Tossing the test sticks into the wastebasket, I open the door and come face to face with a small boy holding his groin and hopping. “I need to pee!” he says.
“Oh. Okay…”
He pushes past me, drops his shorts and jumps onto the toilet. “I’m Ryan!”
“Uh, hi. I’m Evie. Are you… Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I drank too much orange juice.” He points at the two boxes, which are still on the counter. Shit! “What’s that?”
“Oh, those? They’re just, uh, sticks.” Damn it.
Ryan grabs one of the boxes and looks at the pictures. “You pee on them?”
“Well… Yeah.”
“Why?”
Dear God, why me? “They, um, make lines when you pee on them.”
“Cool! I want to do it.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work if you do it.”
“It’ll work. I still have more pee.” Clearly a Sterling. There’s no way a normal child could be this confident.
Ryan takes one of the sticks out of the box but has trouble getting the individual wrapper off.
“Okay, Ryan,” I say, “I’m going to help you with this. But it has to be our secret, okay? We’re not going to tell anyone. Right?”
He nods. “Okay.”
So I take the stick out of the wrapper and watch while he sprays it with urine. He’s amazingly neat about the whole process.
“So when do the lines show up?” he demands.
“Well, this one makes a cross. But I don’t think it’s going to work for you.”
“Why not? I peed on it.”
“Yes, but you’re a little boy. Only girls can make the cross appear. And even then, only sometimes.”
Ryan is done, so he hops off the toilet and turns to flush it. And, of course, sees the used sticks I threw into the trash. One is lying with the display showing a cross. “Is that one yours? Did you make a cross?”
I close my eyes briefly. “Yes. But remember, this is our secret.”
His little eyebrows pinch together. “My daddy said that I can do anything if I put my mind to it.”
“And your daddy is right. But there are some things that only boys can do, and some things that only girls can do.”
“Even if I put my mind to it?”
“Even if you put your mind to it.”
He looks at me like he wants me to explain, but nope. I’m not touching this subject. That’s what his parents are for.
“Tell you what.” I surreptitiously put the boxes back into my purse, talking all the while to keep the boy distracted. “Why don’t you wash your hands? And then let’s go downstairs. I’m sure your family is wondering where you are.” I’m going to have to figure out what I’m going to do about the fact that I’m pregnant later. Hell, I haven’t even fully processed the fact that I’m an oven with a bun inside. “And remember, this is our little secret, okay?”
He nods. “I remember.”