Falling Into You
“No. Hell no. This isn’t happening. It isn’t. It can’t be. Not now.
My right hand is flat over my mouth, and it’s all that’s holding in my panic. I’m sitting on the edge of the tub in my bathroom, naked but for a baby-doll T-shirt. Knees pressed together, feet bouncing. Head shaking side to side, eyes wide and hazy and shimmering and stinging.
I look down at my left hand. I’m holding a white plastic stick between thumb and forefinger. A tiny square window in the plastic shows two blue lines in a cross. I don’t even bother packing a bag. I book the first flight back to Detroit, which leaves in three hours. Not enough time, but it’ll have to be. On the way out, I tape my only explanation to Colt on the front of my door: a note containing three words, and the test.
As I ride the taxi to the airport, his words echo in my head, over and over: The last thing I want right now is a pregnancy.
I’m back to where I started, emotionally: locked up tight, refusing to cry.
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