What did you expect him to say? He pretty much laid everything out for you ten days ago on the street, didn’t he?
I exhaled in a huff. And since when did he decide he kept his promises?
Another message appeared.
Just let me know the time and location. Tell Abby I can’t wait to see her. I miss her.
What about me? I was dying to ask him. Don’t you miss me? It was petty and unfair to be jealous of his words about my daughter, but I was.
As if he could hear me, a third message popped up.
I miss you too. I think of you every day. And I still love you.
My stomach fluttered. My breath caught. A chill swept up my spine. I touched the reply box as a war raged between my head and my heart. I wanted to say it back. I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. I wanted him to drop everything and rush over here and make everything better.
But I wanted to punish him, too. For loving me. For making me love him. For showing me that I could be happy again, if only I wasn’t so terrified.
11 AM on Friday morning. She is in Mrs. Lowry’s room. You have to sign in at the office.
He wrote back, asking, Will you be there?
Of course, I started to cry. With tears rolling down my cheeks, I replied, I think it’s better if I’m not.
Then, before I completely broke down and begged him to take me back, I went over to my dresser, shoved my phone into a drawer, and slammed it shut.
I stood there sobbing for a moment before I crawled into bed without even bothering to undress.
How was I going to get through this?
The next morning, I rolled over in bed to shut off my alarm and winced. My breasts were sore. Had they been that sore yesterday? What was the date? When my foggy head cleared enough to remember what day it was, it made sense. I was due for a period today or tomorrow.
I sat up, and the room spun a little. Jesus. I need to get more sleep.
When the dizziness passed, I got out of bed and went into Abby’s room to wake her. My body felt foreign and heavy, like my bones were made of iron. I was exhausted beyond belief.
Abby was thrilled to hear that Wes would be there Friday morning, and went to school with a smile on her face. At home, I tried to work up the energy to shower or eat something or even turn on the television, but I couldn’t. Instead, I went back to bed and napped for three hours.
The next few days were more of the same. Crying jags. Overwhelming exhaustion. Occasional dizziness. Sore breasts. And I didn’t get my period.
I made up all kinds of reasons.
My body was rebelling against too little sleep. (Except all I was doing these days was napping.)
I was wrong about the dates. (Except I wasn’t—I remembered the first day of my last period with sterling clarity because it was the day after the hallway sex.)
I was just having an abnormally long cycle this month. (Except it would be the first time in years that it was longer than thirty days.)
All the emotional upheaval had disrupted my cycle.
This seemed like the most likely explanation, and I let it give me peace of mind for exactly five minutes Friday morning before I panicked and went to the drugstore for a test.
I drove into Port Huron because I didn’t want to risk seeing someone I knew. Back at home an hour later, I stood in the bathroom with the box in my hand, staring at myself in the mirror.
What was I going to do if I was pregnant?
But I couldn’t be. We’d been careful, hadn’t we? At least mostly? What were the chances?
My heart was pounding. Taking a deep breath, I opened the box and took the test.