Page 22 of A Curse for the Homesick

WHITE AND PINK

2017

“I mean,” Linnea said, “fairly sure.”

“You’ve taken a test?”

“No, I decided to rely on reading tea leaves. Yes, of course I’ve taken a test.”

“You sounded like Kitty just then,” I said.

“And you sounded like my mum.”

We were in our usual booth at Hedda’s. Linnea was wearing her apron and name tag, and an American-looking man in a Yankees hat kept glancing over at us like he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t pop up and take his order. From the back, I could hear the usual clanging and cursing that meant Hedda was making bread.

Our drinks—my coffee, Linnea’s hot chocolate—sat untouched in the middle of the table. Linnea’s fingers were knotted together.

“You’ve told your mum, then?” I asked.

“No. I just mean you sounded like she would. I haven’t told anyone.”

“Henrik?”

“I don’t know how to break the news it’s not his,” she said.

“What?”

“You’re really not in the mood for sarcasm today, are you?”

“I didn’t know you had a sarcasm setting,” I said.

“Maybe it’s a sign that the baby will be sarcastic.”

I gripped my coffee cup so tightly my knuckles turned white. “What do you want to do?”

Linnea looked down at her hands on the table. Her hair fell forward into her face. It looked tangled, like maybe she hadn’t brushed it, but instead of making her look messy, it just made her look wild, like someone you’d happen upon running barefoot through a brook. Faerie Queen, like Kitty said. I wondered how old the man in the Yankees hat thought she was; you’d look at her one moment and she was thirty, then you’d catch a glimpse of her in a different light and, flash, she was fifteen.

“If it were you, you’d get rid of it,” Linnea said.

I tried to keep my face neutral. “Yes. But you’re you.”

“And you wouldn’t judge me if I wanted to have the baby?”

“I would just worry it would keep you from doing everything you wanted to do with life. But I wouldn’t judge you.”

“But what if this —” Linnea gestured around the café “—is what I want to do with life? Live here. Be with Henrik. Have kids and take them hiking and teach them to dance. Would that be so bad?”

“Whatever you decide,” I finally said, “I’m here.”

She exhaled and leaned back against the booth. It was such a complete expression of relief that I wondered if I should be offended; she’d been certain, it seemed, I would say something awful.

“I have a doctor’s appointment later today,” she said. “I’ll tell Henrik once I’m sure. But the test really did look positive.”

“It looked positive?”

“I mean,” Linnea said, “the second line was kind of faint. But it wasn’t not there, you know? Also, I didn’t get my period this month.”

“That’s not necessarily proof,” I said. “I miss my period, like, every other month.”

“Really? Why didn’t I know this?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“You know,” she said, “I really thought you were going to make fun of me for missing my pills.”

“It concerns me how mean you think I am.”

She snorted and lifted her hot chocolate, which I took to indicate she was feeling slightly more like herself again. “When was the last time you missed a birth control pill?”

“Never.”

“Never? Like, not ever?”

“That is what never means.”

“Right. I briefly forgot that I was talking to Robot Tess.”

“Hey,” I said. “You’re going to hurt my feeling.”

As we sat there, the Yankees man growing increasingly impatient, I rolled the thought of Linnea as a mum around in my head. In some ways, she’d always been the most maternal of the three of us—the most likely to coo at small children and the quickest to offer a compassionate word and a shoulder to cry on. On the other hand, she’d also always been the one who’d most wanted to be parented; Kitty and I had been in a hurry to be treated like adults, easily embarrassed by affection.

I hoped Henrik would say all the right things. I wasn’t sure what those things were, but I hoped Henrik knew instinctively. Be kind to her , I thought. Just, please, be kind to her.

On the walk back home, my feet led me into the grocery store of their own accord. I was only half paying attention. I had my phone open, the newspaper’s website again, and was reading about the three little girls. Apparently, one of the windows at Ramna Skaill had shattered in the night. Constables were unsure whether it was a malicious act by someone from town, a panicked gesture from one of the girls, or a freak weather incident. I considered each of the options in turn, swirling downward through them and hating each one more the longer it festered in my brain. My hatred for the girls’ parents came on so vividly that for a moment, I couldn’t see anything. Why hadn’t their parents moved? Why hadn’t their parents taken them away from this place? The shelves refigured in front of me, and I found myself staring at a row of white-and-pink boxes.

I swept one into my basket and proceeded to cover it up with other things I did not need, as if that would prevent the cashier from noticing it. Chocolate milk? Sure. Shampoo? Fine, let’s get some. I stared at my phone as my items were scanned— beep , beep , pause, beep —and kept refreshing the newspaper’s comment section.

Back at home, I shouted to my dad in the garage that I’d be there in a minute. I brought my bags into the bathroom with me without unloading the groceries. I opened the white-and-pink box and read the instructions twice. As I’d told Linnea, I missed my period every other month. Sometimes two months in a row. As someone prone to panic, I’d long since schooled myself into not panicking about this. Like Linnea had said, I was Robot Tess; I took my birth control every day. I took it perfectly.

I sat on the toilet seat and waited.

* * *

That evening, Soren came over to make dinner with me because my dad was at Anna’s house again. I talked for a while, and he slowly set down the knife he was using to cut potatoes, and because he wasn’t saying anything, when Linnea called me, I accepted it.

“Not pregnant!” she shouted. “Oh my god. So the doctor thinks I read my test wrong or didn’t wait long enough or something? I don’t know. I’m embarrassed. But actually, I had no idea how relieved I was going to feel getting the news. Thank you for being there for me this morning.”

“No problem,” I said, still watching Soren. “I’m so happy you’re happy.”

“Literally so happy! Can we do drinks? Want to hang out?”

“Actually, can I call you back later?”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, sure, of course. I love you, in case you forgot. Not pregnant!”

I set my phone face down on the kitchen counter.

“Are you sure?” Soren finally asked.

“I mean,” I said, “fairly sure.”