Kimmie shakes her head. “I went to the drugstore and all, but I ended up leaving without buying a pregnancy test. I couldn’t do it. That’s when I asked you to come.”

I nod to myself. There’s an alarm going off in my head, but I know I can’t freak out right now. I need to be calm enough for the both of us.

“We can go together,” I say. “We can get the pregnancy test, and then we’ll—”

“Can we hold on for a minute?” Kimmie asks, panting a little. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Of course.”

She sits down on the bench and wraps her arms around herself. I join her after a second.

“So…” I begin, just because I feel like I need to fill the silence. “What are the chances that you’re actually pregnant?”

Kimmie’s face crumples up into a grimace. “Pretty high, I guess?” she says. “My period is four days late. Four days, Matt!”

“Okay,” I say. “H-has this ever happened before?”

“I mean… once or twice, but it’s usually right on time,” Kimmie says. “This can’t be a coincidence. I just—”

“I thought you and Darryl were using protection.”

“We are. Every single time. But these things can happen. I was just googling it, and condoms are not one hundred percent effective. Did you know that? I mean, what if—”

“You need to take a pregnancy test first,” I say to her. “You have to be sure this isn’t a false alarm, and then we can worry about everything else.”

She nods a little to herself. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s do it. There’s a Duane Reade on Ninetieth and Columbus.”

She shoots up from the bench, and I do the same. We walk quickly, decisively, Kimmie always one step ahead of me. When we get to the drugstore, though, she stops suddenly.

“I’m here for you,” I whisper. “You got this.”

Kimmie reaches for my arm and grips it with all her strength. Even as we walk into the store, toward the Family Planning section, and try to find the least expensive pregnancy test, she doesn’t let go.

After Kimmie pays, we rush to the back of the store, and she walks into the small bathroom. But before closing the door, she peeks out to look at me. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m… waiting for you outside?”

“No, you’re not. Get in here.”

I think about it for a bit, but then I squeeze into the bathroom with her, and she locks the door.

“Okay,” she says, gripping the box with both hands. She’s shaking so much that she must barely be able to read the instructions. “How do I do this?”

“I think you just gotta pee on the stick.”

“Pee on the stick,” she repeats to herself. “All right. That’s simple enough.”