Page 30 of Interception

I want to say so much more, but I can’t. I’m probably freaking out about nothing. There could be a million other explanations for why I’m late. Even as I think it, I don’t believe it. Rereading the instructions, I set all of the test sticks out on the vanity and head to bed. I just want this nightmare to be over with. This will all be cleared up in the morning. Hopefully, I’ll wake up and have horrible menstrual cramps and ruined sheets because Aunt Flo has blessed me with her arrival.

When I crawl under the covers, the smell of Coop’s cologne lingers from last night. Grabbing his pillow, I clutch it to my chest like a binky. My pathetic yearning makes me want to punch myself repeatedly in the face.

A couple of hours into the longest night of my life, I start wondering if I’ll have enough morning pee to do three tests. Or maybe I won’t be quick enough. I’m not used to putting my hand between my legs while I’m sitting on the toilet. I finally get up and go in search of a solo cup. I can just pee into that and then dip all the tests in it.

A half-hour after that, I got up again and got a pair of Marigolds from under the kitchen sink. I don’t want to pee on my hand by accident. I can ditch the cup and gloves as soon as I’m done.

By three in the morning, I’m thinking about sitting the pee sticks on the counter. That’s gross too, and I didn’t get the kind with the cap on the top. I should’ve factored that in when I stood staring at the shelves in the drugstore.

God, who knew taking a pregnancy test was so complicated.

In the end, I stop trying to get to sleep. Sleep and life-changing results are not bedfellows. Instead, I binge-watch episodes of Grey’s Anatomy until the sun comes up. I’m going to be of zero use at work today.

After waiting all night, I find myself procrastinating as I pace the floor, trying to convince my bladder that it isn’t about to burst. When I literally can’t wait any longer, I run into the bathroom, grabbing the solo cup before I pee myself. Shit. I waited all damn night, and now I’m so desperate, I don’t have time to put on the rubber gloves I left out.

The relief is short-lived as I thrust the cup between my legs. Apparently, there’s a knack to this that I don’t possess. My hand is now covered in my urine, and I only manage to get about half of it in the cup. Why do movies always portray taking a pregnancy test like it’s some mystical, magical moment? Even if you’re hoping it’s positive, this is a rather unceremonious way to find out.

The universe isn’t playing around with the whole ‘women get the short end of the stick’ scenario. In this case, we get the short end of a urine-soaked stick. I quickly clean myself up and turn on the shower. Three dipped sticks later, and I jump in the shower in a vain attempt to stop myself from counting the seconds until I have my answer. My heart is hammering against my ribcage the entire time, and under the heat of the water, I feel a cold sense of dread settling in the pit of my stomach.

It’s definitely been long enough. My world slows down, and I’m bathed in silence as I turn off the water and step out of the shower. I wish Faith were here. I could get her to look. Although, knowing her, she’d accidentally drop them in the toilet before I got a chance to check them. Or she’d be jumping for joy while chastising me for getting myself into this predicament in the first place.

They’re right there.

I take a step closer, one eye squeezed shut as if that’s going to shield me from what’s coming.

One.

Two.

Three.

All of them positive.

“Fuck.”

* * *

I called in sick to work. I can’t face it. Not today. Coop has training, but I called him and asked if we could get together to talk. His tone immediately turned melancholy when I said it—he thinks I’m going to break up with him. He’ll be wishing that’s what I called for once he finds out the real reason.

Coop may be the one who has been pushing to label n what we have, but I don’t think this is what he had in mind. He was thinking about stepping it up from fuck buddy to girlfriend, not a fun roll in the hay to the mother of his child.

Holy shit. I’m going to be someone’s mother. Poor kid. I don’t understand how this could’ve happened. I mean, I know how it happened. I got drunk on cock. After the first time Coop and I made the beast with two backs—bareback—it was game over. We were never going to be satisfied with a rubber between us. And I assured him that I had us covered with contraception. He’s going to shit a brick when I tell him, but he has to know.

I spend the day cleaning the apartment, needing some way to channel my nervous energy. The minutes tick by so achingly slow as I wait for Coop to arrive as if he’ll care that the apartment is clean and tidy. Armed with my triple positive tests, I sit and stare at them, trying to figure out how to word this. I’m about to set off a grenade in Coop’s life, and the press is going to have a field day with this.

When I hear Coop’s familiar knock on the door, my stomach drops into my boots. He has this crazy, jovial way he wraps his knuckles on the door, it’s almost melodic. I’m so nervous I can barely breathe.

As I turn the lock and open the door, I’m met by Coop’s panty-dropping smile, the one that got me into this trouble in the first place.

“Hey, beautiful. Are you feeling better? You look a little pale.” The slight hesitance in his voice betrays that killer smile of his.

“I’ve been better. Come on in, I’m not contagious or anything.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek, his cologne mixed with the fresh scent of his body wash. I love the way he smells when he comes straight from training. He must use a different shower gel or shampoo when he showers in the locker room.

“I’d gladly contract whatever plague you’re sporting if it means getting to hang out. I was worried about you last night.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

“I can grab it. I know where the refrigerator is. You’re the one who isn’t feeling good. Can I get you something?”

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