Page 36 of Embers in Our Past

“Rios—”

“I know. You’re welcome.” He waves without looking at me.

I smile, knowing he might actually have a heart deep down. He’s just been a bit prickly lately.

It’s been hours. Four hours if I’m being honest, and I just stare at the damn box. I can’t even open it.

The last time I had one of these in my possession, all it did was bring heartache. I hate these damn boxes. I hate the significance of the fucking contraptions they house. I hate the line. I don’t even say lines plural because, for me, it’s never been two lines. One fucking line is all I’ve ever seen staring back at me. I don’t even know the feeling of two lines.

And I know what my future holds. One fucking line. But now what Rios has said—that damn pregnancy whisperer—is on repeat in my mind, and I need to know. He brought me the test, so I need to take it. It’s like an addict who needs another hit. I remember having these tests in my house, and I would take all the tests like I needed to see if each one had the same result—as if one would differ from the other.

Things got so bad for me once that I pulled apart one of the digital ones that said “Not Pregnant” because I didn’t believe the inside lines would actually match what the digital reader said.

I had read on one of the online blogs that an expectant couple had tried, and their digital test said they were not pregnant, but then they pulled the test apart, and it was, in fact, false. The digital reader had been faulty, and the inside had two lines, but the digital portion had read it as “Not Pregnant.” They were indeed pregnant, and they were now happy parents to a nine-pound baby.

I had become so obsessed that I was pulling apart digital pregnancy tests. That’s probably when I hit my rock bottom of the fertility treatment world. I was miserable and aching in a way no one could comprehend. So yes, this moment in time, this paper box, signifies a lot of different emotions for me. It really hurts to look at a test and feel such animosity toward an object. Especially when, just a few hours ago, I was blissfully unaware of so many things.

Before Rios said anything, I never imagined anything would bring me to this bathroom looking at this pink and white box again. I only believed I caught a little bug. But now my mind has taken off, and it’s dangerous where it is going now. Because in this little box in front of me, my dreams will soon implode into a million little nightmares that will crash once again. So I’ll simply stare at this box for a little longer and let the dreams float above me. I’ll let myself live blissfully content in this world where possibilities run endless—where my heart is still sort of whole.

I’m so entranced by this carton in front of me that my phone startles me when it rings. “Hey Lover” vibrates off my bathroom walls, and I feel just a little relief that my best friend might be able to calm my nerves.

“What is so urgent it warranted all caps, Abby? You trying to give me a heart attack over here?” she says into my ear.

“I’m staring at a box of pregnancy tests and trying to talk myself into taking one.” I decide not to waste any time and cut straight to the point.

“Okay, let’s back up a bit and start from the beginning,” Marissa says, and so I do. I tell her everything from how I’ve been feeling sick all the way to my vomiting on Rios this afternoon.

For someone who is usually full of comebacks and arguments, silence is all I’m met with on the other end.

“Marissa, say something,” I demand.

“Let me understand this: you were married for years and fucked like all the time, and it resulted in no baby. But you got together once on a random night without measuring temperatures or doing any treatments, and you’re saying you might be pregnant?” This is typical Marissa. She has to lay out all the facts. Like her brain has to process everything out in the simplest terms.

“Yes, it would seem so if this turns out to be true, which I think is unlikely,” I respond.

“Way to stay positive,” she retorts.

“Marissa, what do you want me to say? I’m kinda freaking out here. I mean, what the hell? This is really a lot to process if this turns out to be positive. But it won’t be positive, so why am I freaking out? I’m probably stressed. This project is a mess, and I’m sleeping like crap. It’s just a lot going on!” I start to pace my bathroom.

“Okay, then just take the test,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Okay, I will,” I respond.

“Okay, then do it, and I’ll wait.”

“Like while you’re on the phone?”

“Well, isn’t that why you wanted me to call? To do the test with you? I mean, why this whole show of things?” I hate that she knows me so well.

“Fine, wait here,” I say, putting the phone on the counter on speaker.

“Like I have any control over where you put me.” She laughs into the phone.

“Smart ass!” I yell.

I grab the box, my hands shaking as I walk into the en-suite toilet. I just stare at it a little longer, the packaging still unopened, until I hear Marissa yell out, “Just fucking open the box, Abby. I know you’re scared, but you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll be here with you. You’re not going to go through it alone.”

Her words help me muster the courage to finally pull the tab open, and I grab the test out and rip the foil packet. When I’m finally done peeing on it, I cap it off, put it down on the counter, farther away from me, and come back to the phone.

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