Page 59 of Maybe in Another Life

can i be pregnant if i got my period

“You cannot have a menstrual period while you are pregnant...” My heartbeat slows. I start to calm. This might all just be OK. “But some women do have vaginal bleeding during pregnancy.”

I click on another one.

“My cousin didn’t know she was pregnant for four months because she got her period all during her pregnancy.”

I click again.

“You may still get your period at the beginning of your pregnancy due to what is called implantation bleeding when the egg implants in the uterus.”

Crap.

“Typically, the bleeding will be lighter and shorter than a normal period.”

I turn off my phone and slump down on the floor.

Despite every piece of common sense available to me, I got pregnant. And it isn’t by the handsome, charming, perfect man I’m starting to believe is the one.

It’s by the asshole with a wife and two kids in New York City.

I get hold of myself. No good comes from imploding or exploding right now. I breathe in. I open the door. I walk out of the bathroom and join Ethan at the table.

“How should we kill the time?” he asks. “Should we get away from this horrible guacamole and go find you a cinnamon roll?”

He’s going to leave me. My perfect person. The man who jumps at the chance to get me a cinnamon roll. He’s going to leave me.

I shake my head. “You know what?” I say. “Let’s just order some burritos and chow down.”

“Sounds like heaven,” he says as he flags down a waiter.

We order. We talk about his job. We make jokes. And we eat tortilla chips.

With every chip I eat and every joke I make, I push the news further into the recesses of my mind. I bury my problems and focus on what is in front of me.

I am great at pretending everything is fine. I am great at hiding the truth. I almost believe it myself for a minute. By the time our burritos have come and gone, you’d think I’d forgotten.

We head to our cars and plan to meet up at the vet.

“You’re perfect,” Ethan says as he shuts my car door for me. “You know that?” When he says it, it becomes clear just how much Ihaven’tforgotten.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him. “It’s not true.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You’re too pretty. I need a girl less pretty.”

When we get back to the animal hospital, the vet is ready to talk to us.

He pulls us into an exam room, and one of the vet techs brings out Charlemagne. She runs right to me.

“There you are!” I say to her. I pick her up and hold her in my arms.

“So you are the ones who found her?” the vet asks us.

“Yeah,” Ethan says. “Running through the street.”

The vet looks dismayed. “Well, she’s not chipped. She is also not spayed. And she’s undernourished. She should be about two or three pounds heavier,” he says. He is tall, with a thick gray beard and gray hair. “That may not sound like a lot, but on a dog this size...”

“Yeah,” Ethan says. “It’s a considerable deficit.”

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