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So I do the only math available to me on a Tuesday morning in my own bedroom.

One night. March. A hotel bar and a man who asked me my name twice and didn’t get it either time.

Fourteen weeks ago.

And on Sunday night I sat at a table in that man’s restaurant and told him the food was very good.

I pull out my phone and search for a nearby pharmacy. I drive there, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

What am I going to do? What will my family say? What will Raul say?

What will Lexa say? That’s the one that actually comes at me, at a red light on Sunset, and it’s so much worse than the others.

My sister’s girlfriend’s brother. My sister’s coach. My mother’s employee.

I enter the pharmacy, wearing my biggest sunglasses and a hat. I don’t want to be recognized.

It feels weird to buy a pregnancy test, but I have no choice. I grab the first one I see, then pay for it quickly. The cashier gives me a sympathetic look, but doesn’t say anything.

She’s about twenty and she has no idea who I am and the sympathy is just her being kind to a woman in sunglasses indoors. I nearly cry in front of her. I rush out.

Back home, I lock the door behind me. I’m still wearing my sunglasses. I feel like I’m in a bad dream. This can’t be happening.

I go to the bathroom, opening the box with trembling hands. I read the instructions. Just pee on the stick, then wait.

But I don’t need to pee right now. I wait, pacing the bathroom. What if I’m pregnant? What will I do? Will I keep the baby? Will I tell Raul? Will he want to be involved? Will he want to be with me?

I don’t know. I can’t think straight. I feel sick again, the nausea rising. I take deep breaths, trying to calm down.

I can just tell everyone I went to the clinic and got inseminated by a random stranger. I laugh because in a way that’s what happened. Except I didn’t go to the clinic.

“Fuck this shit,” I mutter and go to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water to force down my throat.

I pace, checking the time every five seconds. It feels like hours have passed, but it’s only been five minutes.

I walk back to the bathroom and try to pee on the damn stick, but I can’t. There’s nothing coming out. I should’ve drunk three bottles, not two. I go back to the kitchen and get another bottle. And another.

The water is helping with the nausea, but I’m feeling even more queasy from drinking too much. I hope I don’t throw it all back up. I feel full, uncomfortable. I go back to the bathroom, and this time I pee.

I do it on the stick, then put it on the counter. I wash my hands, my heart beating so loud I can hear it in my ears.

The box says three minutes. I set a timer and turn my back on the counter, because I’ve never been able to stand still and watch a countdown. I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

The timer goes.

I turn around, my eyes on the stick. Two pink lines. Positive.

So I am pregnant.

I stare at it, my mind blank. I want to scream, to cry, to run away.

But instead, I sit on the floor, my back against the wall. I hug my knees, burying my face in them. How will I tell him?

Should I even tell him?

I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now.

Tears stream down my face. I wanted this for so long, but not like this. Not now.