Page 200 of Unhinged

“Were you really sick?”

“Yes. The tea—”

“Right. The tea. I thought it had something to do with all the damn pregnancy test boxes in your bathroom.”

Her eyes fly open. “Oh. Well, I…”

“So you took several tests, and they came out positive, right?”

“Greg…”

“Yes or no. It’s not quantum physics.”

“Yes, but—”

“Pregnant? Jesus Christ, Simone! How?”

“Greg, come on.”

“You fucking promised me you were taking your pills!”

“I was! Every day!”

“Sounds legit! I trusted you!”

“It was an accident! When you left Richmond, it depressed me. My mom told me to drink her tea because it helped with—”

“Get to the fucking point!”

“Shut up, or I won’t! The tea has St. John’s wort. It’s an herb. The doctor said it rendered the pill useless. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry? This can’t happen! I told you I didn’t want kids because of fucking cystic fibrosis!”

“Greg, you made that decision by yourself! As an actual couple, we never talked about having kids! We should have! I want them someday!”

“It’s a little late for someday! You want to fucking talk about it? Fine! I’ll speak slowly, so you understand! My sister died from CF! I’m a goddamn carrier, Simone!”

“But—”

“But nothing! You could be a carrier and not know it! It takes two defects to be cursed with the disease! If we’re both carriers, this kid has a twenty-five percent chance of inheriting CF, a fifty percent chance of only being a carrier, and the final twenty-five percent chance of being normal! You don’t think I know this shit by heart?”

“You were okay with Birdy possibly having it!”

“Okay? Are you serious? I had a feeling she wasn’t mine and maybe because I was in denial until my sister died!”

“I’ll get tested!”

“So damn helpful! Even if you don’t have the mutation, there’s a fifty-fifty chance of this kid being a carrier, too, and pass this shit down to the next generation to worry about!”

“I’m sorry! But we can’t live in fear like that, Greg!” she cries and catches her breath. “You don’t want a family with me?”

“That’s a stupid question to ask now. Like I have a damn choice.” I cross my arms and glare at her. “How pregnant?”

“Five weeks, but—”

“From Shasta’s scam, I know they add two weeks. That’d barely be our wedding night. It couldn’t have shown up on a test this fast.”

“It did.”

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