Two Minutes To Go

I’m going to pass out. I’m going to pass out and hit my head on this disgusting, stained tile and catch a deadly infection and die. If I weren’t freaking out when I flew through the bathroom door, I would’ve taken my time to look around before squatting over the dirty, cracked toilet and struggling to balance against the stall while holding the test between my legs. It was clear this bathroom needed some TLC and I was not about to be the one to be wheeled out of it on a gurney. I rested my forehead against my palms and tried to take a deep breath as a wave of hot nausea washed over me. Every second seemed to be taking its sweet time in passing.  

I was so nervous when I came in that I could barely even pee. I mean, what idiot can’t pee? Now, as I sit and wait, all I want to do is pee my pants and scream and quite possibly pass out from the rate my blood pressure is skyrocketing. I couldn’t keep my hands still. They were shaking so badly that even fidgeting with my necklace was getting difficult. 

I never imagined myself in this scenario. No, not me. The careful, responsible friend who you could rely on to get you home safely after a night out. The friend you called when you needed sound advice. I was the one who talked my friends out of texting their toxic ex on lonely nights. Me. The one who always had the tissues when needed. The girl who never drank too much just in case she had to pick up her friends in the middle of the night. Where was she when I missed that pill? Huh? What happened to the angel on my shoulder that night?

My eyes were already overflowing with tears. Once again, I’m not sure if it's the pungent scent stinging my nostrils or the fact that I’m sitting hunched over on the toilet in a gas station bathroom, praying to fail a test for once in my life. Dear God, I’ve passed every other test I’ve taken, I think I can afford a hit to my otherwise perfect record. 

Each breath came labored. My chest was aching as I sat and watched the timer on my phone. Thirty-seven seconds. It’s only been thirty-seven seconds since I set the small, plastic stick face down on the square container connected to the stall. The reality of the situation slams into me over and over as I search the small square stall for any sign of hope. The maroon paint was chipping and had random names scribbled here and there. If my eyes weren’t betraying me with tears, I’d probably be able to make out what the clearly written text in front of me says. 

The sound of laughter poured into the bathroom from the hallway. I could barely hear it over the thump, thump, thump of my heartbeat in my ears. At least someone is having a good time. Any other day, that would probably be me. I can almost taste the wine my friends would surely pour me as we laughed off this scare. I’m just being silly. There’s no way. I mean, scientifically it is completely possible and even probable. My mind is having a hard time wrapping around that fact. It’s as if I’m the main character of a horror movie that’s been paused and I’m the only one moving. There’s no way out but I’m grasping at anything here.

I can’t believe I’m now this woman. The woman taking a pregnancy test in a gas station bathroom so that her roommate doesn’t see. The woman who let one thing lead to another that led to this exact moment. 

Fifty-four seconds.

“Dear God, if you get me out of this, I’ll become a nun. I swear, or no, I don’t swear-” I bit my lip to keep from cursing in the middle of my plea to the heavens above. A fresh wave of tears began to pour down my face. I watched them spill onto my jeans. The dark spot on my thigh was growing by the second as my tears soaked into the denim. 

I’m not pregnant. 

I am not pregnant. 

I wrapped my arms around my torso and hugged my abdomen. There is no baby in there. There can’t be. But the waistband of my pants digging into my stomach says otherwise. I’ve been bloated for the past two weeks. I tried convincing myself that I was just bloated because my period was due. But, it never came. Three weeks and not a sign of Ms. Flow.

I steal a glance at my timer, one minute and thirteen seconds. In less than a minute, I’ll know. My fingers were itching to flip the test over and glare it into a negative, but I know that’ll only work in my imagination. Which, happened to be running wild with images of children. All the children in my life. My sweet little niece, Remi. Her little curls bouncing around as she jumped into the puddle her mother told her to stay out of. 

Then, Reece. My cousin's son, who was a spitting image of his mother. Every time he saw me he would throw his arms up in the air and scream, “Lou Lou!” For the longest time, his L’s sounded like D’s. So my name was Dou Dou. Thank you God, for speech therapist. 

Then my mind betrayed me and plagued me with images of Davis. He doesn’t deserve this. His career just took off. As a lawyer, I’m sure he knows how to legally get out of the responsibility of being a father. But I’ve known that man my whole life and I know he’d never be able to get out of the emotional obligation. He’s honorable. He’s dependable. He’d never let me go through this alone. He’d probably marry me just to do the right thing by my parents and his, who would be happy to see us together. 

There is no baby in my uterus, but if there was, it would surely have his blonde hair and our blue eyes. We would have the most gorgeous baby, with a lawyer father and a realtor mother. It would be set for life. A good life, too. But now? Do I really need a baby now? 

One minute and forty-seven seconds.

My heart was beating out of my chest, every single muscle in my legs twitched with my need to get the heck out of here. 

Davis would probably laugh in my face if I told him I was pregnant with his child. He’d think it was a joke. We only ever hooked up once and it was a huge mistake. I’ve known him my entire life and I’ve never once heard him mention wanting a family. We were friends. We were really good friends, who got entirely too drunk on a bottle of champagne after his sister’s wedding and made a mistake. Could I love him? Absolutely. Any woman with eyes would love to get this chance. Heck, I would love to have this chance, without the baby. 

When I think about feeling for any other man the level of comfort I have with Davis, it’s laughable. No other man could compare to the man that’s held my hand through every breakup, every sad movie, and laughed at all my jokes. He was there the night my prom date stood me up. He held my hand and walked me into prom like I was the queen. 

If I flip this test over and it’s negative, I still have to call him. We still have to talk about what happened and who knows, maybe we’ll make a go of it. How am I supposed to focus on building a relationship with any man, let alone Davis, with a ball of hormones growing inside of me for the next nine months? Okay, so technically it would be almost eight months, since I haven’t seen Davis since that night over a month ago.

“I’m just stressed. Maybe it’s something else, like cancer. Maybe I’m only late because I’m going into early menopause. Please, let it be early menopause,” I whispered. I closed my eyes as I 

The ringing of my timer nearly stopped my heart. 

Instantly my mind flashed images of me in the hospital. The nurses were surrounding me as I screamed and cursed, throwing any and every threat at Davis as he flashes me his panty dropping grin. The nurse asks him if he wants to cut the cord, he says yes. Of course he would say yes. As the nurse laid the baby on my chest gently, my eyes met Davis’ teary ones and we both smiled. Happy. We were happy. 

In all my panicking, I never let myself imagine a happy ending for us. A white picket fence wasn’t in the cards. But, as I lay back against the toilet seat and let my alarm ring into the silence, I can see it. The calm washes over me as my mind settles on the image of him smiling down at a baby boy, or girl, I couldn’t care less which. The idea of having a baby scared the shit out of me, still does. But part of me wants it. I always have, I guess. 

My hands were still shaking as I reached out and flipped the test over. All of the air left my lungs in a rush as I stared down at it. Nothing could have prepared me for this moment. The emotions swirling around in my mind were too much and I couldn’t contain the loud sob that worked its way up my throat. The two lines on the test were clear. They were dark. There was no denying that I was pregnant. I’m going to have a baby. Davis is going to be a father. He’ll be a good one, that much I know. 

Me, a mother, who would’ve imagined that. 

Something shifted as I shoved the test into my purse. A lightness fell over me and for the first time in days, I felt like I had something to look forward to. Despite being scared to death, despite my heart still climbing up my throat, an overwhelming calmness washed over me and cooled the heat of terror. 

I’m going to be a mother. 

I’m going to be a mother and I’m going to be okay.