Page 35 of Risk

“Think you can take one now?” he asks me.

I pause to pay attention to my bladder. “Probably.” I stare at the tests. “Which one should I use?”

“Do them both,” Lo says.

“At the same time?”

He rips open one of the sandwich packs, takes the food out, and takes a huge bite. “Sure. Why not?” he says through his mouthful.

I stare at him for a beat. “Okay. I’ll do both.” I scoop them up and carry them to my bathroom.

Closing the door behind me, I open the test boxes and read the instructions for both. I’m pretty much delaying the inevitable here.

“You done them yet?” Lo hollers from the living room.

“No!” I holler back. “Give me a minute!”

Muttering to myself, I get back to the task at hand, peeing on both the sticks, which isn’t as easy as you’d think. I had to have one in one hand and the other in my other hand, ready to go. But I somehow manage to pee on both tests and set them on the bathroom counter.

I flush and wash my hands and go out into the living room.

Lo is leaning against the kitchen counter, now eating the bag of chips. Both sandwiches gone.

“Just have to wait three minutes,” I tell him.

“You set a timer?” he asks.

I shake my head.

He lifts his arm and taps his Apple Watch a few times. “I’ve set one.”

He puts another chip in his mouth and offers the bag to me. I shake my head again, wrapping my hands around my stomach.

We both wait in silence, waiting for the timer on his watch to go off. The only sounds are the low hum of traffic noise outside and Lo crunching on his chips.

It feels like it’s been an hour before the timer beeps on his watch.

We look at each other the instant the beeping starts.

Lo puts down his chips and stops the incessant beeping on his watch. “Ready?” he asks me.

I swallow. It was hard enough when I checked that first test, and I was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that it wasn’t going to be positive. But knowing it’s now the reverse or possibly even slimmer odds of being negative, the thought of even looking at them makes me want to hurl, and the only thing I have in my stomach is water.

“No.” I shake my head for emphasis.

“Want me to check them?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Come on.” He takes me by the hand and leads me in the direction of the bathroom.

“What are you doing? I thought you were gonna look.”

“I am.” He squeezes his big frame past me when we reach the open bathroom doorway, leaving me standing there. “But I’m not yelling the results to you from here.”

“Oh, right. Makes sense.”

“I always do.”

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