With the threat of pregnancy looming large and gray over my shoulder, I was still praying as I watched my pee soak its way up the little testing stick. I channeled all my mental and emotional energy into not being pregnant, as if the sheer power of my dread could keep me safe from a mistake I’d made weeks ago. I felt as if taking my attention off that stick for even a second would cause me to be pregnant, the way people trip on the sidewalk or bump into things when they’re distracted.

Obviously, it didn’t make a bit of difference whether I watched the stick or checked my Snapchat, whether I prayed or fell asleep. But I stared and prayed and stared and prayed. And watched in horror as a blue plus sign materialized almost immediately in the little window on the stick in my hand.

13

WE WEREN’T GOING TO TELL MOM ABOUT THE sale-slash-party because Hannah wanted the satisfaction of a mic-drop moment when she presented Mom with a shiny new client list and full-to-bursting calendar in April. But Mom has connections everywhere—in this case, with Hannah’s SV Magazine ad lady’s fiancé. So she came home from work and demanded an explanation, and now we’re all sitting around the kitchen table as Hannah tells Mom about our plans, with Mom still in her suit like we’re having an actual business meeting.

Hannah finishes her pitch, and Mom takes a slow sip of wine from her glass.

“Help me out here, Ceej,” she says. “Tell Hannah that if she can’t afford to pay assistants, she’s dipping into her personal bank account and mine, and she’s bartering her services for publicity, a few clients who she hustles from a money-losing sale are not going to save the day.” Mom’s talking to me, but she’s looking at Hannah. Her voice is measured and patient—it’s like she’s talking to a child, and Hannah bristles: a tense reset of her shoulders, a defiant jut of her chin.

“Actually,” Mom continues, “I have some news about Heart’s Desire, myself.” She takes another sip of wine. “I’ve been talking to people who might be interested in making an offer on it.”

“An offer, like—to buy it?” I stare at her.

“It hasn’t even been two weeks since you said I had till April! You haven’t even given me a chance!” protests Hannah.

“An opportunity arose and I’m considering it,” Mom says evenly. “I have to start making plans in case you don’t come through. I’d say I’m doing you a favor by being transparent about it.”

It’s impossible to argue against making a plan. Making a plan is the smart, logical thing to do. I hate that about her.

“Well, I will come through,” says Hannah. “You just stay out of it.”