Page 91 of Must Be Love - Irresistible Bachelors

I head down to the kitchen to make breakfast. This is the best part of living with AJ. He laughed at me my first night here when I insisted we make dinner together instead of going out. We have had homecooked meals every night for two weeks now. It has taken AJ some getting used to, but he likes eating my cooking, and I like using the fancy, modern kitchen that AJ left mostly alone before I moved in.

The pantry is full of every food I could want. I have a craving for chocolate chip pancakes, so I gather up the ingredients and set them out on the counter. I combine the dry ingredients in a mixing bowl and then start adding the eggs and milk.

My mouth is dry, so I hold the milk up to my lips and take a long sip. I’d feel bad if I hadn’t seen AJ do the exact same thing last night.

As soon as I swallow the milk, my stomach churns. I clutch it and try to breathe away the sudden wave of nausea.

Is the milk expired? I check the date. It should be good for a few more days. I smell it, and it seems fine.

I run to the bathroom off the kitchen and heave into the toilet.

I lower myself to the cool, tile floor and take a few deep breaths. What is going on? Am I coming down with something?

This could be my body’s revenge for not eating dinner last night. Sometimes, when I’m overly hungry, I feel sick to my stomach.

I’ve never thrown up from it before, though.

After a few dry heaves, I clean my face and trudge back into the kitchen. My pancake mix sits abandoned on the counter.

Throwing up seems to have helped. I don’t feel nauseous anymore. I know I should eat something, especially considering I just threw up, so I finish making my pancake mix.

I manage to get through a few pancakes fine, but the nausea returns with a vengeance. I pull the pan off the heat and turn off the stove as quickly as I can.

I don’t want to burn the house down while I’m throwing up.

I end up on the bathroom floor again, tears forming in my eyes. Why do I feel so crappy right now? I rarely get sick. This is a weird morning.

I gasp. Morning sickness? Could that be the issue?

My stomach is empty, so I stand up slowly. I have a period tracker on my phone. When I open it, it alerts me that I’m a few days late.

I’m never late. My period has come on time, every time, since I was a teenager. It always made my friends jealous that I could plan events and trips around my period with consistence. It’s never been so much as a day off in either direction.

Oh my God. Am I pregnant?

I grab my purse from by the door, slip on shoes even though I’m not wearing socks, and run outside. If AJ emerges from his work cave, he’s going to wonder where I am, but this is an emergency.

A few people give me dirty looks as I practically spring into the subway. Dammit! For the first time in two weeks, I wish I still lived in my old neighborhood. There’s a bodega less than a block from my apartment. It would have taken me less than five minutes to buy the test.

From AJ’s house, I have to take the subway two stops to get to the nearest store.

The train takes forever to arrive, and then even longer to get to my stop. I dart from the train and run up the stairs to the store.

It takes me a minute to locate the pregnancy tests. They’re in the same aisle as period products, which seems ironic to me. Shouldn’t the tests be in the baby section? It would make more sense to have pregnancy tests next to items you’ll need if you’re pregnant rather than in the aisle with the products you stop needing when you’re pregnant. I would mention this to a manager, but I’m in a hurry.

I grab three different tests. It’s better to be safe than sorry. I don’t want a false response.

The cashier gives me a knowing look when I throw the tests onto the counter. After I pay, she puts my purchases in a paper bag and hands it over to me.

“Good luck,” she says.

I’m not sure if she means it in a good way or in a bad way. I suppose she sees both sides from people buying pregnancy tests. Some dread a positive; some dread a negative.

I know which camp I’m in. I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember.

The ride back to the house takes even longer. There’s a bathroom in the subway stop near the store, but I resist the urge to use it. I don’t want to find out whether or not I’m pregnant in a subway bathroom.

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