Since I left Pierce sitting in that coffee shop on Fifth Avenue a month ago, there’s not a day gone by that I don’t feel sick about it. It’s not that I didn’t love him, that I don’t love him, but after that night in the hotel… there’s no chance he’s going to grow up. He’ll just never be the kind of man I need him to be, and I can’t change that. I can’t force him to take responsibility for his own life.

Mr. Cochran apparently still thinks there’s hope for him, making him join the SEALs. I can’t picture it. Pierce was never good at taking instructions, or advice, or responding to any sort of authority, so the idea of him surviving six months of extreme training is above and beyond anything I can imagine. Since it worked out really well for his little brother Logan, I’m not entirely surprised that Mr. Cochran hoped it would do the same for Pierce. I know what Logan went through during his time in California, and it was no joke.

The truth is, since the hotel, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Pierce. I don’t exactly miss him. The last few years of our relationship felt kind of like we were on auto-pilot. Neither of knew how to get out, so we just kept going, hoping the other one would do something to save us. Even if it’s over, and the humiliation of the hotel room is fading, I’m not sure that the lingering haze of our relationship will ever fully leave me.

It’s ten in the morning, and I’m sitting behind the counter at my Uncle’s auto shop. Nobody’s called yet today, and there’s no simple work like oil changes to keep me busy, so my mind is obsessing over what happened with Pierce. I’d like to figure out something to do to keep my mind off him and to help my uncle and cousins keep this place afloat, but I look around and there’s nothing. It’s a tough city to succeed in at the best of times and my family has always struggled.

The only reason that I could even afford to go to the same high school as the Cochran boys was because I got in as scholarship student. Then, while Pierce was off at Columbia studying, I was working three jobs to afford night classes at a tech school. Now, at the ripe age of twenty-four years with no degree, here I am swimming in student loan debt, spending my days arguing with people over coupons for lube jobs.

Not to mention my boyfriend is gone.

This is not how I imagined my life would turn out.

I’m totally lost in thought when my Uncle Sal walks into the lobby from the garage, wiping the sweat away from his forehead with a grumble.

“Hot as hell today, huh, Arie Belle?”

I nod, leaning into the desk fan to try and clear some of the nausea that has been plaguing me since the summer heat set in. I seem to have lost my tolerance for it this year.

“It feels worse than usual this year. And earlier than usual too. I just want to go jump in the Hudson, sewage and all,” I say as I wave an order for parts in his direction. He walks up and takes it, then eyes me suspiciously.

“You look a bit green, Arie. Are you sure you don’t have the flu? Should you go home? I can call your Aunt Marie down to cover the phones.”

I shake my head. “I’ll stop by the clinic in the drug store on the way home, just to get checked out. They don’t charge as much as a walk-in and I’m… between insurance policies at the moment.”

Uncle Sal frowns and reaches into his jeans pocket, coming back with a fifty-dollar bill. I try to shove it away, but he won’t let me. “We both know I don’t pay you enough, Arie. The least I can do is slip you some cash to see a doctor. Working in this sauna has probably given you heatstroke.”

I cross over from behind the reception desk and give Uncle Sal a hug. But the minute he squeezes me, I feel my stomach start to roll, and I run for the wastebasket, where I empty the contents of my belly in one swift hurl. When I turn around, I’m not sure if my cheeks are burning from fever or from embarrassment. Uncle Sal just shakes his head and points toward the door.

“Would you get out of here, kid? Please? I’m calling Marie. Go to the doctor!”

I grab my bag and squeeze his hand as I walk out onto Avenue C with an achy sigh. The heat outside is no better, and the buildings are blocking any airflow, so it’s even more oppressive on the city streets. I love New York, but sometimes… I wish I could pack my things and move to a ranch in Wyoming. Sure, you can’t get a decent Pad Thai at three in the morning, but at least there is always fresh air.

After walking six blocks to the pharmacy I’m informed that there’s a two hour wait. Since I don’t have a smart phone, unlike the rest of even the most destitute New Yorkers, I pick up an eight-month old magazine to pass the time. The celebrity gossip is as new to me as it would have been when this thing first came out. The time creeps by slowly. It feels like a lot longer than two hours before I’m finally called to the cubicle. I sit down nervously, my stomach pitching like I’m on a boat. The nurse practitioner looks at me with bored eyes and taps her pencil against the desk.

“What are your symptoms?” she asks.

“I think I have heat stroke or something. The last few weeks, I’m dizzy and nauseous all the time. Headaches. It’s not debilitating or anything, but I’ve thrown up a few times.” I scrunch up my face, trying to remember. “And thirsty. Oh my God, I’m thirsty. All the tiem.”

The nurse twirls the pencil around in her fingers. “When was the date of your last period?”

“What? Oh, I don’t… I don’t know. Last month I guess? The month before? Honestly, I’ve had a lot going on, and they’ve never been that regular. I guess I haven’t been keeping track. But why would that matter if I have heat stroke?”

The nurse gets up for her chair with a weary sigh and disappears down one of the aisles of the pharmacy. She comes back a moment later holding a box, and she hands it to me without a word. It’s a pregnancy test. I look at it nervously.

“I don’t need this! There’s no way...” I bite my lip. It was only one time.

“Have you had sexual intercourse recently?”

I feel my shoulders inadvertently slump. “Well. Yes. But…”

“Did you use protection of any kind? Are you on birth control?”

My mind starts spinning. I find that I suddenly incapable of understanding words. Where am I? What is protection? Birth control? Shit. She sees what must be an expression of pure panic on my face and softens a little.

“Honey, just take this and go in the bathroom. Bring it back out to me when you’re done. When we know the results, we’ll go from there.”

I take the box from her with a shaking hand and wobble my way to the bathroom at the back of the pharmacy. There’s a dick drawn on the wall, and I stare at it while I take the test. I keep staring at the wall for a long time after that. I’m not even sure how long I’m in there. Without looking, I shove the little cap back on the pregnancy test stick and hide it inside the box. When I finally get up and exit, the door to the bathroom slams a little too loud. The nurse looks up at me. It looks like she’s been drawing doodles on an old prescription pad, but I can’t be sure. She gestures to me, and I walk towards her. It feels like a mile instead of a few feet — that’s how unsteady my feet are. The queasy feeling in my stomach could be from anxiety. But it could be from pregnancy. I could look at the test, but I don’t. If I don’t look, maybe it won’t be real. Instead, I put the box down in front of the nurse, who sighs heavily.

She takes the box from me and points back at the chair.

“Have a seat. It will only be a couple more minutes. We should wait the full three minutes to be sure.”

I don’t hear anything but the second hand ticking away on her watch. Time is moving in slow motion, and the bottomless swamp of chaos that is my life only seems to be getting deeper and more overwhelming with each passing second. Finally, I hear her tapping the desk with her pencil, trying to draw my attention back to the present.

“Honey, the test is positive. You’re going to need to make an appointment with an OB in the next day or so to confirm with bloodwork, but given your symptoms and what you’ve told me, I think it’s pretty likely you’re pregnant.”

I’ve had sex one time and one time only, and my luck, I get pregnant. Fuck. I should have known. I should have thought. All I wanted in that moment was him. And here I am.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

The word is the last thing ringing in my ears before the spinning in my head becomes too much.

When did I eat? Was it this morning? Last night?

Bile rises in my throat, mixing with the cold, metallic taste of fear. I close my eyes to steady myself, but it doesn’t work.

My vision turns to black, and I pass out, collapsing onto the scratchy pharmacy carpet.