I won this bet; being fake married wasn’t hard at all. But if the bet had been to prove that Ryder was the immature fuck-up I’d pegged him as, I’d have lost it. Yes, he had an unorganized and sloppy way of going through life, but he wasn’t immature. While his life wasn’t well-planned, he seemed content in his work.
The truth was, I enjoyed being around him. Maybe it was his relaxed, easy-going manner that was nice. Like osmosis, when I was around him, I felt more relaxed too. That was unless we were having sex, but that sort of tension was good. Really good. Fantastic even. The idea that it would end in a few days brought my mood down.
I tapped my fingers on my desk calendar wondering if he was going to have some sort of special send-off for me, as he seemed to like to commemorate things. We’d not only had a first week anniversary, but a second and third week one as well.
My eyes narrowed as I stared at a date last week. It was empty except for the little red dot I’d put in the corner. My lungs seized as I realized I was supposed to have started my period last week, but hadn’t. Oh God, oh God…this couldn’t be right. I must have mismarked the date.
I pulled up the calendar on my computer to look at past months to see if maybe I was becoming irregular. I hadn’t been before. I was on the pill, for goodness sake. But reviewing the last few months, I was able to piece together that I’d had my period right on time.
How had I not realized that I was supposed to be on my period last week? I was distracted by Ryder. See, that was why getting lost in the flow of things was dangerous. Because I wasn’t on top of everything, carefully executing my life, I ended up missing my period.
Don’t panic. I pressed my hands on the top of my desk and took a couple of breaths. Think, Trina, I demanded. Order. Plan. Execute.
I needed a pregnancy test. I stood, and grabbed my purse and rushed out without telling the mayor, Sinclair or Brooke that I was leaving. I walked down the street to the local pharmacy. As I made my ways to the aisle with the pregnancy tests, I wondered how I could buy it without becoming local gossip. I’d tell them I was getting for Sinclair. She was married, and I was an assistant in her office. It would make total sense. If it got out, I’d fess up to her, and hopefully she’d be okay with it.
I bought the kit without having to make up a story and then hurried back to city hall. I dashed into the bathroom and followed the directions on the box. I sat in the stall with the test sitting on the box resting on the toilet paper dispenser. Thank God no one came into the bathroom.
After the requisite five minutes, I looked at the test and my heart sank, while my blood pressure rose.
Pregnant.
How could this happen? I did everything right! I was on the pill. I was an intelligent, independent woman. This had to be a mistake.
I needed another test. I pulled myself together and headed back outside. I started toward the pharmacy, but then worried about buying a second kit. What if it said the same thing as the first?
I took a seat on a bench in the grassy area around city hall and pulled out my phone. I pulled up the telehealth information from my health insurance provider, and, making sure no one in the area could hear me, called. It took a few minutes, but finally I was on the line with a nurse.
I explained my situation; I was on the pill, but was a week late on my period and just had a positive pregnancy test. “The test has to be wrong, right?”
“Not necessarily. You’re more likely to get a false negative this early than a false positive. You should visit your doctor to be sure though.”
“I’m on the pill.” I felt like I was whining but come on, an unplanned pregnancy wasn’t something that would happen to me.
“Have you been taking it regularly? Same time, every day?” the nurse asked me.
“Yes. Of course.” My tone sounded like, “duh,” because I absolutely took it the same time every day. I was the type of person people could set their clocks to.
“Have you been on antibiotics or other medication recently?”
“No.” I worked to keep the panic at bay. I didn’t need the townspeople of Salvation to see me completely lose it.
“Do you take anything else?”
I scanned my brain. I hadn’t been sick. I’d had a few headaches, but Ryder had soothed those with sex. God damn him.
“Supplements?” she prodded.
“Oh, uh, I take St. John’s Wort,” I said. But a natural remedy to help my moods couldn’t be a problem. Could it?
The sound the nurse made suggested maybe it could. “You need to see your doctor to verify the pregnancy or rule it out.”
Oh God. “Are you saying St. John’s Wort could have caused this?”
“Sex caused it,” the nurse said. “But St. John’s Wort can negate the effectiveness of birth control.”
That couldn’t be right. Was this lady a real nurse? “I’ve been taking both for years.”
“Have you been having sex for years?”