Page 81 of Give Me a Reason

A sob threatens to rise from within me, but I bite it back. I refuse to cry before I even know for sure. And even when I find out, I still refuse to cry. I probably will anyway, but I plan on trying not to.

I’m a big girl. A grown-ass woman who lost my virginity fully knowing that I might end up on this toilet with these sticks in front of me and the timer counting down to me acquiring the knowledge that my entire life is about to change.

And if I am pregnant, I will be keeping the baby. That’s a decision that I made a long time ago, and it’s one I will abide by. Adoption is the most wonderful gift in the world. It’s the gift that gave me my parents and my life, and I will forever be thankful to whoever my biological mother is for giving me and my parents that gift.

That being said, it’s not an option for me. I have the means to support a child, an incredible support system, and a lot of love to give. While I might be having issues with the father—if there even is a baby—I can’t pretend it wasn’t conceived from a place of love.

I was a willing, consensual, loving participant in the act that might’ve led to the conception, and considering that my circumstances allow for the inclusion of a child in my life, I know I won’t be able to give the child up. I can’t even say that I’ve never wanted children or they’re not part of my plan for my life because they are.

Maybe they weren’t part of my plan forright now, but I’m no child. I’m in my twenties. I have a stable income and a home, which, ironically, already has a bedroom I could easily convert into a nursery. Vincent might not have planned on this either, but when he advocated for the three-bedroom, he might’ve unknowingly chosen a home that is suitable for us to raise a child in. It’s even all on one level.

Ironic since he’s the wildcard in all of this. If I am pregnant… Well, I have a feeling he might go off the rails even more than he already has.

The timer goes off, and the sound is shrill in the tiled bathroom. It bounces off the walls and pierces my eardrums, making it completely impossible to ignore. But since today is the day of Emma’s bridal shower and the bachelor and bachelorette parties, I need to get moving anyway.

Getting up, I decide to stand so I can see all the sticks at the same time instead of picking them up one by one. Like ripping off the proverbial band-aid and getting my answer quickly and decisively.

And that’s exactly what I get.

All it takes is one look to know that I am absolutely, undoubtedly pregnant. Every last one of the sticks has come up positive, some with plus signs, some with two lines, and another with the actual word, but all of them say the same thing.

I am pregnant.

In that moment, it’s as though my brain detaches from my body. It feels completely surreal as though I’m hovering over myself and watching some other girl go through this. I don’t even know how long I stand there just staring at the confirmation of what I’d already known deep inside.

Almost involuntarily, my hand moves slowly to my belly. Underneath all the layers of clothes, skin, muscles, and whatever else, there’s a teeny tiny human being—and they’re growing inside ofme.

Droplets of water hit the sticks I’m standing directly over, and it’s only when I see them that I realize I’m crying. Without moving my hand from my stomach, I use the other to swipe at my cheeks.

Dammit. I knew I was probably going to cry anyway. But that hardly seems to matter anymore. Just a few minutes ago, it seemed like it was so important to keep it together no matter what these sticks said, but now… That’s already changed.

Not only because I know now that it’s probably a healthy dose of hormones making me react the way I am but also because I just… Ishouldcry in this moment. Of course I should. Even as I stand here, there’s a little person inside me who’s already counting on me to love and protect them. To take care of them and do whatever it takes to give them the best life I possibly can.

It’s ahugemoment. For any woman. So I figure I can forgive myself for the tears. They’re not there because of weakness or sadness but simply because of the overwhelming magnitude of what is happening right now.

When I finally manage to sweep the tests all off the vanity and drop them in the trash with the boxes, it feels like I’m moving in a dream. Thank God Isabella and I already set up everything for the shower yesterday because it means all I need to do this morning is arrive on time. I don’t think I’d have been capable of doing any more than that.

My outfit is already laid out on our bed—thank you past Olivia for being pragmatic about things. I’ve also already chosen my shoes and accessories. So now all that’s left is getting to the point where I can put it all on.

My feet carry me through the motions, muscle memory the only thing that gets me through a shower, washing my hair, drying off, and getting dressed. It still feels so surreal. Like I’m not really doing any of this.

At least some part of my mind is conscious enough to know I need a plan for getting through this day without anyone finding out. If I arrive at the shower like this, they’ll all know there’s something wrong, and none of them will stop until they know what it is.

All the women are going to be there this morning. Mom, Camille, Valerie, Jolene… It’s only then that I remember Mom and Camille have dealt with an unexpected pregnancy together before when Camille found out she was pregnant with Maxim.

Once again, there’s irony in the fact that, in her case, Vincent—the uncle for whommyVincent is named—was there for her. Reliable. Trustworthy. He raised Maxim as his own until he was murdered.

His nephew, however, is none of those things for me right now, but I’m still going to have to deal with this. I can’t even tell him today because the guys have been off doing their thing practically since sunrise, and by the time we meet up with them late tonight, he will inevitably be so drunk that he won’t be able to stand.

I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut as I wait on the sidewalk for the ride I ordered. If anyone will understand what I’m going through right now, it’s Mom and Camille. I know this, yet I don’t know if I can tell them before I’ve even told Vincent.

While he has been acting like a tool this week, I love him, and he is the father. It feels wrong to tell anyone—but more especially, everyone else before I tell him. Unfortunately, telling him isn’t an option right now.

On the other hand, if I need to get through the bridal shower and the bachelorette party while just having learned about this, it wouldn’t be unfair to expect him to get through the bachelor party with the same knowledge.

Completely unable to make up my mind, I don’t change the address when my ride arrives. I’ll go to the shower as planned, and then hopefully it’ll just come to me what I’m supposed to do.

It’s not a great plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got.

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