Page 59 of Unworthy Ties
The process was quick, almost a blur. I focused on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, each tick reminding me that time was moving forward, whether I was ready for it or not. The moment passed, and I placed the cup and test gently on the counter, feeling the weight of possibility lingering in the air.
The ticking of the clock grew louder, obnoxiously loud, each click a reminder that I was terrible at waiting. My stomach twisted. My palms were damp. I was ninety percent sure I was sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat.
I glanced at Giuseppe, perched like a tiny, unbothered witness to my unraveling. “Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered. “You’ve never had to wait on life-or-death lines before.” His stitched smile didn’t falter, of course—it never did—and that only made me huff a laugh that felt dangerously close to a sob.
Pacing the tiny bathroom did nothing to help. Every time I tried to look away, my eyes dragged back to the test. It wasn’t just a test anymore; it was a time bomb, a crystal ball, Schrödinger’s pregnancy test waiting to collapse one way or the other.
I pressed my palms against my face and groaned. “God, why does three minutes feel like three years?” My voice bounced off the tile walls, making me sound even more frantic than I felt.
And still, it sat there. Waiting. Mocking. Holding an answer I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear.
Finally, the timer on my phone buzzed, a shrill sound that sent my heart racing. I froze, my breath hitching, eyes wide as I turned toward the test like it had suddenly transformed into a portal to another universe.
I lifted the test slowly, almost afraid to breathe, and my eyes went straight to the little pink lines that seemed impossibly bright under the bathroom light. My stomach did a full somersault, heat rushing to my cheeks, my hands trembling. Positive.
Positive?!
I cycled through emotions faster than a rollercoaster, the initial shock giving way to a bubbling excitement. My heart soared, an exhilarating rush flooding my veins.
A slight sense of uneasiness washed over me. Did Rocco want kids? We had never talked about it before. I picked Giuseppe up from the bathroom countertop with one hand, and bit the nails on my other hand as I walked back into the bedroom.
I flopped onto the bed, clutching Giuseppe to my chest like a lifeline. His stitched grin felt impossibly reassuring against the whirlwind of panic, excitement, and disbelief twisting through me. I held him up in front of my face, studying his little button eyes as if they could somehow offer guidance—or at least some moral support.
“I think… he’d want this,” I murmured, my voice trembling. My mind drifted to Rocco. His steady presence, the way he’d fought to keep me safe, the rare moments I’d caught him off guard with a soft smile. Would he be excited? Scared? Proud?
The thought of telling Rocco made my heart hammer in a way I couldn’t quiet. Every memory of him—the way he looked at me, the way he carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say—flashed through my mind, tangled with the new, impossible reality of what I’d just discovered.
How would I tell him? I had seen things on Pinterest where girls put a bun in the oven, but I didn’t think that would work for me. When I tried to use the oven there was a solid chance I would burn the house down.
“What do I do?” I asked Giuseppe, as if he could offer up ideas.
“Are you talking to a stuffed animal?” Rocco’s voice cut through the air, and I jumped, dropping Giuseppe onto the bed as I spun around to face him. Rocco stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of amusement and concern, his brow furrowed slightly.
He wasn’t supposed to be home until tonight, but here he was, catching me in a moment that felt monumental and utterly ludicrous at the same time. My heart raced not just from the news I held, but from the surprise of seeing him.
My heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I… uh…” I stumbled over my words, my hands hovering awkwardly over Giuseppe like I could shield him from judgment. The only other person who had seen me talking to Giuseppe was Fiorella, and she had never ratted me out.
He stepped fully into the room, eyes softening as he looked at my embarrassed state. “So, who is the little guy?”
“His name is Giuseppe,” I said, so embarrassed I couldn’t meet Rocco’s gaze. “He’s my childhood stuffed animal.”
“Giuseppe, huh?” Rocco chuckled, a warm light in his eyes that made my heart flutter. “Cute name for a cute cat.”
“Thanks,” I said, still not able to look Rocco in the eye.
“Why haven’t I seen him before?”
“Because I thought it was silly,” I admitted, my cheeks still warm. “I mean, he’s just a stuffed animal.”
“Just a stuffed animal? He looks like he’s been through a lot with you,” Rocco replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I finally met his gaze, and the warmth in his eyes melted away some of my apprehension. “Yeah, he has,” I said softly, glancingat Giuseppe, who seemed to sparkle under the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. “He’s been my confidant for years.”
“Oh? What were you two talking about?”
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around Giuseppe. “Uh… well… I mean… it’s—” My words stumbled over themselves, refusing to form.
Rocco’s brow furrowed, stepping closer. “It’s what? You can tell me.”
