Page 33 of Sweet Boys Love Christmas
Pregnancy equals vomiting, so am I feeling sick because of my racing thoughts or because there’s a tiny human inside me?
I’m not opposed to kids, but I’m still in college. I thought I’d be at least thirty before I had my first.
I scoop up the box containing the test that will read either Pregnant or Not Pregnant and lock myself in the bathroom. The lock isn’t necessary, since I live alone now, but it makes me feel a little better.
My cycles have always been consistent, especially on birth control, but I’ve been so busy with my last semester of college that I didn’t even think about it being late until I was digging in the bathroom cabinet for my hairspray and spotted an unopened box of tampons.
Breaths coming quickly, I scan through the directions and do my business. Then I dip the stick, recap it, and wait.
Within seconds, the walls of the bathroom close in on me, so I stride out and pace my dorm room.
There’s no way I’m pregnant. We only had sexonetime. Something’s just up with my body, and my period is a little late.
A little late? More like a lot late.
I can’t have a baby.
I’m not ready to be a mom.
I don’t even knowhowto be a mom. My mother clearly hasn’t modeled any good parental skills for me.
I want to be a mom—a good one—but not now. Not yet. I’ve barely figured out my life. I don’t even have a job lined up.
There is my inheritance, but chances are, if I am pregnant, my parents will figure out a way to snatch that from me. They can be petty.
I take a deep breath and check the time.
My fate should be decided at this point.
Once I’m inside the bathroom, I close my eyes and count to ten.
Those ten seconds are all that separate the Bertie of before with the new Bertie. The Bertie who looks at the test that very clearly saysPregnant.
My head swims, and I quickly stumble my way to the couch, fearful I might pass out.
Pregnant.
There’s… there’s a baby inside me.
I don’t have the mental capacity to cope with this.
There’s no stopping the tears that spring to my eyes and course down my cheeks.
What am I going to do?
How am I going to tell Luke?
A fear that I’ve never felt before settles heavily in my stomach. Not a fear of telling him—knowing Luke, he’ll take it in stride like he does everything else, but a fear of the unknown.
I don’t have any experience with kids—nothing to gauge how I might handle taking care of a child.
Another thought sinks into my brain, this one coming to me more slowly. Idon’thave to go through with this.
But almost as soon as I have the thought, I dismiss it.
This might not be planned, but I… Iwantthis baby.
Am I scared? Absolutely.
