straight and not taken. It’s a peculiar kind of pain, when it’s entirely of your own making.
Wilma shakes her head. “You can’t speak like that. You have to believe he’ll come around.”
I snort, but nod anyway, mostly for her benefit. It’s a discussion we’ve had a million times. Me, rational, logical—insisting wishing for something doesn’t help it come true. Her, a strong believer in belief itself, in good vibes and the universe and The Secret.
“Maybe he will,” I say, lifting up one of the cardboard boxes on the kitchen island. “Maybe he won’t. But it doesn’t change anything in the short term. I still have to find a place to stay.”
“You can stay with one of us, of course,” Trina says. “And I’ll come with you apartment hunting this weekend. You’re visiting a few places on Saturday, right?”
“Yes. Thank you, honestly. Both of you.”
Wilma smiles. “That’s what friends are for. I haven’t forgotten who patched me back together after Ben and I broke up.”
“Not to mention you and Ivan,” Trina supplies, a smile on her lips. “Or when you were convinced you failed your entrance exams. Or when we were at that party and you got—”
“All right, all right, we get it.” Wilma reaches out with her fingers splayed, ready to pinch Trina’s arm, but she dances back.
“We’re here to support Bella!” Trina says. “No fighting!”
Laughing, I step in between the two of them, holding up my arms like a judge in a boxing ring. “Not in this house, you don’t.”
“So protective of the house,” Wilma says morosely, “and not of your friends.”
“Of course. Material objects are forever, right? That’s the saying?”
“Friendships are forever.” Trina gives me a push and I laugh, nearly tripping over Toast. He gives a disgruntled meow and looks up at me expectantly. I glance over at the time on the oven.
“Right, food time. He’s like an alarm clock, this one. He knows on the minute when it’s time for him to be fed.”
“Smart cat,” Wilma says, sinking back into her kitchen chair. “By the way, how have the sleeping aids I gave you worked out?”
“The non-sleeping-pill-sleeping-pills?”
“The organic, natural, herbal remedy sleeping aids, yeah.”
“Surprisingly well,” I say. “I’ve been sleeping much better these past two months, and much deeper.”
“Yes.” Wilma makes the universal sign for success, an elbow tugged downwards, and shoots Trina and me a victorious look. “Another win for ‘untested and scientifically dubious medicine.’”
“It worked this time, yeah,” I allow. “But I do feel very hormonal. That’s not a side effect, is it? Like, my breasts are tender all the time. And while I usually get nauseous sometimes around my period, it’s never been this bad before.”
Wilma frowns. “They’re not supposed to affect that side of things,” she says. “Sure you’re not just about to have your period?”
“No, I had… actually, I don’t know when I last had my period.” It feels like a long time ago. Longer than it should have been, longer than it usually feels like.
“Bella,” Trina says carefully, “you don’t think you could be pregnant?”
“No, of course not,” I say. “I’m on birth control. I take it every morning, like clockwork. I’m like Toast with his food. Never miss a day.”
“Good, because that’s not what you need right now.”
“Definitely not. It’s probably nothing,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. “I’ll sort it out.”
And that’s that. It’s not until later, when they’ve left and I start mentally calculating the days, that I realize my period isn’t just fashionably late. It’s the kind of late that would be downright rude to the host.
I’m not always very regular, but has it ever been this late before? And once the idea takes root, it’s impossible to get out—like when you leave the house and can’t remember if you’ve turned off the curling iron or not. The thought of pregnancy niggles away in my brain until I can’t focus on anything at all.
“I’ll just get one little test,” I tell Toast, grabbing my car keys. “Just one little test. It’ll be negative, and then I can stop worrying.”
I get in my trusty little car with its new battery and pray it’ll start. It hasn’t given me grief this summer after I visited the mechanic, but of course this would be the day it acts up.
Not today, I repeat. Not today of all days. And my Honda hears me, or perhaps Wilma is right and the universe does listen to your wishes, because I back out of my driveway without any trouble.