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This acidy kind of queasiness has been building over this last week, and that’s starting to worry me. I don’t have a bug. No fevers or aches. Just the burn at the back of my throat and the sour feeling in my belly.

I’ve been a little tired, but my days have been filled to the brim with school, my project, my son, and the guys.

Oh, no. My stomach twists a little harder, and I have to excuse myself to the bathroom. I heave a little, but nothing comes up.

I run my wrists under cold water and breathe.

Gasping myself to an even in and out, I sit in misery until the roiling settles. I grasp for my phone and pull up my text chain with Jordan.

I can’t do it myself. Too many people know me. Know my father. Know my mother.

Jordan’s the kind of friend who can do this for me, no problem.

Can you pick up a pregnancy test for me?

27

SOFIA

Early the next morning, Jordan picks me up at my parents’ house before classes. Her dark hair is a mess, and it makes me feel a little bit better about my baggy sweater and leggings. I try to look professional at school.

Today is not the day for it. Fuck, I might not even go to class.

Her smile is a warm one, if not a worried one. I’m sure mine in return looks much the same.

“Let’s go back to my apartment. All of my roommates are gone for their early morning classes.”

A change of scenery sounds fantastic. That way, I don’t have it marked in my own place. “How lucky.”

Jordan laughs with real humor. “Yeah. Lucky you asked on a Thursday. They both have weekly morning classes. It’s my sweet spot. Three and half hours of peace. I usually masturbate, but I can make that sacrifice for you.”

That yanks a genuine joyous laugh out of me, and she grabs my hand and gives it a shake.

“I’ve got a frozen quiche thawing in the fridge. We’ll chuck that in the oven so that either way, we’ll have some good old comfort food for breakfast.”

I relax back into the worn bucket seats in her car and let the feeling of movement sway my body. Jordan doesn’t live far. It’s a six-minute drive, and a little panic sets in. We sit for a moment after the car’s turned off before I manage to open my door.

It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about this all night. I haven’t gotten any sleep for thinking about it.

And I remind myself that this is not the worst situation I’ve ever been in. My life is much more stable now than it was nearly five years ago. Whatever happens, I can get through this.

Following Jordan to the second floor, I slip into her chaotic apartment. The corner has an easel with a half-finished painting on it. A sewing machine is set up on the kitchen table with a pile of cut out pieces of fabric.

The bathroom is back between them and the couch. Jordan slaps the box in my hand and guides me toward it. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time. Even while you’re peeing if you need me to.”

My chuckle is soft and small, but I shake my head. “No. I’ve got that under control.”

She nods and gives me a little nudge to go on and get it over with. I close the door and pee on the damn stick.

The moment I flush the toilet, Jordan has the door open and is pulling me out of the bathroom. She hands me a cup of orange juice and pulls me into the one habitable piece of furniture in the living room—the couch.

Our hands are linked, and I’m tugged into her side. A wave of exhaustion hits me, all of my adrenaline from the unknown outcome spent. I’m ready to crash.

I’m really hoping that this is just a false alarm. That I’ve just stretched myself thin and I’m feeling the effects of it.

Jordan’s timer goes off, and she slowly tugs me to my feet. “I’ll do it on the count of three. Alright?”

“Yeah.”