Page 68 of The Girlfriend Game
Thirty-Two
Kendall
“You’re positive?” my sister yelps over the phone in a conspiratorial hushed tone, trying to keep the shock and surprise away from the prying ears of her husband and children.
I stare down at the stick in my hands. Two pink lines. A positive pregnancy test.
My hand trembles in both trepidation and a level of excitement that I can barely contain.
I had avoided this longer than I should have and waited a week after Marek’s party to finally gather up the needed courage to buy a test. Part of me foolishly hoped my period would arrive, even though it’s two months late, so I could move on from this uncomfortable situation that’s only spurred my imagination. The other part of me was secretly hopeful that I am pregnant.
How messed up is that?
As a licensed therapist who has worked with many women in various situations, there is a level of complexity and weight put on a woman’s psyche where pregnancy is involved. The unknown and stress is enough to break even the strongest mental fortitude.
I’ve teetered on the brink between panic and elation. It’s a horrible concoction of emotional turmoil that I wasn’t prepared to handle. Or even share with anyone. Least of all, Zeke.
But my sister is my closest confidant and biggest cheerleader, and after dealing with the uncertainty on my own, I knew the moment I saw the lines turn from blurry to bold pink, she would be my first call.
“Y-y-yes,” I stammer, my voice shaking just as badly as my hand. “As positive as positive can get. I took two different brand tests. They both read the same thing.”
“Holy shit!” Kerry whisper-shouts at the same time I curse. “Kenny, I am so happy for you. I’ll be right over. Let me just get the kids some dinner and I’ll come over.”
I pace back and forth in my bathroom, bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor as I consider my next steps.
“Wait, just hold on. I think I need some time to…” My words die on my tongue because, honestly, I don’t even know what I need time to do. But I do know what I definitely won’t be doing. And that’s telling Zeke anything about this.
At least not yet. Shit, this is disastrous timing.
Zeke just started training again with the team and they are practicing to play a game over in Europe soon. Even if I did want to share this news with him, I wouldn’t do it before he heads out on the road.
My sister breathes into the phone a short, disgruntled sounding puff of air. “Some time to what? You obviously need me there. I can hear it in your voice.”
With a heavy sigh, I sink down onto the edge of the tub, gripping the side with my left hand, my knuckles turning white from the tension.
“Kerry, this is a no-win situation. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. It’s the worst possible outcome I could ever imagine.”
My sister is aware of where things stand with Zeke; how much we love and care for one another, but also his strong aversion to ever wanting children. What I haven’t divulged to her yet is the most recent comments he made after Marek’s party, when he voiced his opinion about Carver dealing with Logan’s pregnancy and how players on the road and pregnant girlfriends don’t mix.
“Honey, Zeke loves you. You guys have a solid thing going. Why would this be a problem for him?”
I wick away a tear that clings to my eyelashes, the irony of the single lone tear drop that resonates deep within my heart. I’ve had a plethora of training on mental crises, learning how to handle and support my patients when they are in desperate need, when the stress is so heavy and the burden so great, they fear breakdown. Am I at that point?
No, because I have people I can lean on. My sister, first and foremost.
“I know he loves me, Kerry. But sometimes love isn’t enough when it’s against the odds. Zeke has said on multiple occasions that he doesn’t want children and I will not be the woman who pushes him into a corner, demanding he want the same thing I do. Not when I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own.”
There’s a pause and the line mutes for a moment, offering me only silence until I hear the sound of a seat belt indicator as she slips inside her car, and I hear the click as it connects with her Bluetooth.
“Kendall, you’ve got this. And I will support you no matter what you decide. Hang tight, help and possibly donuts are on the way.”
I choke out laughter and let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding in as a wave of relief washes over me. My eyes fall to my toes, a sad smile tipping upward at the corners of my mouth as I consider the fact that in just a few months, my pregnant belly will hide those toes. I may not even be able to bend over to touch them.
And I’m absolutely thrilled with that idea.
The week trudges by,but I hardly notice. My head has been in a cloudy fog of indecision.
My last patient for the week just left a few minutes ago, another athlete, but this one suffering from depression due to his burden of hiding his sexual identity. It breaks my heart when my patients feel they can’t live their life authentically and come out to their teammates or fans.
