Page 30 of Storm

An uneasy feeling crawls over me, but I can’t put my finger on what’s causing it. Taking the box out, I carry it into the living room and stand next to my chair, chewing on my lip. I need to ask the question, but I don’t want to.

Susanna keeps working until she eventually notices me as I stand unmoving, holding tampons. “What’s go?—”

“How long has it been?” I blurt out, interrupting her.

She sets aside the pile she’s organizing into a new box. “What?”

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and ask again. “It’s been seven weeks, right? Since I went to the cabin. Or has it been six?”

The door opens to our apartment and Susanna’s boyfriend, Vance, strolls in. “Morning. I’m here to help.” He stops when he realizes she and I are just staring at each other with wide eyes. “What’s happening right now?” His head bounces back and forth, studying both of us.

“Fuck,” Susanna mutters, then stands up. “Hold on.”

Rushing to the kitchen, Vance follows. “Hey. I can get what you need. You’re still recovering.”

She just blows past him and grabs the calendar stuck to the front of our refrigerator. “Shit, we threw it away. Vance, can you pull up your calendar on the phone? What day did I leave the hospital?”

Confused, his lip quirks up as his hair falls into his eyes. “You’ve been home for six weeks and four days.”

“Of course you’d know that off the top of your head,” I tease, then laugh when he gives me the most serious of looks.

“Why wouldn’t I? Why, though?” Standing on her toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek.

My stomach sinks and that heavy, bloated feeling rears its ugly head once again, but now I know it’s for a totally different reason. “Fuck!” I shout, making both of them jump.

Throwing his arms out, Vance begins to panic. “You’re worrying me. Wha?—”

“Tampons, Vance! Fuckingtampons!” My heart starts pounding and I feel as if I’m going to throw up. I bend over and brace myself on my knees and inhale through my nose, blowing it out through my mouth. “I’m going to puke, and it’s probably because I have fucking morning sickness. Fucking hell, Susu! What in the actualfuck?”

We both ignore Vance’s mumbled, “But what’s going on with the tampons?”

“Store. I’ll go.” Susanna rushes around, picking up mismatched dirty socks from the floor and tugs them over her feet.

“Now wait, I can go. What do you guys need?”

I’m doing my best to hold back a sob, gritting out, “A pregnancy test, Vance. A motherfucking pregnancy test.” Glancing at the sympathetic look on Susanna’s face, I whisper, “Estoy jodida.”I’m fucked.

His mouth falls open in shock. “Holy shit. Yeah, okay. Does it matter what kind? Or should I get?—”

Whipping my head back sharply, I choke out a cry. “Anything. Let me grab my wallet.” Refusing to let any tears fall, I wipe at my eyes and search out my purse.

I’m going to school to be a fucking nurse, and I can’t pay attention to the fact that I’m over two weeks late to get my period?

That thought pulls me up short. “Wait. How the fuck could I be pregnant? I’m on birth control! No, this is just stress or something. No way I’m pregnant.”

What the hell will I tell my father? Fuuuuuuuckkk… I’d have to tell my family.

“Youhavebeen napping. A lot.”

Susanna’s simple statement has my head snapping up. “I’ll go to the store,” Vance says softly before slipping out of our apartment, leaving us alone.

Instead of answering her, I sink to my knees, drop my face into my hands, and start crying. My best friend sits on the ground facing me, crossing her legs. We aren’t huggers, so I appreciate the comfort she’s offering. Silently sitting with me.

I allow myself the twenty minutes before Vance returns to dissolve and panic. Everything in me wants to scream there’s no way I could be pregnant, but deep down, I know I am. For the life of me, I can’t wrap my head around it. Birth control for years and only having sex for a few days? It’s like something out of a damn movie.

We both hear Vance opening the door, but before he joins us, I reach out and grab Susanna’s hand, squeezing gently. “No puedo hacer esto sola.”

I don’t translate, knowing she doesn’t understand.I can’t do this alone. But I can’t put that on her, not when she’s taking charge of her life and moving forward. My fuck-ups aren’t her responsibility, and if I start panicking now, she’ll refuse to move, insisting she stay to help me.

---