“Cadence, I don’t wanna talk about this right now. You’ll come to my apartment after school, and we’ll . . . go from there.”
I couldn’t stomach his lack of emotions. I was a mess, and he was sitting at his desk about to grade another math test.
“What happened in your past?” I demanded.
“It’s not your business, Cadence.”
“The hell it’s not! I’m your girlfriend!”
“I’m not discussing it with you.”
“Stop talking down to me like I’m a child!”
“I’m not.”
“Stop acting like you’re in control! I know you’re freaking out as much as I am!” I screamed.
“I am!” he shouted, then looked around the room. He took a deep breath. “There’s nothing we can do about it here. We don’t know if you’re pregnant. There’s no sense in worrying about it.”
“How can I not?” I cried.
“Because we don’t have any other options right now!”
I took a step back, my head spinning. Fear and anger consumed me, and the only way I knew to deal with it was to lash out at him. “You won’t be there, will you? If I’m pregnant. You won’t be there.”
“Don’t you ever say that again,” he growled. “I will always be there, whatever happens.”
He jumped up from his chair and came at me. It was instinctual to flinch when he grabbed me, though I’m not sure why. He’d never done anything in the past to hurt me, even when he took me by force in the closet. He wrapped his arms around me, crushing me to his chest, and I cried as hard as I could all over his shirt while he stroked my hair and shushed me.
“It’ll be okay, Cadence,” he said tenderly, and kissed my head. He leaned over and murmured in my ear, “We’ll be okay.”
I smiled into his shirt and clung to him. I knew in a few seconds he would let go—he’d have to—but I wanted to trick myself into believing he would hold me forever. He smelled safe. He felt warm. He was strong and tall and in control. I believed him when he said he’d always be there. I knew it even before I challenged him, but I had to challenge him to make sure. I needed it said out loud.
“I will always be there, whatever happens.”
***
I’m pragmatic only about certain things. It’s not part of my genetic design unless it has to do with hair or make-up products. And as I learned this afternoon, which pregnancy test is right for me.
“Cadence,” Mark said patiently. “Please choose one.” He looked around the Walgreens, but no one we knew was here.
We drove together to a pharmacy across town. I told him I could just stop on the way to his apartment, but he insisted on coming. He didn’t want me to be alone. He kept saying that over and over, and it was starting to annoy me.
“Well, I’m just deciding if I’d rather read lines or actual words,” I said, holding up two tests and comparing the pictures. That was important to me, too. If the graphics looked cheesy and cheap, I didn’t trust it.
“Darling, this is a perfect one,” Mark said, pointing to the test in my left hand. “But get both. Take two tests to be sure.”
“Did you just call me ‘darling’?” I asked.
“Focus, Cadence.”
“‘Darling’? Like what really old people call each other?” I asked. “Or rich people. I can totally hear rich people calling each other ‘darling’.”
Mark rolled his eyes and snatched both tests from my hands, walking to the checkout. I quickly followed.
The girl behind the register grinned as she scanned the items. She looked like she was dying to say something, and when Mark smiled politely at her, she took it as an invitation.
“Oh my God. I so love when couples come in together to buy pregnancy tests!” she squealed.
I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. I wished she could take the test for me. She’d have much more fun doing it, I imagined. It never occurred to me that her presumptions were totally inappropriate because there was nothing malicious in her demeanor. She genuinely and mistakenly thought we were a young couple trying to have a baby.
“And I know you’re gonna say, ‘Oh, we just want a healthy baby’ when I ask the question, but answer me honestly, will you? No one ever answers me honestly! Do you want a boy or a girl?” she asked, looking at me.
“Um . . .”
“Don’t be shy. It’s okay to want one over the other. It doesn’t mean that if you get the other you aren’t still gonna love that sweet little thing as much as if it were the gender you really wanted.”
“Um . . .”
“Momma’s at a loss for words,” the girl said, looking at Mark. “Okay, Papa. What do you want?”
Mark was never tongue-tied, and he was never at a loss for words. And he thought on his feet. And he was kind and considerate. So he said, “These are actually not for us. We’re picking them up for her sister.”
“Oh.” The girl sounded disappointed. “Well, you two would make a beautiful baby together.”
“Thank you,” Mark replied, and swiped his credit card. He picked up our bag, grabbed my hand, and escorted me out.
“Wait! Your receipt!” the checkout girl called.
“Keep it!” he called back.
I prayed while I peed on a stick. It felt wrong and disrespectful to speak to the creator of the universe while I was emptying my bladder, but I had no choice. I had to pee on the stick to find out if I was pregnant, and I had to pray to God to ask him not to make me. There was nothing graceful about those few seconds on the toilet. I shook so badly that I actually peed on my hand at one point. I clutched the vanity for control, but it was useless. I was a mess.
“Dear God, please don’t let me be pregnant,” I whispered over and over while I capped the end of the stick.
Mark was waiting in his bedroom when I entered. I automatically handed over the test and crawled into bed. I curled into a fetal position and immediately started crying.
Two minutes.