I hated the words I spoke as they left my mouth. I hated the tone they carried and the sharpness of them, but more importantly I hated the look they caused in Mikey’s eyes.
“I’m not a mind reader, Princess. You’re going to need to elaborate and I’m not allowing you to brush me off so you better choose your words,” he grounds out, crossing his arms against his bare chest as he waits for me to explain my attitude and the tears we both weren’t sure how to handle.
“Two months ago my period was late, like two weeks late,” I start, assessing Mikey’s features, waiting for him to show some sign of a freak out but his face remains neutral. His eyes are blank as he gives me his undivided attention.
“I took a test, and it came back negative,” I caution, taking a step closer. The sigh of relief I expected never came. “I wound up missing my period that month altogether but the following month I got it and it was worse than ever before. The bleeding was so bad and the cramps felt as if my body was splitting in two. I was scared and didn’t know what to make of it. I started to think the test was wrong, maybe I took it too soon and I really was pregnant and the bleeding, the cramping—well, I thought I was having a miscarriage.”
Finally, Mikey shows some reaction biting the inside of his cheek as he uncrosses his arms and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to be sure. I didn’t want to tell you something like that without knowing for sure,” I pause, tearing my eyes away from him to stare at my bare feet. “The test was negative, Mikey. It was just me over thinking or maybe it was a sign telling me I needed to go to the doctor.”
“Did you?” He asks. His voice thick with emotion and rough like gravel all at the same time.
“Yes.” I look up at him through the fringe of my lashes. “Turns out I wasn’t miscarrying, there was most definitely no baby but he also didn’t know what the cause of the problem was and sent me for a whole lot of tests. It could be a number of things.”
“Like?”
“Mike—”
“Like?” He repeats, clenching his teeth as he speaks.
“Like a cyst on my ovary that has burst or endometriosis. And then there is my personal favorite…uterine cancer,” I hoarsely finish, bringing another cigarette between my lips. My hand shakes as I fumble with the lighter but still manage to light the end.
He reaches out, takes the cigarette from my lips and breaks it in two before he grabs my hands.
“It’s not that,” he insists. “I don’t know what any of the other things are but it’s one of those. I’m sure of it.”
“How?”
“How do I know? That’s easy, Princess,” he says, bringing one hand to his lips then the other. “I came back to New York because of you and I’m not done with you. I gave you that ring because I fully intend to grow old with you. You should know by now when I have something in my head it doesn’t disappear. It will happen, Nikki, me and you growing old and relying on Viagra.”
I laugh as he wraps my arms around his neck.
“You should’ve told me,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”
“That isn’t why you should’ve told me. You’re not alone Nikki, you’ve got me and I’m in it for the long haul. There isn’t anything in this life you’re ever going to face alone as long as I’m breathing.”
“I have an appointment next week, the doctor said he should have my results by then.”
“I’m there,” he declares, wrapping his arms around my waist and dragging my body against his. “And whatever it is, I swear to you we’ll get through it.”
I underestimated Mikey, it wasn’t about the wedding but the partnership. The vow to stand beside one another in even the bleakest of times. Naively we think the happily ever after is the rainbows and roses crap you read in fairy tales but it’s not. The happily ever after is having the right person to hold your hand and weather any storm. It’s an unbreakable bond between two people. That’s the happily ever after.
I know one thing for sure, even if those test results are bad I still have my happily ever after. I still have my Mikey and nothing can change that.
Chapter Twelve
I stare at my face reflected in the mirror hanging above my dresser and bring my fingertips to the corners of my mouth. I press the pads of my index fingers into my skin and slide them upward, watching as the edges of my lips blossom into a forced smile.
Fake.
Manufactured.
Dropping my fingers, instantly the fake smile falls too and my natural frown appears. Just like the drama masks I keep inside the top drawer of my dresser.