My entire world might change in two minutes. What could I get done in two minutes? Nothing, I realized. I never finished reading all of Jane Austen’s books. I hadn’t written my own. I wasn’t a high school graduate. Maybe never if I didn’t pass calculus. I looked at Mark who sat staring at the windows on the stick, waiting. Waiting for the lines.
I continued sobbing into the pillow. How on earth could I see all of Europe in two minutes? How long does it take to tour the Sistine Chapel? Could I see Dublin in two minutes? Maybe sprint down O’Connell Street? The London Eye! Fuck! How would I be able to see that if I’m sprinting down O’Connell Street?
“I wanna see the world!” I wailed, the pillow doing a good job stifling my words and desperation.
“I know, Cadence,” Mark replied.
“I don’t wanna be a teen mom!”
“I know, sweetheart.”
The sobbing escalated until I couldn’t breathe. I shot up and grabbed Mark, clutching him like a lunatic, and he pulled me onto his lap and held me tightly, rocking me side to side while the seconds ticked.
“Almost there,” he whispered in my ear. “We’ll be okay.”
I shook my head violently. No, we wouldn’t! I screamed inside. I was going to have a baby, and my life was over. The adrenaline turned to anger.
“I don’t want a fucking baby!” I screamed into his shoulder.
“Me neither,” he replied.
“I hate babies! I fucking hate them!”
“Me too.”
“I never want a fucking baby!”
I thought if I kept screaming it, using the worst word I could think of to describe a baby, then there wouldn’t be one. I would be safe.
“Shhh, Cadence,” Mark said. “It’s okay.”
I felt all the tension go out of his body at those words.
It’s okay.
It.
Is.
Okay.
I looked at him through a film of tears, furrowing my brows. I don’t think I fully comprehended. Snot oozed from my nose, but I didn’t wipe it. I imagined I looked a wreck. My vanity told me to hide my face—of all times to be vain!—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop looking at his. My brain worked sluggishly, but I finally recognized it.
Relief.
“I’m not . . . ?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you double check?”
“Triple checked.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I love you!!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing hard until he grunted.
“I love you, too, Cadence,” he said wearily, rubbing my back. Smoothing my hair.
I jumped from his lap and ran to the kitchen. I poured myself water and drank down the glass. I believed him, I did, but he bought another test, and I wanted to take it. There was no harm in seeing the negative lines twice. If anything, they would bring me greater comfort.
I waited a few minutes to give the water time to work its way through my system, lingering in the kitchen and poking about the pantry for a snack. Mark stayed in the bedroom. I imagined he was still looking at the test, the flat line telling him, “Relax. She’s not pregnant.”
After I finished off a near-empty bag of pretzels, I went to the bathroom and repeated the whole process. This time, though, I wasn’t as scared, and I didn’t pee on my hand. I capped the test and walked into Mark’s bedroom. I didn’t toss him the stick, though. I sat beside him and held it myself.
Two minutes to wait, and I didn’t give one thought to Europe. I was thinking, instead, about how ravenous I was. Just like the first time I visited Mark’s house. I wanted to eat everything in his apartment.
Negative. Again. Another wave of relief. Life kept getting better and better.
Mark squeezed my hand, smiling kindly at me before taking me into his arms once more and pulling me onto his lap.
“I’ll never make you scared like that again,” he said. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I nuzzled his neck and slumped against his chest.
“I’m tired and hungry,” I murmured, feeling the instant heaviness of my eyelids. They drooped, and I forced them open. Droop. Open. Droop . . .
I fell asleep in a languid kind of ecstasy, unaware of the subtle shift. I wasn’t pregnant. Two tests confirmed that. But my world had changed anyway. I just didn’t know it yet.
I looked up from my test and smiled at Mr. Connelly, but he didn’t see. No, that’s not right. He saw me. He looked straight at me. But he didn’t smile back. It felt strange and set off a warning signal in my heart. Something was wrong, and I wanted to ask him instantly, but we were in the middle of class. I tried to focus on my work. I couldn’t afford to get a bad grade. Maybe he was looking at me but focused on something else, and it didn’t register in his brain that I was smiling at him.
Yeah, that sounds right.
I went to visit him during lunch, but he wasn’t in his room. I wandered down the hallway, peeking through the window into the teachers’ lounge. I saw him sitting at a table reading and eating. I almost pushed through the door before realizing he wasn’t alone. Several teachers sat with him, and I wasn’t allowed in the teachers’ lounge anyway. I thought it was weird. Mr. Connelly never ate in the teachers’ lounge. He preferred his room where he could listen to his hip hop while he ate and graded.
I tried one last time to visit him after school, but his door was already locked when I got to his room. The lights were out. He was gone. What was going on? Slight confusion poked at my heart in the beginning of the day. That confusion grew steadily throughout each hour until I finally succumbed to full-on panic.
I drove to his apartment and banged on the door. He was slow to answer, and for a second, I thought he wasn’t home. When he opened the door for me, he hesitated, like he really didn’t want me coming inside.
“Why are you being weird?” I asked, pushing past him into his living room. “You’ve been distant all day.”
Mark scratched the back of his head.
“I’ve been busy,” he replied.
“Really? I saw you in the teachers’ lounge at lunch. You don’t ever eat in there,” I said.
“I needed a place to work without interruptions,” he said.
“Meaning interruptions from me,” I snapped, offended.
“From any of my students, Cadence,” Mark said patiently. “I’m behind with grading.”
I shook my head. “Behind with grading?”
“Yes.”
We stood in an uncomfortable silence until I spoke up.