I slide the dollar bill into the vending machine on the first floor of the sociology building and, once again, it spits it back out.

“Piece of shit.”

I smack the front of the machine as if this will make me feel better. I’m still thirsty as hell. Stuffing the dollar into my jeans pocket, my fingers bump into the new cell phone Houston gave me yesterday. The least romantic gift I expected to get, especially since I wasn’t even expecting a gift. He’s the one graduating next week and I still haven’t decided what I want to get him.

I’m sure he would gladly accept a blow job as a graduation gift, but I had hoped we could do something a normal couple would do. Maybe a private dinner or even just a weekend alone without a dozen frat guys spilling beer all over our carpet. Actually, I’d settle for just a decent truthful conversation.

For more than a month, Houston has dodged my questions about his plans for the summer. He’s graduating with a degree in business. He got accepted to the UO School of Law, but I have a feeling he’s not going to stay here. I’m not sure I understand throwing away that kind of opportunity. I’m also not sure I wouldn’t do the same. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could quit school, move somewhere no one knows me, and start over.

Houston pretty much told me he wanted the same, though he was rip-roaring drunk when he confided in me two weeks ago. I’m still not sure I believe that he was too drunk to know what he was saying.

Silver brushstrokes of moonlight painted across his muscular shoulders as he brushed the backs of his fingers across my cheekbone and looked me square in the eye. “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here.”

His lips swept softly over mine as he leaned closer. I could smell the sweet ethanol fragrance of too much beer on his breath, but he could probably smell it on mine too. He slipped his knee between my legs as he slid closer to me, until his body was flush against my right side and his growing erection was prodding my hip.

“Go where?” Six months together and I still got breathless whenever he was this close.

He kissed my jaw and nuzzled his face into the curve of my neck. “I don’t know. South America. Indonesia. Anywhere. As long as it’s just you and me and no one knows where we went. Let’s do it.”

“We can do it here,” I replied with a soft chuckle.

He didn’t laugh at my joke as he laid a tender kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Rory, we can fuck each other into submission anywhere.” His hand slid behind my neck, lifting it so my head tilted back, so he could suck on the hollow of my throat. “But we can never be together here.”

My heart stopped. “What are you talking about? We are together here.”

He chuckled and the sound made my skin prickle with goose bumps. “I’m kidding. I’m just drunk.” He climbed on top of me, lifting my leg so I could feel the tip of his solid erection pressed against my panties. “I love you, baby.”

Then he kissed me and I forgot about that conversation and haven’t thought about it since. Until this morning when I visited the university health center.

How am I going to tell him I’m pregnant? I’m pretty sure Houston wants a child as much as I do, which is not at all. This is not the kind of graduation gift I wanted to give him.

Maybe I should just get it taken care of without him. If I tell him, he might think I’m trying to imply that we should keep it. Or worse, he might think I’m trying to ask him to commit.

I know he likes to talk about the future and how we’re going to get married after I graduate in three years, but I don’t like to think that far ahead. Hallie had her whole life planned out and it didn’t work out very well for her.

I love Houston. And I know he loves me and he would support me if I told him I wanted to terminate the pregnancy, but part of me is terrified of changing anything between us right now. We already have too much change to deal with this summer with him graduating and possibly moving two hours away to Portland, if he decides not to go to law school. I’m not sure our relationship could survive this.

Sometimes I wonder if our relationship is even real.

Hallie and I became best friends on the first day of sixth grade when the teacher sat us next to each other and we both discovered we were obsessed with Blink 182. She invited me over to her house after school that day so we could burn some songs onto a USB drive, and that’s when I fell in love with Houston. I was eleven and he was fourteen, but in my warped prepubescent mind I was already concocting fantasies of us married with three children.

It’s weird how our fantasies change as we mature. Now, I’d be happy just to know Houston after I graduate. Our connection is tenuous at best, no matter how many times he tells me he loves me and that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. We’re connected by a million fragile filaments, memories we’ve tried our hardest to pretend aren’t there.

I once made the mistake of asking Houston if he remembered Hallie’s favorite song.

His response: I’m sure I’ll completely forget after this fifth beer.

We’re not allowed to talk about the past in Houston’s apartment. I sometimes wonder if it’s this mutual desire to forget that brought us together or if he genuinely wanted to protect me when he asked me to move in with him six months ago. I could have moved in with Houston and kept to myself. I could have moved into another dorm. Or I could have opted not to move out of my old dorm at all. But I wanted to escape the memories as much as he did. I would have accepted a sleeping bag under a bridge at that point, anything not to have to enter that dorm ever again.

Instead, I moved in with Houston the same day he offered, and we slept together that first night. After seven years of pining for him, I convinced myself it was natural. We were meant to be together. It was okay to give myself to him so willingly.

I think I would have believed that even if we weren’t brought together by tragedy. I was always ready to belong to Houston. But I was not ready for what came after.

I make it back to our off-campus apartment a few minutes after three and I’m not surprised to find I’m alone. Houston doesn’t get home until a quarter after four on Wednesdays. I bought a couple of at-home pregnancy tests on the way home, just to make sure there wasn’t a mix-up with my specimen at the health center. Five minutes later, I’m confused. The test is negative.

I take another brand of test and the results are positive. Now I’m even more confused. I lift the package off the bathroom counter to read the instructions again. I’m so lost in the small type, I don’t notice when Houston walks in.

“What’s that?”

I drop the box in the sink and let out a sharp yelp. “Jesus Christ, Houston. You scared the shit out of me. You’re home early.” I reach for the box, but he beats me to it. “Give me that.”

His eyes widen as he holds the box up so I can’t reach it. “A pregnancy test? Are you pregnant?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know.”

“I thought you were on the pill,” he counters, but I don’t appreciate the accusatory tone.

“I am! But it’s not 100% effective, especially when consumed with alcohol.”

He laughs. “Oh, so it’s my fault you drink so much?”

“What? I don’t drink that much!” I shout. “You drink more than I do.”

“Did you do this on purpose?”

I stare into his blue eyes, unable to hide the anger boiling inside me. “Fuck you.”

I push past him, but he grabs my wrist before I can leave the bathroom. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.”

I shake my arm free and head for the kitchen.

“Rory, I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”

He follows me into the kitchen and pins me against the counter as I search for my car keys in my purse.

“Stop it, Houston.”

“Are you pregnant or not?”

“Why do you care? I’m not keeping it.”

He grabs my waist and turns me around roughly. “Are you saying I don’t have a fucking choice?”

I lay my hands flat against his solid chest and try to push him back, but he doesn’t move. “Get off me.”

“Answer the question, Rory. Are you pregnant?”

“I don’t know.” I twist my body and duck under his arm to get away from him, then I head for the bedroom, where I left my backpack.

He follows so close behind me I can feel the heat of his body radiating on my shoulders. “What did the test say?”

“It was negative.”

“So you’re not pregnant?”

I grab the backpack on the bed and pull it upright so I can unzip the top. “I took three tests today. Two in the bathroom and one at the health center this morning… Two out of three were positive.”

I pull my laptop out of the backpack and he takes it from me, flinging it onto the bed. “You’re pregnant.”

This time it’s not a question. And it makes me sick to my stomach because I know it’s true.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at his chest as I wipe away the tears. “I don’t know how this happened.”

He grabs my face and tilts my head back so I can see the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t speak for maybe a minute or two, but it feels like an eternity.

“We can do this.”

“Do what?”

His arms envelop me, crushing me against him so tightly I feel as if my shoulders may dislocate. “We’ll have the baby. We can’t get rid of it… It’s… This can’t be a mistake.”

My face is pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, so close I can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. He’s serious.