Page 29

Lovie

I t’s halfway through my run that I have a sudden, gut-wrenching realization, and it sends me careening off the normal path, down an alley, and toward the drugstore on the corner of the street.

The CVS is quiet and bright this early in the morning.

Just one other woman is inside, pushing a cart wearily down the paper towel aisle, her eyes bleary, her heart-dappled scrubs looking a little less cheery under this light.

My heart thunders in my chest as I step past her, mentally apologizing for the slush I’ve dragged in on my sneakers.

When I get to the right aisle, I grab one of each test.

From the cooler at the front, I grab two large bottles of water, popping the lid on the first and drinking half of it down as I scan the tests, then the waters, thankful for self-checkout as I drop each little box into the plastic bag.

Then, I run the rest of the way home, stopping occasionally to chug more water, knowing that maybe I shouldn’t, that running might not be the best thing if my hunch is right.

I step inside as quietly as I can. Dad and Chrys are never up as early as me, and this morning is mercifully not any different. I don’t bother to take my shoes off as I squeak through the kitchen and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and taking out test after test.

With the precision of a surgeon, I line them up on the counter. Then, I alternate peeing and washing my hands, dropping each test in a plastic bag after using it. I wipe the counter with a disinfecting wipe, line them back up, pace back and forth, and finish the second bottle of water.

It’s only after I’m finished with the process that I remember the roll of test strips in my materials from the IVF office, the cheaper, more accurate tests they’d provided me with, for when I got to that point in the process. I could have avoided the trip to CVS, used those instead.

But my brain isn’t working right. My hands are shaking, my mind replaying the moment during my run that I’d realized I missed my period. That the first week of the month came and went without blood or cramps or PMS-ing at all.

Even though it had felt that way. All the crying. The cravings, the weird, swooping feeling in my body that I’d attributed to everything with Harrison, moving back home, being away from him and wondering why in the world I’d let myself fall in love.

And, as though ready to prove my hypothesis for me, I watch as the various tests start to line up. Two little lines, a little pink cross, the word pregnant written in the little white box. Every single one of them comes back to tell me the same thing.

I am carrying Harrison’s baby.

That was always the plan, always the next step in our agreement, but now that it’s happening, I realize just how stupid of an idea this always was.

It’s vulgar, but it’s just like the first time he came inside me—it didn’t feel like a turkey baster. It didn’t feel like an agreement. It felt like him being closer to me than anyone else had ever been.

And now, there’s a little piece of him in me now, his DNA working to build a little person with his fingers and toes, his eyes, his hair—anything about this baby could be a constant reminder of the man I allowed myself to fall for, despite it being the worst idea in the world.

“Fuck,” I whisper, before turning and throwing up right into the toilet, like my morning sickness was kindly waiting for me to figure things out before intruding on my life.

When I’m done, I straighten up, use mouthwash, and wash my hands three times before bundling the tests up in a couple of plastic bags and walking them to my room to throw them directly into the garbage, where Chrys won’t accidentally come across them.

When I walk back into the kitchen, I startle, seeing my dad sitting there in his chair, with his coffee and a newspaper spread out in front of him.

“Dad,” I say, looking around. “Where’s Chrys?”

“Not up yet,” he says, waving a hand and looking up at me with that new smile, the one that falls a little crooked on one side. I swallow and look at him, then the table. I thought I might have more time before I’d have to face them. “Come here, Lovelace. Would you sit?”

My hands start to shake, and I realize it’s because I feel like a teenager—like my dad might catch me, realize I’m pregnant.

Not that my parents ever would have come down with an iron fist when I was a teenager. They would have sat me down, gone through my options with me. With a whoosh of grief, I imagine the exact look on my mother’s face, the quiet surprise and fierce support for her daughter.

“Dad,” I say, sitting down and pressing my hand against the table. “You got yourself ready this morning?”

“Feeling good,” he says, nodding. “Not so hard to get into the chair nowadays.”

“Huh.”

“What’s…what’s going on with you, Lovelace?”

I swallow, look away from him. Chrys, Mom, and Dad were always the same—easygoing. Talkative. When she was a teenager, Chrys would sit at the table for hours, talk to them about her crushes and her passions, and they’d share their worries and fears with her, like some sort of big, emotional buffet.

The thought of joining them had always made me feel sick, lightheaded. I liked keeping my cards close to my chest.

My mother and father have always been like that. Journaling in the evenings, holding hands at the dinner table. At one with the universe.

And I’ve always been the one trying to understand the universe, to put it in a box and study it under a microscope, feeling awkward talking to them, not quite sure how to relate.

This is far from the first time that my dad has asked me for a window into my life. But it’s the first time I give him one.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, watching as he blinks, absorbing the information.

For a second, I wait for the next step—the reaction I’m currently having. What am I going to do? How soon can I get into the doctor? What are the odds of losing this pregnancy, especially given my history? Where will I live? How will I take care of a baby and my dad at the same time?

But he doesn’t ask any of those questions. Instead, a smile spreads over his lips, a little loose and wild like it’s been since the accident, and tears spring to his eyes.

“Oh, honey,” he reaches across the table, puts his hand on mine. When I look down at it, I see his age there, just how much time has really passed. “A miracle.”

At that, I burst into tears, and Chrys comes out to find Dad and I crying together at the kitchen table as I tell him about everything that’s happened. As he and I, for the first time, talk about missing Mom.

“Without me?” Chrys asks, already tearing up as she sinks into the seat next to me, throwing her arm around my shoulder. “You guys are having a table sesh without me?”

For the next few hours, we stay like that, laughing and crying and for the first time in my life, I’m completely honest with my family.

Chrys orders a pizza to celebrate, then asks if babies can have pizza, and when I clarify that I’m not a baby, but a pregnant woman, she asks if pregnant women can have pizza, and I affirm that yes, we can.

The three of us eat pizza together, and when we’re done, giddy and spent at the ripe hour of ten in the morning, Dad clears his throat, sits up a little straighter in his chair, and says, “Well, we’d better figure out what we’re going to do about all of this, huh?”

“I mean, it’s not—” I start, but he shakes his head and holds up his hand.

“You’re having a baby. And as much as I’ve enjoyed having Chrys here, my goal is not to live with my adult children.

I’ve been looking into some programs, some living facilities that would allow me to retain a lot of my independence.

But…Lovie, I was hoping you’d take a look with me.

See if you can use some of those famous negotiating skills to find a good price for move-in. ”

“Dad,” Chrys says, reaching for his hand. “I don’t mind staying here with you?—”

“I know you don’t,” he turns to her, giving her a sly look. “Chrys, if your mom was here, she’d say you’re using me as an excuse. To keep from having to go out there and live your life. And I don’t want to be anyone’s excuse.”

Chrys bites her lips, looks away.

“I love the idea of it,” I say, clearing my throat and glancing between the two of them. “But…how in the world are we going to pay for it?”

“You know,” Dad says, flattening his hands on the table and glancing between the two of us, his daughters. “I thought about that for a long time—how would I pay for that, and upkeep on this place at the same time? But I think the truth is that I don’t have to.”

“Dad,” Chrys says, at the mere implication of what he’s saying. “But this is your place. This is you and Mom, here.”

“I know,” he agrees, nodding. “And I didn’t want to even think about it for a long time.

Because your mother is here, in everything on this property.

In the plants, the chickens—” he pauses to laugh about the chickens, wiping under his eye with his sleeve.

“But that’s coming from a place of fear.

She’s not here, in the house. She’s here…

” he points to his chest. “And as much as she would hate it, she can come with me to the assisted living place. We can both be happy there, as long as you both come to visit.”

I’m crying, I realize, the tears streaming down my face quietly. Chrys hiccups loudly and reaches for Dad’s hand, and we sit like that for a second.

“I’ll go get my laptop,” I say, reaching the limit of how much emotion I can do for the day. “And we can make a spreadsheet?—”

“Wait, Lovie,” Dad says, reaching out and putting a hand on my arm. “There’s something else we have to deal with first.”

I pause, swallow, already knowing where he’s going with this, but not wanting to face it.

“There is?”

“Yeah,” Dad says, nodding and patting my arm, before sliding his hand off and gesturing toward my bedroom. “We can talk about all this when you get back. But for now, you’d better pack.”

My heart jumps, and I bite my lip to keep from crying again.

It’s been brewing inside me from the time I got back to Portland. My love for Harrison, shoved down inside me and bursting with the want to come out. And now, I realize part of that was physical, the love for the baby my body has been hard at work making.

And my dad already knows what’s been true since the moment I had my revelation this morning.

I have to go back to Baltimore.