Carmen
“You want some chocolate?” Lori called from the next aisle over.
“Nah, I’m okay,” I said. I didn’t tell her, but the very idea of chocolate made me revoltingly nauseous. Which was strange, because I’d been a chocolate fiend my entire life. Now, though, it was the last thing in the world I wanted to put between my lips.
We were in the pharmacy down the street from my house, picking up snacks and some supplies so we could go paint our nails in my bedroom. I took a glance over and saw Lori fixated on the magazine rack down by the cash register. Moving quickly before she could notice, I reached out and snagged a pregnancy test, tucking it into my purse as casually as possible. Then I walked up and met her by the checkout line.
“Ready?” she said.
“Yep.”
“What’d you get?”
“Honestly, I’m not all that hungry.”
She gave me a weird glance. “Is everything okay? You’ve been acting awfully weird these last couple days.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just not hungry, that’s all.”
She shot a hand up and pressed her palm against my forehead. “Are you getting sick?” she demanded. “I know how grouchy you get when you’re coming down with a fever.”
“Enough, Mom,” I said sarcastically as I peeled her hand away. “I’m perfectly fine. Leave me alone.”
She stared at me, but didn’t say another word until we paid for our items and walked out. I kept my fingers crossed as we went through the doorway, but by some lucky miracle, the stolen pregnancy test didn’t set off the alarm. I knew I should have paid for it, but I couldn’t bring myself to even let the cashier get the wrong idea about me, much less broach the subject with Lori.
We drove back to my house in silence. Parking and getting out of the car, we went upstairs to my bedroom. Lori dumped out the bag of cotton balls and nail polish on my comforter. I ducked into the bathroom while she did, making sure to shut and lock the door behind me.
My hands were shaking as I set down my purse and withdrew the test. The colors on the box were so bright and friendly that I wanted to puke. How dare they look so innocent? Didn’t they know what was going on? Didn’t they know that, depending on what this test told me, my life as I knew it could be over? I guessed not, because they stayed the same bubblegum pink no matter how angry my thoughts seethed.
I ripped open the cardboard and pulled out the test. Sliding my leggings down to my ankles, I sat down on the toilet and activated the test. But when I pulled it back out from between my legs, I didn’t look. I couldn’t. Not yet. I needed a few more seconds.
I slid to a seat on the floor next to the toilet. I wasn’t sure what kind of emotions I was supposed to feel right now. Dread? Excitement? Butterflies in my stomach, or something more serious? This was unexplored territory. I wasn’t ready for these kinds of events in my life. But, like it or not, this was what was happening. I had to face it head on.
I took a deep breath and looked.
# # #
“Lori,” I said, emerging from the bathroom, “you were right. I’m not feeling that well.”
She looked up at me. “Do you want me to go?”
“I just don’t think I’ll be very much fun today.”
“No, no, you’re totally right. You should rest. You do look really pale.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “I’ll give you a call later to check on you, okay? Feel better, hon.” She blew me a kiss and left me alone.
When she had gone, I went back into the bathroom. The pregnancy test was still clutched in my hand, though I’d been careful to keep it behind my back while I was talking to Lori. The pink plus sign shining from the test strip was solid and stark. It wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was this baby.
I put a hand on my stomach. So many questions. I wondered what the baby looked like, how big it was, who it would take after. There was no doubt about the father, though. Ben was the only possibility. But could I tell him? Should I? Would he care?
Part of me thought he had a right to know. If I was a man, I would sure want to know if there were any Mini-Mes running around out there without my knowledge. But then again, I wasn’t anything like Ben. There was no telling whether he gave a damn or not. Maybe I wasn’t even the first one he’s impregnated. There was a decent chance that a whole host of Little Bens were already out and about in the world.
The bigger and more pressing question, though, was how I would tell my father. I put that thought aside as soon as it sprung up. I couldn’t possibly deal with it yet. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it; it’s not a problem until it’s a problem; yadda, yadda, yadda, whatever I had to say to convince myself not to think about my daddy yet, I said it. The merest suggestion of that particular conversation had brought vomit to threaten at the back of my throat.
I sat there for a long time, holding the pregnancy test in my hand. The warmth of the air and the cold of the tiles seeping through my leggings were a reassuring contrast. Basic physical sensation, that’s what I needed right now. No thoughts. No worries. Just relax.
Eventually, I fell asleep. When I did, I dreamed of pregnancy tests raining from the sky like hail, thudding into the ground around me. They each had the same thing: a big, pink plus sign staring me down like the eyes of some nocturnal animals.
I woke up sometime later with a start. Through the crack in the opening of the door, I could see that the sun outside had set and it was nighttime. I tried to struggle to my feet, but the effort brought a fresh wave of nausea rocketing through me. I dropped the plastic stick, fell forward onto my knees, and hurled my guts up into the toilet in front of me.
My retching echoed in the tiny bathroom. I threw up again and again, until there was nothing left but stringy bile looping between my lips. My throat and abs were sore from the convulsions and my temples were pounding with a vicious headache.
When the fit had passed, I rocked back onto my heels. I used a piece of toilet paper to wipe the gunk off my mouth as best as I could, then that, too, went into the toilet bowl. I pressed the lever and watched as the vomit was whisked away down the drain.
“Who was it?” someone said.
I looked up. My father was standing in the doorway.
I blanched. “Daddy, it’s not what you think.”
“No?” he said. His voice was murderously cool. It was somehow scarier that way, even more so than when he ranted and raved. Those eyes—the same grey as I had—were flat and unyielding. He looked capable of anything. “Then what is that?” Extending a finger at the floor, he pointed out the pregnancy test I’d dropped. Even in the dim light, I knew he could see the positive result. My drooping head said everything else.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It was an accident.”
“Who is the father, Carmen?”
I shook my head side to side. I couldn’t tell him. For some bizarre reason, I felt an insanely powerful urge to protect Ben. There was no telling what my father might do, and if I gave Ben up, then I would have a hand in whatever happened next. I didn’t want that.
In a single rapid motion, he took one step forward, dropped to a crouch, and seized my forearm in his grasp. He ripped me around to face him. “I won’t ask you again. Tell me who it is,” he hissed. His nostrils were flared wide.
“Daddy, you’re hurting me,” I whimpered.
“Tell me!” he roared. He shook me like a rag doll.
I screamed. I felt so weak and helpless. Where was all the strength I’d had when I was with Ben? On the back of his motorcycle, I felt like I could do anything. Now, though, I was defenseless. I was a little girl again, getting screamed at by her father, unable to stand up for myself and with no one around to protect me.
“Ben Killmore.” The words were barely audible, but as soon as they left my lips, he stopped shaking me. Instantly, I felt lower than I’d ever felt in my life. I’d given him up with hardly a fight. I was a coward. A weakling. I didn’t deserve a warrior like Ben. I deserved what I had: nothing.
My dad dropped my arm and stood up. He towered over me, smoothing his hair back with two hands. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.
I leaped to my feet and raced after him as he took the stairs two at a time while shrugging his leather jacket on. “Where are you going?” I screamed. “Daddy, stop!”
He ignored me and kept going.
I slipped, caught myself on the railing, and followed him to the front door. “Daddy, please! Stop!”
On the threshold of the door, he paused and whipped back around to face me. “I’m going to find him,” he said in a clipped, strangled voice. “If you leave this house while I’m gone, then you will never get the chance to do so again. Stay here, Carmen. I’m warning you.”
He slammed the door shut. The house had never before been so silent.