Petra’s run-in with the man we like to call Chester the Molester hardly seems the equivalent of Dr. Monroe because her story was all about avoiding Chester’s touch, not getting it on with him. But so be it. I spill and tell my friend everything, reliving every single moment with Randall. Every touch, kiss, and orgasm comes rushing to the surface, bubbling out of my mouth without second thought. I gush about how amazing and sweet he is to me, how gentle and caring he was with my body, and how he catered to my every need while making love.
“Holy shee-it,” she says when I’m finally at the end. “This dude sounds like Zeus come to life.”
“Petra,” I say. “Dr. Monroe is more than some Greek god because that’s just mythology and he’s real. I think I really like this guy. He makes me feel all warm and tingly, and well … special inside.”
“Are you sure that wasn’t the aftershocks of the seventy freaking orgasms you had last night?” Petra giggles while scarfing down her Chinese food. “At least tell me you used protection.”
I bite my lip in worry and fear. “Well…”
She drops her chopsticks in her takeout container and stares at me with bewildered eyes. “Olivia, are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
I close my eyes and nod my head.
“It was only once,” I say. “The first time was kind of unexpected because we were so hot for one another, and we were sitting on the kitchen bar stools. But the rest of the night, we definitely used condoms. Plus, you know I’m on the pill.”
But Petra won’t be denied.
“Olivia!” she screams, grabbing my hands and forcing me to open my eyes to look at her shocked face. “Do you hear yourself? Only once? Are you freaking kidding?”
I sigh.
“I’m sure he’s clean.”
Petra grabs my shoulders and shakes.
“But you know it’s not just about that. It’s the fact that the pill sometimes fails! All contraceptives can fail, even the supposed fail-proof kind.”
I frown.
“The pill’s not going to fail. You know I always take it, and I’m really good about that.”
Petra nods.
“Yes, but you never know.”
She heaves out a sigh of frustration before sitting back in her spot on the other side of the couch and grabbing her chopsticks again.
“Are we done with the lecture?” I question. Seriously, we didn’t use a condom once. It’s not that big of a deal.
But Petra merely shrugs her shoulders and takes a big bite of bok choy. “It’s your baby.”
I roll my eyes.
“There won’t be a baby, Petra,” I explain, starting to feel annoyed. “It was just one date and we had sex a few times. I think he even pulled out the last time we did it.”
“You think he did,” Petra points out as she chews on a piece of broccoli. She shrugs again. “Sweetie, you know that guys never pull out when they say they do.”
I grab an unopened container of noodles and chopsticks, digging into the greasy food to ease my worries. I stare at my friend again.
“I’m on the pill,” is my short reply. “It’s fine.”
But still, Petra’s right. Nothing is perfect, and a small part of my mind is worried because I took my pill about ten hours later than I usually do yesterday. It was just oversight, but surely, that wouldn’t make a difference, right? We used a condom every time except the first time, so it should be fine.
Everything is going to be okay, I think to myself. You’re okay.
I chant those words even as excitement rises because I’ve wanted to be a mother for a while now. Yet, it’s wrong because only just met the handsome Dr. Monroe.8OliviaTwo months later.
I lick my lips in anticipation. My heart beats so frantically in my chest that I’m afraid I’ll have a heart attack. My eyes flit over the computer screen aimlessly, staring blankly at the open document in front of me. My mind screams at me to work, and yells at me do something, anything at all. Yet, my fingers hover over the keyboard uselessly, unmoving and still.
It’s been two months since I last saw Randall.
It’s been two months since I last felt his kiss.
It’s been two months since I had my last period.
My gut clenches with fear and worry. Sweat pools between my cleavage, small beads of wetness dripping from the center of my chest and soaking into my bra. After I realized I hadn’t had my period in a while, I kept telling myself that it was just stress. Work stress and stress in general was throwing off my cycle. But now, sitting at my desk, I realize it’s something much, much more than that.
My stomach turns with nausea and I press my lips together to keep from vomiting all over my case files. Once I’m feeling a little better, I run to the handicapped bathroom, my hand plastered to my mouth. I’m sure my co-workers notice, but I don’t care because this is an emergency.