Page 61 of The Hitch
"I'm not listening intently," she scoffs. "But sure. I'll be right outside the door, and I'll be back in five."
My bladder waits until I hear the main door swing closed before it releases. "Shit!" I nearly soak my hand—this is so gross. So demeaning. I finally get it right and bring the stick up, popping the little pink cap back on.
Using an exorbitant amount of toilet paper, I wrap the damn thing up and quickly rush to wash my hands thoroughly. I'm no expert, but I don't think piss-hands are good for shooting rifles.
"You done?" Helena pokes her head back in. "Oh, good. Where is it?"
I point to the TP-wrapped abomination. "I can't look. Oh, fuck, I can't look. It said three minutes for it to be conclusive."
Fuck. Fuck! What if it's positive? What if it's negative? What have I done? What have I gotten myself into? Shit, what if I have another episode while I'm pregnant—if I'm pregnant—and something happens, and it hurts the fetus? What if the kid's worse than me? What if Dante was lying when he said all those sweet things?
I slump to the floor and let out a pitiful whine. "I can't do this, Helena."
"Shush, honey. Just another minute or so. Youcando this," she mumbles soothingly, staring with laser focus at the little test window.
While she waits silently, my mind races with all sorts of terrifying scenarios. Me, heavily pregnant, dead on the street. Murdered by… someone. Anyone. Me, slashed from ear to ear, bleeding out at the hands of another nameless, faceless person. Me, screaming in agony while pushing this maybe-baby out.
"I really don't think I can do this," I whine again.
"Well, you have to." Helena whirls around with the test held high. "Congrats, momma."
Oh,fuck. There it is, in pink and white. Two lines. Two fucking lines. This is real. This is very real. This istooreal. I try to stand, but my vision swims, and I slide back down.
"Whoa, whoa! Nope, no standing yet. You're okay. You're fine. You're safe, Mel." She crouches in front of me and swipes my hair away from my suddenly sweaty forehead. "We'll sit here for a few, and then we'll be on our way. Off to the range, just like any other day."
"But it's not any other day! It's today! It's now! I'm fuckingpregnant!"I shriek as my nose fills with snot. I hate being an ugly crier, but now isn't the time to be upset about appearances.
"Congratulations?" A middle-aged woman appears in the doorway, brows furrowed under her halo of blonde curls. "Or condolences?"
"Congratu-dolences sounds about right," Helena laughs. The stranger looks even more confused and edges past us to one of the stalls.
"We need to get out of here," I grumble and attempt to stand again. Helena grips my arm and allows me to lean on her. "Oh, but before we go, can we grab snacks?"
"Of course. Snacks make everything better." Helena smiles and sweeps me out the door, making a beeline for the chips and candy aisle.
The grocery store is pretty deserted, which I appreciate. Nothing like a gaggle of gawking strangers to make me feel super self-conscious about crying recently. A bored-looking teenager barely looks up from stocking the shelves as we pass. Yeah, Helena's right. Thisdoesmake everything better.
"You know what I really want?" I muse as I sort through the vast array of snackery. "Pickle chips."
"What, like the ones they put on sandwiches? Little pickle coins?" She scans the aisle. "I don't think those are with the snacks."
"No, like pickle-flavored potato chips. Aha!" I locate the green crinkly bag and raise it in the air. "I am triumphant!"
"You are so pregnant. And a bit of a dork," Helena laughs and snatches a bag of cheesy popcorn. I mean, she's not wrong.
Bang!
The rifle's recoil jolts into my shoulder, and I lean into it, feet apart, one in front of the other. A hundred yards down the lane, the target wobbles on impact. I hit it, though not at the center. I line up my sight again and inhale, exhale, pull the trigger.
Bang!
"Nailed it," I murmur to myself. Helena warned me that slow, deliberate aiming would be the first thing to work on. Action shooting would be next, but I don't know how I feel about all that. Especially in my current, uh, condition. Speaking of which, I'm ravenously thirsty.
Putting down the gun, I snag the water bottle we picked up with the snacks and chug down almost half of it.
"Thirsty work?" Helena asks from her lawn chair.
"Seems like it. You want a turn?" I gesture to the lane.
