Page 100 of Best Frenemies

I’m one second short of a petulant foot stomp when the third option saves me.

3)Acidic juice

I can definitely slam down some orange juice, so I head for the cooler in the back corner in a rush to grab a half gallon.

A good two minutes later, I check out with a pregnancy test and the fluid I need to take one.

And I don’t even bother leaving the establishment to do it. Instead, I head straight for the bathroom and guzzle down as much orange juice as I can on my way. To everyone around me, I probably look like I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown, but I don’t care.

I have to know if I really am pregnant.

By the time I lock myself in the stall, I’ve managed to drink so much orange juice my stomach hurts and peeing on the stick is a breeze. The instructions say to wait three minutes, but there’s no way it’s been that long, and it’s already showcasing the wordpregnanton the digital screen.

What the hell?

Clearly, it’s malfunctioned. Pretty sure three seconds isn’t enough time for this test to really know if I’ve got a baby growing inside my uterus.

I barely give myself time to wash my hands before I head back out of the bathroom and go straight for the feminine products aisle where two rows of pregnancy tests sit. I grab one at first, but figure four more is better, all made by different brands, just in case I get another one that’s broken.

Once I have a receipt and I’m sixty dollars poorer, I head back to the bathroom, guzzling more orange juice as I go.

Locked in the stall again, I grab the first box out of my bag, rip it open like a heathen, and pee on it. When I realize that my bladder is still practically bursting full, I hold my stream briefly, tear open the other four boxes, and pee on those too.

I avert my eyes as I wipe and pull up my underwear, but once I’m dry and covered, I look down at the opened bag, where all five pregnancy tests sit.

The first two each showcase two bright pink lines.

And the other three sayPregnant.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Oh my God. I think I might be pregnant.

You think?

Six pregnancy tests say you are.

My shoulders sag as I hop off the subway when it reaches my stop, and those shoulders stay hunched forward as I trek the two blocks to my building.

I’m pregnant?It’s all I can think. Over and over and over again.I’m pregnant?

I’M PREGNANT?

I have no idea what time it is or if the sidewalk is crowded or even what the weather is like right now. I can barely see anything but the way the word pregnant looked on four of those digital tests.

When I walk into my building, I can barely muster a smile for my doorman, Terry, and by the time I ride the elevator seven flights to my apartment, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the universe on my back.

Though, that weight doesn’t get any lighter when I step inside my apartment, and I’m faced with the sounds of rock music blaring from my Bluetooth speakers like someone has decided to throw a party without my presence.

What the…?

“Katy!” my dad bellows over the noise the instant the door clicks shut behind me. He’s made himself comfortable on my sofa, and my mother sits on the ottoman across from him. They’re both sharing a bag of Doritos that I guess they found in my pantry.

“Honey!” my mother greets, but it mostly just sounds like she’s screaming at the top of her lungs so I can hear her over the music.

My nerves feel frazzled as it is, so I immediately head over to my speakers and turn the volume down.

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