Page 122 of Freefall

Having to pee again doesn’t feel like a good sign, but it could just be nerves.

I do my business on another stick, recap it, and set a five-minute timer on my phone.

That queasy feeling never went away.

At first I blamed the stress. Finals. Jace relapsing. Then…that fight with Nate. We haven't spoken since that night. I don’t know if he’s giving me the space I asked for or if he’s simply keeping his promise.

Then leave. But don’t bother coming back.

The words have replayed in my head so many times, they’ve started to lose their meaning. Yet, it’s still clear as day. He gave me an ultimatum, and I couldn't bring myself to stay. Not after the way he looked at me and the things he said.

I finished my last final and got Jace to the shelter, but the nausea only got worse, and then I started having dizzy spells. It wasn't until Christmas Eve that I did the math. I hadn’t had my period since the beginning of November. Over three weeks late.

None of the stores were open on Christmas Day, so I had to wait until the day after. Now I’m sitting on the toilet in my parents’ house watching the countdown on my phone like some kind of fucked up Times Square ball drop.

Five…

Four…

Three…

The alarm blares through the bathroom like a siren. I don’t even need to look. I already know. Still, I force myself to pick up the test.

This time, I know my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. It’s not a hallucination or a faulty test. Not a false positive. Just a tiny life growing inside me.

A small laugh slips out at the irony. Then another follows. And another. Before I know it, I’m doubled over laughing so hard that tears blur my vision. The sound bounces off the walls—somewhere between hysterical and heartbroken. Eventually, the laughter subsides, and all that's left are the tears.

I don’t know how long I sit there before I grab my phone.

I find his contact on instinct. None of it matters anymore—the texts, the fight, the space. He deserves to know. My thumb hovers over his name, but before I can press call, my brain insists on going over the timeline again as if maybe I missed something important.

One—Nate and I had the worst fight of our relationship.

Two—That same night, I checked my long-ignored email. Waiting for me was an acceptance letter to my dream photography program in Colorado. I’d been waitlisted months ago when I applied for a transfer. I didn't even know they did transfers mid-year, but there it was in black and white. I could start at the beginning of the spring semester, and they even offered me a partial scholarship. Apparently, a photography professor had been visiting Blackwell and had seen some of my work at a showcase.

Three—Two weeks later, I find out I’m pregnant.

You know that saying, Man plans, and God laughs? I didn’t even plan for any of this, and yet someone up there has got to be doubled over, wheezing.

I wash my hands and gather up all the tests, stuffing the receipt into the bottom of the trash.

The entire day passes by while I work up the courage to call him. When evening finally rolls around, I stop thinking and just do it. I press his name. It rings five times, and when the ringing finally stops, relief floods my body so fast it makes me dizzy. He answered.

“Nate?”

Silence.

“Look…I know I said I needed space, but we need to talk.”

Nothing.

“Please say something.”

This time, I can hear the faint sound of breathing, so I know he’s listening.

“Nate.” My voice cracks. “It’s really important, but I can’t…I can’t say it unless I know you’re actually listening.”

If I speak the words into the silence and he still doesn't say anything, I’m not sure I can survive it.