I sighed and closed my eyes. I was tired. I was bored. I missed my man. Was it healthy to hold on to someone this much? I felt like I would die soon if he didn't come back. Days at work without his teasing weren't the same anymore, and the nights were more and more lonely... I couldn't even bear to sleep at my place because I felt like if I stayed away from Harry's apartment for too long, the little I had of his presence was going to leave.
Maybe I was just being stupid and paranoid, but try being a sad woman who was separated from her man and only friend. Maybe I should make more friends, let more people in.
That thought wasn't really plausible though. I was always home. I had no chance to make any friends. The people at the office had their own distinct idea about me. And Pearl... she was nice, but if I was being honest, I didn't trust her.
So I was on my own.
It went on like that for a week. I would go to work, come back, sleep and feel sad that Harry couldn't hold me at night.
He called. Hearing his voice made things a lot better. But it just wasn't the same. Harry wasn't home and just listening to his voice wasn't cutting it any longer. I was tired.
And it didn't help matters that I was sick, tired and sad. So I called up my mom. It was weird how she picked that something was wrong just by listening to my hello.
"Do you want me to come down to see you?" my mother asked.
"Mom, for real? I don't want to bother you, but I'd be so grateful if you came," I said. And I would. I would feel so much better if she came home.
"Yes hun. I'll come by the weekend."
The relief I felt was astronomical. At least I wouldn't be as lonely with my mom here. And she just had a way with words. She knew how to make me feel at ease.
I picked up my phone again and tried Harry's number. It didn't even ring. Just sent me straight to voicemail. I frowned. It was like him not to be available for me. I was trying not to worry but it was virtually impossible. I didn't even know where he was and what he was doing, it was impossible for me to stop worrying.
I was mad at him.
This was the first time something like this was happening. I had never been exposed to the other side of his business (if you didn't count the one time I overheard the phone call) and I didn't want to be. But I knew that if I stayed with him, this was going to go on. The frequent trips to places he couldn't even tell me, not keeping in touch. And I didn't know if I could bear that.
I sighed and flopped on the couch, just to wake up running as the little lunch I had eaten came back up. This wasn't the first time this was happening, me throwing up. But it had been so random that I had attributed it to me being stressed out.
But the more it became frequent, the more I worried. I had read enough books and watched enough movies to start having thoughts about pregnancy... thoughts I wasn't supposed to be having.
Harry and I might love each other, but a baby was something different. I didn't know if I was ready for a baby, I didn't know if I could raise a baby. And what would I tell the baby when their father got up and just left for weeks? "Your dad is part of the mafia, but don't worry about it?"
I shook my head. I wasn't pregnant. I couldn't be. I was twenty two, I had just gotten a job I enjoyed, and I was only just settling with the man I loved. Pregnancy wasn't something I wanted to consider, not any circumstances.
I sat next to the toilet seat, tears welling up in my eyes. I was denying the inevitable. Some part of me deep down knew what I was trying to refuse. I was pregnant.
I took in a deep breath and pulled myself off the floor. I decided to freshen up and take a trip to the grocery store. The more I was in denial, the more I was putting my hypothetical baby at risk. It would be better if I just went ahead and found out now.
I bought about five tests and when the cashier looked at me with the judgmental look in his eyes, I stared right back, a little annoyed. It wasn't his place to judge me.
He was lucky he didn't say a word, because I felt so fired up in that moment that I could have argued with anyone. He bagged up the tests and gave me.
I walked home since it wasn't too far, and the closer I was to my apartment complex, the more my steps slowed. I was scared shitless. It wasn't even about Harry being in the mafia anymore.
It was about our relationship. I had never heard him talk about marriage or babies or any of that. So what did it mean for this baby? Did it mean I was going to have to give it up? Or give up my relationship?
If there was a baby anyways.
But at this point, my brain and I both knew we were denying the inevitable. It could be stress causing all this hormonal changes to my body. But I just had one weird feeling that came over me any time I thought of being pregnant.
I got into the elevator, leaned against it and closed my eyes. I prayed. I prayed that everything would be alright and that I wouldn't have to lose my happiness. I prayed that Harry would be alright. I prayed that I would be fine. Because there was nothing else I could do at this point.
I walked straight to the bathroom when I got into my—Harry's? I didn't even know anymore—apartment. If I stayed in the living room or something, I was going to throw the tests out and the cowardly side of me was going to not take them.
I peed on each of the sticks, lined them up on the sink, set a timer for ten minutes on my phone then went to the living room and sat, crossed my legs and waited.
It seemed like time had come to a stop. Ten minutes felt like an hour. But each time I was tempted to lift my butt up from my chair and go to the bathroom to check the tests, the fear overtook me.
So I sat. And waited for the timer to tell me when to react.
And it did. Sooner than I expected it to. I walked to the bathroom and rested my head against the door, took in a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then I got into the room.
I stared at the tests for a while, trying to make a sense out of it all.
All of the tests, all five of them, were positive.