Page 43 of Mismatched

But after I’ve had my soak and finally climb out of the tub to pee, the whole world shifts when I see a bright slash of red on the toilet paper.

I didn’t eat too many donuts. I was just getting my period.

At first, I’m so unprepared for the level of relief that washes over me, it’s a good thing I’m sitting down. I mean, yay, my stomach is okay. But I don’t think I even realized how not ready to be pregnant I was until this moment. I feel like I’m releasing a long-held breath.

Except as soon as I take in a new one, I realize what horrible news this is.

I failed. I agreed to do this, to ensure our future together. He wants a family so badly—needs this in order to heal after losing his mom. And now I have to tell him we’re not having one.

I sit with that for a second, trying to figure out how I’m even going to approach this. What if he pulls away again, the way he did after we lost his mom? What if, somehow, he thinks I kept it from happening? A hot wave of guilt passes through me as I remember standing over the trashcan, ready to reach in and remove the pills. I didn’t—though I definitely considered it.

But lots of women have trouble conceiving. This is only the first month—I’ve heard of it taking years. Some couples can’t even have kids without medical intervention. And each and every one of them likely started here, where I am. Bleeding in a bathroom.

There is a pregnancy test under the sink next to my menstrual supplies. One Anton bought proactively in a surge of excitement. Another twinge of guilt shoots through me as I reach past it and unwrap a tampon. We didn’t even get to use it. But it will still be there next month—or the month after.

I straighten up, helping myself to a couple of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet now that I know the source of my cramps. Just as I put the bottle away, there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Lydia? I’m home. Everything okay in there?”

In a weird flash of memory, I return to a similar moment, just months ago. When I was locked in another bathroom, processing information I had and he didn’t. When I realized he was going to cheat—I was going to lose him—if I didn’t make a bold move.

I shake the thought away. That already feels like another life. And neither of us has anything to hide this time. My entire waistline might be aching and swollen, but we’ll chase away this disappointment together. The way we have been the last two weeks.

I pull on my robe and open the door. “Sorry. I’m okay, I was just taking a bath.”

“A bath?” His eyes traverse me with concern. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. Then I pause and soften my voice. “I got my period.”

This has never been noteworthy information between us. For me, it’s meant several days of discomfort once a month. For Anton, it’s only ever indicated a week of no sex. But I see the exact moment he registers what I’m telling him, and despite all my logic about the odds of conception, I still wish we’d beaten them.

“Oh,” is all he says.

I bite my lip, watching his demeanor shift. His face flattens as if something inside him is retreating and I swallow a stab of panic.

“You know, hardly anyone gets pregnant on the first try. I wasn’t even off the pill a full month.” I look down to where I’ve folded my hands over my aching abdomen, then hastily add, “Anton, I—I’m sorry.”

His gaze follows mine, and for a moment it almost looks like his eyes are shining. But he blinks, and when he looks up, his face is all concern. He takes my hand in his. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I just...” My voice comes out raw. “It’s disappointing.”

I don’t say anything as he pulls me into his arms, wrapping me in the most comforting hug I think I’ve ever received. He rubs my back gently, laying a kiss in my hair.

“It’s hard for both of us,” he says.

I want to tell him it doesn’t have to be. There’s no need to be upset when we can pick up right where we left off; we can try again. But before I can say any of this, the cramping around my midsection intensifies, and I bite my lip hard, waiting for it to pass.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Anton says. “Let me help.”

He goes in search of our heating pad, and though it’s barely lunchtime, I change out of my robe into a cami and loose PJ shorts because real clothes sound awful. When I find him in the living room, he has the heating pad plugged in next to the sofa alongside my favorite blanket, with Netflix pulled up on the TV.

“We had some Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer,” he says, handing me the carton and a spoon.

I settle on the couch and he hovers around, tucking me in until I feel totally wrapped up and cared for. Which I love, but... feels a little weird. Anton has always been sympathetic in the past when I’ve complained about cramping, feeling tired, or an aching back during my cycle. But never this attentive.

“Well, what should we watch?” I ask, patting the empty space beside me.

He hesitates, not sitting. “I uh... actually, I might go to the gym.”

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