Page 33 of Claiming What Is Mine

I drag myself out of bed, pull on a pair of comfy sweats, twist my hair up in a bun, and slip my feet into a pair of flip flops. Not my sexiest look, but feeling as miserable as I do, and with a task like this, sexy hardly seems pertinent.

Besides, at least I’m not sporting the fuzzy slippers.

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I can’t recalla thing about the drive to the pharmacy. Between the rush of adrenaline that got me up and moving, mixed with nausea and nerves, the drive is a complete blur. Against my better judgement, I break from my plan and park in the pharmacy lot, but still choose to hide behind a pair of sunglasses I had tucked away in the glove box. I glimpse myself on the security monitor as I enter the store and I know, with absolute certainty, they know why I’m here, and they’re sitting in their little office at the back of the store, placing bets on whether or not I’m about to beeline to the family planning aisle.

Who are they? You know, the people. The ones who watch women like me come into the store every day, frantically rushing for the pregnancy tests.

Not today boys! Not this cookie.

First, I stop and peruse the in-store flyer. Distraction number one. Next, I pick up a shopping basket and head for the makeup section where I look at a couple of items and pretend to carefully read the labels. Distraction number two. My mind races as I line up my next move. I walk to the far side of the store and grab an Arizona Iced Tea. How’s that for random? Just a normal person, doing a little last-minute impulse shopping.

Nothing to see here.

I spot an out of order sign on the restroom as I meander past the pathetic toy selection.

Shit. So much for not waiting to know my destiny.

Finally, I make my way to the pregnancy tests, but I continue to play it cool.

Hmm. I’ve always been curious about these. Why don’t I pick one up and read the back? Totally random.

The selection overwhelms me. Do I want pluses and minuses? Is the word ‘pregnant’ somehow more clear? Do the digital ones work better than the others? It’s all too much, so I put one of each in my basket and proceed to make the walk of shame to the checkout counter. The pimple faced teenager behind the counter takes one look at my three pregnancy tests and an iced tea and gives me a knowing look.

Damnit.

My parents' radar has been on high alert since I informed them Gabe and I are dating, but blowing past Mom and Dad on my way out this morning, and racing to my bedroom with a shopping bag crammed under my shirt on my way in, surely didn’t help the situation. Mom starts with a light knock at my door, asking if everything is alright. Apparently my masterful, Yeah Mom I’m just really tired answer doesn’t satisfy her curiosity because she’s back again five minutes later, asking if I’d care for a sandwich. My mother is a sweet woman and, ordinarily, her offer to make me something to eat would seem normal enough, but not now. I know she knows. That’s what this is about.

Isn’t it?

“No thanks, Mom. I grabbed something while I was out.” I hate to lie to her, but food is the last thing on my mind. Just the thought of trying to keep it down makes me nauseous.

Thank God, being the only girl in my family earned me a bedroom with a private bathroom,I think to myself as I sit, placing sticks between my legs while I pee. That, and how much I hope and pray this doesn’t end up being one of those moments that haunts me the rest of my days. When I’m finished I flush the toilet and wonder if life as I knew it is swirling down the drain.

I cross my legs to sit on the bathroom floor, appreciating the cool tile as I stare up at the three tests balanced on the edge of the sink. According to the boxes, it’s a five-minute wait. But what is that saying about how a watched test never develops? Approximately half an eternity later I’m still on the floor, trying to decide how concerned I should be that all three came back indicating I’m pregnant. If it had been only one, maybe I could lull myself into disbelief. But three? Stupid men and their stupid penises.

Much to my surprise, despite all of my logical and practical concerns to the contrary, I find myself smiling at the thought of becoming a mother. It's not at all how we planned it, but here I am, the future Gabe and I saw when we were kids coming into focus. I will finally have the child I've always wanted, with the man I've always loved.

But the faint line between fantasy and reality dissolves and everything comes crashing down.

How am I going to tell my parents? What if I don’t? People have totally gotten away with that, you know? I’ll keep buying bigger and bigger clothes and never mention it. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m eating my way out of depression. And then get all sensitive about the subject until they drop it. This could work. At least, until I go into labor. But then, they’re grandparents, again. They adore my oldest brother Mark’s kids. They'll be so overcome with joy, they'll forget to be mad about nine months of deceit. Probably.

Holy hell, how am I going to tell Gabe? Where am I going to tell him? How does a person go about informing another person that life as they know it is over? I doubt the thought of little ones has ever so much as crossed his mind. At least not in an, I can’t wait for crumb-grabbers of my own, kind of way.

Thoughts of Gabe help me find the strength to pull myself off the floor and back to the bed, where I plop into the pillows and curl into a ball. I grab my phone from the bedside table and discover half a dozen unread messages waiting for me.

Gabe: How are you this fine morning?

Gabe: Everything okay?

Gabe: Getting a little worried Doll. Let me know if you need anything.

Gabe: Uh, never heard back. Mer?

Gabe: I’m thinking I might drop by to say hi. At least then I’ll have the chance to confirm you’re alive.

Gabe: Seriously, is this thing on? Hello?

How do I respond? What can I say via text? I suppose I could call. Call? Really? Just pick up the phone and call Gabe. Bring his whole world crashing down with two little words. I’m pregnant. Ha, this is not the time for jokes and the man has earned more than that.

Me: Sorry, I just saw the messages. It’s been a confusing day. Can I see you tonight? There’s something I need to talk to you about.

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