It’s too soon. We’re not ready. The thoughts flew through my head on repeat, like the Times Square news crawls except at warp speed. I cannot be pregnant. It’s too soon. We’re not ready.

I’d snuck into Half Bath #3, the one with the little brass tiger faucet knobs, and ripped open the pregnancy test with shaking hands. I’d never held one before. The closest I’d ever gotten was in high school, when Lacey made me buy her one at Walgreens during what would turn out to be a baseless panic. I let out an involuntary laugh as I tipped it into my palm and it landed like a feather in my hand. Such an innocuous plastic wand; how light a trifle for such a heavy situation. I’d known this moment would come for me eventually, and I’d imagined it being amid either a fit of hopeful anticipation, or tearful panic. Instead I’d felt numb. And still a little nauseated. It should have been statistically unlikely that both Lacey and I would get pregnant accidentally within the space of a year. We couldn’t each be that fertile and that forgetful at the same time.

But we were. I was. Pregnant, the wand screamed at me. Maybe the proverbial twin connection, the one that meant Lacey and I often didn’t need to finish our sentences or craved the same junk food at the same time, also extended to our wombs. Except Lacey had been thrilled by her unexpected pregnancy, and the primary emotion I was experiencing was terror. It’s too soon. We’re not ready.

When I slunk out of the bathroom and dove under the covers, I mumbled the news to Nick through the duvet like a ten-year-old confessing to her mother that she stole money from her wallet and blew it all at 7-Eleven. It had only taken a few seconds for Nick to slide down under the covers with me. I hadn’t been sure he’d even understood, but there are only so many ways you can interpret, “So, it looks like I’m pregnant,” even delivered through a duvet.

We’d stared into each other’s eyes. In his, I’d seen both wonder and a little confusion about whatever he was seeing in mine.

“Gosh,” he’d finally breathed into the humid little bed-cave we made. “This is a huge surprise.”

“No kidding,” I’d moaned.

“But a nice one,” he’d replied. “Isn’t it? We’re going to be parents. A little you or a little me running around here smashing Auntie Georgina’s souvenir eggs.” He stroked my cheek. “I think it’s lovely news. But if you don’t feel that way…”

I could see the balloon of his enthusiasm leaking air, and I turned my face into the mattress. “Dammit,” I said. “I ruined a big life moment.”