I pause outside my car and tilt my head up at him. “I just wanted to say goodbye,” he says. “And see if you’re coming back next week.”
“Yeah, I am. I … This was nice. It was nothing like what I expected.”
“That’s the point.” He grins, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. I’m finding that Ryder is an upbeat, always-looking-on-the-brightside, kind of person. I wonder who he lost, though, and if he was always like this. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Bye,” I say and lift my hand to wave. “Whoa,” I cry suddenly when I feel dizzy. I sway unsteadily and hold a hand to my forehead.
“Hey, are you okay?” Suddenly Ryder is right there and he wraps his hand around my arm, like he’s ready to hold me up if I begin to crumble. His touch is electric and I feel it even through my thick coat.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble, waving away his concern. “Just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”
He lets me go and looks me over. “You should’ve had a donut,” he jokes. “The sugar would’ve kept this from happening.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I unlock my car. “Bye … again.”
“Bye.” He laughs and walks away, toward a white Nissan Murano.
I head straight home.
My mom is waiting right by the door for me. It’s like she has spidey-senses or something.
“How was it?” she asks before I can even close the door.
I lock the door and lean against it. “Good,” I answer. “I enjoyed it.”
She’s positively beaming at my words. “I made dinner. Lasagna.”
I can smell it from here. “I’m not very hungry.” Now that I’m home, all I want to do is crash. It’s been a long day.
She frowns. “Blaire—”
“I’ll eat later,” I promise her. “I just need to lie down for a while. This was exhausting.” Even though I actually liked Group, it was pretty draining. I spent so much time worrying about what it would be like that I think I used up all my energy.
“All right.” She sighs. “If you want some in bed, just text me.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She brightens at my words, and I frown. Is this the first time I’ve told her thank you? I hope not. She’s been doing so much. Feeding me. Keeping the house clean. Heck, she even got my checkbook and paid the bills when it was obvious I wasn’t going to do it. “I love you,” I tell her, and lean over to kiss her cheek before I head upstairs.
If there’s one thing Ben’s … death … has taught me, it’s to love and appreciate everyone you care about. Young or old, they can be gone too soon.
Once in my room, I kick off my shoes and head into the bathroom.
I pull out my tampon and wipe. Nothing. Not a drop of blood now. My period has been non-existent since two days ago when I thought I’d started. Now, I’m not so sure that what I saw was actually my period.
I finish up and wash my hands but I can’t get it off my mind. I shower and change into my pajamas. I grab my laptop off the chair in my bedroom, where I’d left it last night, and get fixed in my bed. I Google spotting. I bite my lip nervously. According to the almighty Google gods, spotting can be normal during the first trimester of pregnancy but it’s not a sign of pregnancy.
I close the laptop and set it aside.
My heart is racing, but I don’t want to get too excited. I’m so afraid of being disappointed again and I don’t know if I can handle the crushing pain I felt after the last pregnancy test I took.
I turn on the TV and try to distract myself.
It’s futile, though. I can’t get it off my mind. I need to know.
I slip out bed and downstairs. My dad is parked in front of the TV like usual but my mom is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, tiptoeing into the kitchen. I don’t know why I’m sneaking around. It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.
“She said she was going to take a bath,” he answers.
I nod and open the trashcan. I don’t have to rifle through it very much, because we’re not messy people. I pull out the pregnancy test, still wrapped in the plastic bag from Walgreens.
“Whatcha’ doin’, Kid?” he asks. I pull the box out of the bag and drop the plastic bag back in the trash. He raises a brow. “Thought you didn’t need that?”
“I didn’t think I did, either,” I whisper, turning the box over in my hands. I open the box and pull out the white stick. Rip it off like a Band-Aid, Blaire. I tell myself.
It’s better to know now.
I head into the hall powder room and pee. I put the cap back on the test and head out to the family room, sitting down beside my dad.
“I didn’t want to be alone,” I tell him. My throat is thick with unshed tears. I’m scared. I still want this even though I shouldn’t. I’m not in a good place mentally.
“It’ll be okay, Kid.” He pats my shoulder. “Breathe,” he adds.
I exhale. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath. “How long has it been?” I ask.
“Twenty-seconds. Cool your jets.”