The Truth

Oh, my God, oh, my God. Think, Tiffany. Aunt Flo, I know we’re not always on the best of terms, but where are you?

Ricky nods. “He’s right, Tiff. There’s an app Miranda showed me. I track hers now so I know when to come home with ice cream and give her a massage.”

“Man, you are so whipped, sucker,” Billy says.

“I’m game for anything that helps my woman feel better. Besides, hot water and orgasms also help with the cramps, which makes clean-up a breeze,” Ricky says matter-of-factly. “And FYI, I happen to like being her sucker.”

Billy cups his hands over his mouth, imitating an arena announcer. “Tonight, playing center for the Red Wings, Ricky Stryker! Stryker!”

“Guys! I’m freaking out here,” I plead, also more than a little disgusted. “Could we not talk about red wings when I . . .”

When my voice trails off, Ricky prompts me gently, “When you what?”

“I think she’s finally getting it,” Billy says.

“I haven’t gotten my period!” I hiss.

Ricky winces. “How late are you?”

I think back, tallying up days on my fingers because I can’t think clearly enough to count to thirty.

“A week? Maybe two?” I admit hesitantly.

Billy holds up two fingers, and I skewer him with my sharpest glare. Instead of shrinking from my ire, he shrugs casually, as if it’s normal for him to know when I’ve got my red tide or not.

“Do you go around tracking everyone’s periods? What kind of creepy shit is that?” I snap.

“Calm down, woman. And no, not everyone’s. But my job is to protect Daniel against anything and everything, even you and Elle,” Billy says evenly. At my grimace, he grins diabolically. “Yep, knew what was up with her when she was here too. Not so much now with the distance and the baby. But a heads up about any chance you might go ballistic is always a good thing.”

“I don’t go ballistic,” I argue hotly, not exactly proving my point.

“Maybe not. But you also wouldn’t have been pissy about getting flowers or chocolate either, now would you?” Billy argues. “Take the test, Tiffany.”

I don’t have a response to that because of course, flowers and chocolate are good any time, but when I’m a little extra hormonal, they would’ve been extra appreciated.

Knowing he’s won that battle, Billy moves on. “I was waiting for you to figure it out on your own. How was I to know this guy would figure it out before you did too?” He points at Ricky.

I look at the white stick, suddenly fearful of what it might say.

“I bought you the easiest one out there. You just gotta pee on the end under the blue cap,” Ricky says helpfully. “Put the cap back on, wait three minutes, and boom.”

“They made it that way so even Ricky would know if he’s pregnant or not pregnant,” Billy teases, earning a muttered ‘fuck you’ from Ricky.

“Guys, stop mansplaining pregnancy tests to me!” I snap. “I know how a pregnancy test works!”

“And do you remember how unprotected sex works? Because if not, we really need to have a chat. They’ve got videos online about this stuff.”

“It wasn’t unprotected!” I shout and then realize that is definitely something I shouldn’t be saying so loudly. Lower, I growl, “For all your intel, you should know that I’m on birth control pills.”

I don’t know why I expect that to pierce Billy’s demeanor, but it bounces off him without effect. “So a statistics lesson then?”

Just to get away from Billy and his condescending pratter, I grab the test from my desk and stuff it in my bra, unwilling to walk to the lobby restroom with it in my hand. That would surely get the rumor mill rolling fresh again with me as the primary topic. People gossiping about Mark and Brandon suddenly sounds like a lifeline if it keeps the focus off me.

In the bathroom, I quickly lock the door and prepare myself. I stare at the stick like it’s offended me, my bladder suddenly shy. Or in denial.

If I don’t pee on it, I won’t know. If I don’t know, I won’t have to think about it. I can pretend I never had that conversation with Billy and Ricky.

But knowledge is power. I truly believe that. And I am a strong, ‘face shit head-on and handle it’ person. I won’t let fear stop me.

I pee on the stick. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Finishing up my business, I take the test to the counter and set it down on a paper towel while I scrub my hands, waiting impatiently. When I finish, I rest my head against the cool surface of the mirror, my eyes closed and my heart hammering in my chest.

I don’t know what I want the answer to be.

This was not a part of the plan, but a tiny version of Daniel would be adorable. We could get him little baby business suits and a tiny briefcase. Go all Boss Baby and such.