “You just got an odd look on your face.”
“I kind of want steak tacos. I don’t usually like steak because it’s so chewy,” I say, shaking my head. “A sandwich is fine. It’s such an obscure thing.”
“You live in a Latin household,” she laughs. “It’s not obscure at all. I’ll make some and save the leftovers. Ignacio will be excited when he comes home from his errands to find them.”
Ignoring the questions in her eyes, I put my art supplies away and follow her to the kitchen.
“You have some color in your cheeks,” Calvin says, glancing at me as he moves around the kitchen. “I think not going to school anymore was the right call.”
“It’s definitely less stressful,” I agree.
“Noor says she’s in the mood for steak tacos,” Liliana reports as she opens the refrigerator.
“Ooh. That’s a good choice,” he says. “Should I add this to the list of approved foods?”
“It’s an experiment,” I explain. “My brain and stomach say they really want these, so I want to be sure before I say yes.”
“Makes perfect sense,” he says, helping Liliana cook. “Elijah is in the office talking to vendors for the club, but he mentioned he was craving tacos as well. Why don’t we make enough for dinner?”
“Then it’s meant to be,” Liliana says, giving me a wink.
Hours later, my stomach is happy, but I still crave tacos for dinner too. I’m only slightly nauseous, my heartbeat didn’t increase any more than normal when I eat, and I have no idea what to make of it.
I guess I have a new approved food to eat.
I’m headed to the living room after dinner to play with Addy and Ari when Elijah whistles to get my attention behind me. Turning, I tilt my head in question.
