Page 39 of Forever With You

There had to be another reason why I was having symptoms so similar to Avery’s, and my period being late had to be a coincidence. It had been at least six months between the last time I had sex and the night I spent with Nick. Plus, he had used a condom. And double plus, I was on the pill.

But ... oh my God ... I knew there were a ­couple of times when I hadn’t taken pills because my head was all over the place. Since I wasn’t having sex—­didn’t have any plans to have sex until I met Nick—­I hadn’t been stressed out about missing them.

Like one really could just plan sex.

Oh God.

My heart raced sickeningly fast. What if—­ I cut that thought off. I couldn’t even let it finish. The idea horrified me. Not because I didn’t want kids. I did want kids, you know, like years from now, when I was settled in my career and married. Yeah, the married part would be nice.

Fuck. Having a boyfriend would be nice.

This was not how I planned my life. Not that I had a detailed plan, but I figured after graduating from college, I would spend a ­couple of years in my current job, putting my time in, and be one of those über sophisticated chicks who actually traveled when they had a vacation. West Coast. Europe. Asia. I wanted to see the whole world. Eventually I would meet a guy. We would date, get engaged, and have a massive wedding, and maybe by the time I reached my thirties, I’d think about having a baby.

Not now.

Not before I was settled in my career, traveled the world, got married, and my massively, ridiculous wedding.

Oh my God, this couldn’t be happening. There was a good chance I was going to puke all over myself.

Now I sat in the parking lot of a drugstore, my knuckles aching from how tightly I was clutching the steering wheel. I stared at the entrance, unable to force myself to get out of the car. I needed to. I needed to go in and buy a pregnancy test, because a pregnancy test would prove that I wasn’t pregnant and I was just overreacting. Stress could make your period late. A ton of things could make your period late, not just a fertilized egg.

Oh my God—­a fertilized egg.

I did not have afertilized eggin me.

Woman-­ing up, I snatched my purse off the passenger seat and stalked into the drugstore with a single-­minded focus. Bypassing the makeup aisles, I headed straight for the section most women didn’t like to linger in—­past the tampons and the pads and a ton of other things I never understood why we needed so many different brands for and stopped in front of a slew of boxes.

My eyes widened.

Holy no babies, why were there so many pregnancy tests? I was frozen as I scanned them. E.p.t. Clear Blue. Ovulation Test—­what the heck? E.p.t. Early. Why were there so many? My hands shook as I picked one up and flipped it over. My vision blurred as I read the back. I couldn’t believe I was buying a pregnancy test.

I’d never had to buy one before.

This could not be happening.

Placing the box back, I blindly picked up another and turned it over. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and my stomach dropped to my toes. I glanced around but didn’t see anyone staring at me. I was totally freaking out.

I grabbed another box, started to leave and then whipped around, picking up another box. Just in case ... I experienced user error.

My face was burning like I’d been under a heat lamp as I carried my purchases to the front and a slim woman with deep grooves in her face, around her eyes and mouth, waited.

Her brows rose when I dumped my armload on the counter and she glanced up at me, a wry grin on lips covered with faded, purple lipstick. Picking up one box, she offered a throaty chuckle. “You can never be too sure about some things, huh?”

I wanted to hide under the bin of candy behind me.

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, honey.” She scanned one pregnancy test and then plopped it in a bag. “Most ­people buy several boxes the first time.”

Was it that obvious this was my first time? Wait a second. Was I seriously having my first time? As the boxes went in the bag and I was given my total, I realized somewhat numbly that whether I was prepared for it or not, this was really happening.

I could be pregnant.

As soon as I got back to my apartment, I placed the potentially life-­changing bag on the counter and walked into my kitchen. I kept all medicines, along with my birth control pills, in a cabinet. Anyplace else, I would end up forgetting about them.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the purple plastic container, smoothing my fingers over the rows of small pills. I counted back and then counted back again. Squeezing my eyes shut, I cursed. The dates I missed...

They were important dates.

Snapping the container closer, I placed it back and then dropped my elbows onto the counter. I scrubbed my hands down my face. My thoughts whirled in a continuous circle until one main one wiggled free. If I ... If I was what I feared, did taking birth control pills after ... after conception effect the baby?

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