Page 27 of Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Oh, poor dear.” Linda gently patted Lizzie’s shoulder until she got her sobs under control.

The rest of the appointment was handled with a bit more delicacy, Linda offering Lizzie gentle smiles and painless handling.

“How long until…” Lizzie gestured vaguely at the little vials of her blood on the counter, her voice scratchy.

The nurse gave her a soft smile. “Since you’re one of the first appointments of the day, I imagine we can get you your results by this evening. Is email okay?”

Lizzie nodded.

Linda stared at her for a moment before reaching out and taking Lizzie’s hand. “You have options, dear. Don’t forget that. Whatever the results or whatever you decide, we’ll be here to help you.”

Lizzie choked down a sob and nodded again, pressing herlips together in an attempt at a smile, before heading out the door.

LIZZIE SPENT THErest of the day taking more pregnancy tests that she’d spent an obscene amount of money on and checking her email every two seconds. Right before five, she decided to take one more test, because the ninth time was sure to show a different result, right? She sat cross-legged on her bed, her knuckles white as she clutched the tiny stick in her fist, when her computer dinged with an email. She clicked it open so fast, she almost tore a muscle in her fingers.

She clicked it open, logged into the health portal, and scanned down the labs, all negative for the various venereal diseases, and the tiniest blossom of relief bloomed in her chest. But, at the bottom, sat the one word that changed everything.

POSITIVE

Her eyes scanned back and forth across the line over and over.

hCG 327 mIU/mlPOSITIVE

She somehow managed to unglue her eyes from the screen to look at the stick in her hand. To look at those two pink lines.

Lizzie stared at those two lines. She wished she could shrink her body down and dissolve between those little pink lines, lock herself in a little pink jail so she wouldn’t have to face this reality.

She wanted to cry and she wanted to puke. She wanted to run away and curl up in a ball. Her brain was somersaulting in her skull, so many thoughts tumbling over and over one another.

She didn’t know what to do.

What was she supposed to do?

Objectively, twenty-seven was a perfectly normal age for a woman to have a baby. Subjectively, Lizzie was now unemployed and barely had enough faith in her abilities to care for herself, let alone an innocent life. Yet suddenly she was faced with the reality of motherhood? But could she give the baby up? Or terminate the pregnancy altogether?

She had options. Options many women weren’t fortunate enough to have. But she was overwhelmed by all of them. What did she actuallywant? Questions built in her chest until the pressure threatened to crack her open, fracture her skull, and pop her heart from her chest.

She could practicallyseeherself fucking up as a mom. Missed appointments, messy apartment, all those small little functional things that felt like mountains to her hyperactive mind.

But, amid all the flickers of failure dancing through her brain, one image kept coming to the forefront. It started off hazy, but as each doubt surfaced, the image grew stronger. Lighter. It practically glowed on a projector in her mind. A tiny chubby fist with dimpled knuckles wrapped around her finger. Squeezing tight. Holding on to her.

She was suddenly so overwhelmed with the need to have that little hand wrapped around her finger, she wanted to howl.

She collapsed back onto her pillows, staring up at her blank white ceiling as she let the idea tumble around her brain. Could she do it? Could she be a mom? Slowly, the thoughts transformed.

Maybe she could?

Lizzie loved children. She’d always had some far-off dream of being a mom, of finally reaching some point in her life when she had her shit together. It had always seemed like a fantasy. Some alternate-universe version of Lizzie that got to be a mom. The alternate Lizzie had a brain with excellent executive functioningand a steady partner who loved her. She remembered to switch out the laundry and kept a color-coded calendar.

A sharp tang of jealousy filled Lizzie’s mouth at the thought of that other version. That couldn’t be her. That wouldneverbe her. But why couldn’t Lizzie have at least part of that fantasy?

The longer she stared up at the ceiling, the weaker any other options became, until they didn’t take up any more space in her mind.

Lizzie was pregnant.

There was a tiny bundle of cells dividing inside her that would eventually become a full-blown person.

A start of a little life, and she was responsible for it.