Awkwardly I rise and stuff the First Response box with the foil pouch, the used test kit, and the paper insert explaining how to read the test in the receptacle hanging on the wall before exiting the stall.

We pass each other as she heads into the stall, and I think I’ve successfully managed to avoid eye contact until I’m at the sink to wash my hands. As I look into the mirror, I see the lady staring back at me.

She’s an employee of the drugstore, is wearing the store apron, and her expression is neither friendly nor cold. It’s just… indifferent. I’m just some woman using the employee bathroom. She doesn’t know that I’ve just learned I’m pregnant. She doesn’t know that my world has just changed forever. Again.

I’m supposed to have coffee with Anne at ten, and I debate calling to cancel because I’m in no condition to talk about the you-know; yet while I can’t talk about it, I also don’t want to be alone.

We meet at the Starbucks closest to our house, and Anne’s already in line. “The usual?” she asks, about to place our order.

“Yes—no.” I can’t have a double-shot latte if I’m pregnant. I already had a cup of coffee at home.

Anne’s forehead wrinkles. “No?”

“The mint tea.”

Anne gives me a perplexed look before ordering the tea and her caramel macchiato. She knows I don’t like tea, not even the green tea that’s full of antioxidants and supposed to keep us young forever.

Together we sit down. She drinks. I don’t even touch my tea. I’m sick on the inside. And numb. Can’t think. Can’t focus on anything.

“How’s Jessica doing?” Anne asks.

“Good.” I look up, brighten. “The casts aren’t slowing her down a bit.”

“Not surprised. She’s a pistol.”

“Isn’t she?”

“How are you?”

I shuffle my feet beneath the round table. “Good.”

“Liar.” Anne tucks hair behind her ear and gives me her you-can’t-bullshit-a-bullshitter look. “You look like hell. What’s up?”

I miss Kai. I’m pregnant with his baby. And I’m trapped here in Seattle. Tears fill my eyes; I bite my lower lip ruthlessly. I’m not going to cry, I’m not. “I’m just tired. Working too hard.”

“You haven’t had much time alone since—” She breaks off, and her eyes lock with mine. I know she was going to say Hawaii, but she doesn’t. Instead she pauses, then nimbly substitutes, “Jessica’s accident.”

I manage a tight smile. I feel as though I’m going to throw up. Am I really pregnant? Could that test be wrong? There are false positives. It’s happened.

“When do the kids go to Daniel’s next?” she continues.

“This next weekend.”

“That’ll be good for you.”