Page 14 of Love Me

Chapter 8

The fluorescent lights hummed as if in sync with the background music. The rows of flu medicines and anti-nausea pills seemed like a laundry list of magical cures that could, in fact, do anything, even make a human into a superhero. I rolled my eyes; I simply wanted a pill that would make daily tasks seem tolerable while this viral bug passed through me.

A woman, maybe a year or two younger than me, hurried past me, brushing my shoulder. I watched her grab a box of condoms like she was stealing an expensive bottle of wine. I remembered that feeling. She glanced up at the products above them before turning the corner. The pregnancy tests loomed over the condoms, acting as guardians, reminding the buyers of the very real consequences should anyone choose not to use condoms. Like we hadn’t.

Deep down, I knew it wasn’t a virus or a stomach bug, but I was trying desperately not to acknowledge what it could be. As I turned back to the anti-nausea medications, the words wrapping around a bottle, Safe for pregnancy! stood out. My stomach sank.

“Looking for vitamins already?” a squeaky woman’s voice asked. I jumped, turning to find Misty staring at me. “You should get Nature’s Cavern. That’s the only kind Jessica could take that didn’t end up on the floor.”

“Who’s Jessica?” I asked.

“One of my sisters.”

I stared at the Pepto-Bismol, as if it were the most intriguing thing I could find.

“You’re looking in the wrong section,” Misty said.

“Am I?” I asked, incredulous. “Why are you even here?”

“Yeesh. Grateful much?” she asked. “Owen sent me. He said you were crying.”

I was grateful she was there, but I didn’t want to admit it. So I glared into the deep pink sea of upset stomach wonders, pretending like I didn’t care.

“You’re pregnant, Riley.” I must’ve looked at her like she was crazy, because she added, “I have six older sisters. I know what pregnancy looks like.”

“Like clammy skin and burrito bloat?” I asked.

She handed me a blue and white box that read 99% accuracy 5 days before your missed period! “Just take it, Riles.”

Still unable to completely admit it myself, I grabbed the Pepto-Bismol and the ginger pills for nausea (safe for pregnancy, it claimed), and quickly walked to the counter, Misty beside me. The cashier scanned the items without looking at us. I paid silently, nervously bouncing my knee, wanting to prove to myself once and for all that this nausea and vomiting was, or wasn’t, because of a baby. Misty made small talk with no one in particular, and in my mind, I wondered if she would ever shut the hell up for a few seconds. As the cashier ripped my receipt from the machine, I interrupted Misty’s monologue and asked, “Where’s the bathroom?” The cashier pointed down the aisle of cookies and chips to the sign in cursive, Restrooms.

The light fixture above the stalls flickered, making it hard to read the directions. “Pee on the stick, Riles,” Misty said loudly. I scowled and made ugly faces at her. It wasn’t rocket science, but I didn’t want to screw it up and have to do it again.

I set the stick on top of the toilet paper holder and set a timer on my phone for three minutes. Then I paced back and forth in front of the sinks, waiting.

“Hey,” Misty said. I ignored her. “Riley, stop.”

“What?” I hissed.

She grabbed my arms. “Breath,” she said. She locked eyes with me. “It’s going to be okay.” I breathed in slowly, trying to think of something, anything, other than my urine being a fortune teller. “Think of your sculptures,” she said. “Whatever makes you happy.”

My phone vibrated, and I went in quickly. Where are you? Owen texted.

I’m fine, I responded.

You’re not, he sent. I locked the phone in the stall again. But as soon as I did, the timer on my phone went off, causing it to vibrate and flash 0.00! Three minutes had already passed. I walked to the stall.

The result: two red lines. I was pregnant.

We stopped outside of a laundromat, needing a break from walking in the unbearable humidity. For once, Misty was quiet. I don’t remember leaving the store or what streets we turned down. All I could think was what I knew had been true all along, what I didn’t want to admit to myself.

Inside, a mother put clothes from a washer into a dryer. Her two children, a boy, probably five years old, and a girl, no more than two, stood next to her, the boy playing with a car, entertaining his younger sister. I had never had a brother or sister; I only had my mother. And though my mother had given me a good childhood, I had never considered doing that for anyone else. I saw how making a family had made Grayson run away from her, how he rejected us. I didn’t know if I could provide for someone like my mother had all by herself.

The two-year-old was giggling now, chasing her brother down the aisle of units, not noticing the people around them, while the mother quickly tried to finish folding another set of clothes. I wondered how many loads she was doing for them, if they were a family of three or four. Was there a father in their lives? Was he working somewhere? Would he be home when they were finished with errands? My father, or really the sperm provider, used our house like a crash pad, then left my mother and me alone.

My phone buzzed again, a phone call this time.

“Yes?” I answered.

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