One for the Money

I crack one of the windows and breathe cool, fresh air.

My stomach calms a little, but I’m still heavy with other emotions.

My lavender clutch contains my cell phone and my credit cards. But it’s now short by twenty-five cents. I left the quarter on his bedside table. The original quarter that he tossed to me in a bet.

I suppose I could add foam to my Starbucks order tomorrow.

There won’t be any foam for me. It wasn’t a good time, after all.

It’s heartbreak, but something else.

Dread.

Some detail I’m missing.

Which is out of character. I don’t miss details. Things don’t just slip my mind. I suppose in all the chaos around the fake engagement and the baby shower, something could have. An appointment? A meeting I’ve scheduled in the next fifteen minutes?

I fumble for my phone.

The sensation sets in. I’m late for something. But there’s nothing on the calendar for today.

It would be normal to curl up and sob about what Finn did.

Heartbreak hurts, but this is…

More.

It feels like my loft is getting caught in a tornado. All my great-aunt’s antiques smashing to the floor. It feels huge and uncontrollable. Not like my emotions normally are. Except when it’s that time of the month.

Except…

When it’s that time of the month.

My hand freezes on the phone.

A notification from my period tracker app pops up.

Has your period started yet? Don’t forget to log it. :)

Ha.

No. That’s not happening. It can’t be happening, because Finn Hughes is the only person I’ve had sex with in over a decade, and Finn Hughes isn’t going to have children. We slipped up one time with the condom, but I took the morning-after pill. We used each other for what we needed, and now he’s done with me. It doesn’t matter how real it got.

You can’t get back all the love you spend on other people. It’s impossible. You’ve made another mistake, Eva. I’ll forgive you for it. The question is whether you’ll forgive yourself.

Okay.

Now I’m going to throw up.

I’m barely holding it together by the time I’m dropped off at my building.

Outdoor air restores me, at least a little. I’m no longer in imminent danger of being sick on the sidewalk.

I go through the lobby of the building like a ghost, nodding at the doorman and accepting a nod from security. The dread doesn’t lift in the elevator. Or even when I step into my loft. My private place since I was nine. My haven.

When the door is closed behind me, my eyes land on the settee. What is it I said to Lizzy? We’ll take a test, and then we’ll know for sure.

Right.

That’s all there is to it.

Take a test. Know for sure.

I can’t do anything until I have more information. It will probably be negative, anyway. And then I’ll just go from there. Like I always do.

Luckily, the tests come two to a box, so I don’t have to make another call down.

It’s waiting there, vaguely accusatory, in my bathroom cupboard. Peeing on a stick is really not the way I thought I’d process Finn breaking up with me. I’ve done less dignified things in my life, but those were for other people, not for me.

The instructions say to wait for three minutes.

Lizzy couldn’t look at the test, but I can’t look away. There’s nobody to knock on the door and read the results for me.

It’s not you. God, Eva. You’re so strong. So beautiful. So generous. If it were anyone, it would be you. But I can’t—

It doesn’t take three minutes.

The second line appears right away.

When the timer on my phone rings, it’s a dark, inescapable pink.

I’m pregnant with Finn’s baby.

Fuck.

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