Then, I keep reading down the page, and one word hits me in the solar plexus.

Pregnancy.

I sit up and read those symptoms.

Nausea.

Breast tenderness.

Smell sensitivity.

That’s as far as I get before I toss my phone aside and have to run to the bathroom to dry heave. I have nothing left in me.

I sit back on my haunches, still hugging the bowl just in case, and let my mind whirl.

There’s no way I can be pregnant. We’re always careful. And I just had my period…wait. When did I have a period?

“Oh, shit.”

I stand and rinse my mouth out, pull on some clothes, and sneak out the back door of the pub. I drive my little car to the other side of the island, walk into Target, and head for the pharmacy section.

I toss three pregnancy tests and some lip balm into my basket. And then I swing by the bakery for some chocolate chip cookies because I’m going to need them at some point, no matter what the test results are.

If I can stomach the smell of them.

I pay for the goods and hurry back home. Much to my chagrin, Keegan is in the apartment when I walk in.

“Hey, where did you run off to, love?”

“The pharmacy,” I say. I don’t look him in the eyes, just hurry into the bathroom. “Girl stuff. No worries.”

Thank God, I can just say, “girl stuff.” Men steer clear of those words.

I lock myself in the bathroom and get down to business. I pee on the first stick and set it aside, and then open the cookies.

Yes, it’s gross to eat in the bathroom, but I’m suddenly hungry, and these days, I eat when I can.

I’m halfway into the second cookie when I look down at the stick and see two lines.

“What does that mean?” I wonder as I open the instructions and then swallow the now-cardboard bite in my mouth.

Two lines mean I’m pregnant.

“Fuck,” I say out loud and drop the stick into the sink.

“Izzy? Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I call back and stare at myself in the mirror. “Shit, this is not the plan. I don’t want him to freak out. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to trap him with an anchor baby.”

I scrunch up my nose.

“He won’t think that. That’s dumb.”

“Izzy, open the door.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. You can go.”

“You don’t sound fine. Let me in.”

I shake my head and pace the small space. “I just need some time alone.”

“Then you shouldn’t be with me because that’s not what you signed on for here, love. Open up. Let me help.”