Page 58 of The Girl with No Name

On the way back from the pharmacy, my heart races. In the wee hours of the night, I take the test and wait for the results, the seconds ticking by like hours and amplifying the tension in the room.

And then the answer comes as a second line forms on the test:positive.

I set the test on the kitchen counter and pace, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming thoughts racing through my mind.Would this be a new beginning amidst my impending loss? Or could it be a false alarm, adding another layer of complexity to the night’s emotional roller coaster?

As the clock strikes five in the morning, the front door finally creaks open, announcing Gatsby’s return. Emotions brimming, I wait for him to step into our shared space, the weight of the night heavy on my shoulders.

“You’re up,” he says as he walks in, hanging up his hat.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Well, you should get some sleep.”

“Everything okay with your friend?”

“Yeah, uh, he’s okay. It was pretty tough, but I think I calmed him down.”

“Okay, good.” I wait for him to say something else, and when he doesn’t, I add, “There’s something we should talk about.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Can it wait until tonight? I have to work in the morning. And I need to get a couple of hours of sleep.”

“Not really.”

“Look, babe, I have to sleep. I have a big work meeting, and this thing with Tom really stressed me out.”

“Okay,” I say sheepishly, feeling small. At this point it doesn’t matter anyway.

When we wake up in the morning—I still haven’t slept—he gets up to shave. He stops to look at me when he comes back to the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m just lying here.”

“Make me breakfast.”

“You want me to make you breakfast?”

“You live here now, so yeah.”

I’m a little surprised—not to mention put off—by his tone, but I figure he’s had a tough night. In Hawaii I made him breakfast a couple of times, and he remarked that I had “wife-level cooking skills.” I’d taken it as a compliment. Now I’m not sure what to think.

I get out of bed and start making him breakfast. “Must have been a stressful night for you,” I offer when he comes out to the kitchen. “Everything okay?”

“What’s that?” he asks, ignoring my question and bobbing his head toward the test I left out on the counter.

“That’s the news,” I say, stirring the eggs I cracked. I set them down and take a few steps toward him. “I was feeling a little off yesterday, so I took a pregnancy test. Turns out I’m pregnant.” A pit forms in my stomach. This is not the way I saw myself delivering this news someday, but life takes twists and turns, and this is one of mine.

He rubs his face. “No, you’re not.”

“What do you mean, I’m not?”

“You’re not pregnant. I don’t believe you. We always use condoms.”

“I can get a second test to make sure. But it adds up that I’m feeling like this and I’m pregnant.” I try to read the emotions on his face.

“This isn’t happening,” he says. “It can’t happen.”

“I know we’re not married, but I love you,” I say, rubbing his back.

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