nineteenth,” I say more confidently. “It hasn’t been long enough. I missed my period last month, but Jordan and I didn’t start having sex until the day before it was due. There’s no way I can be pregnant.”
I let out a long breath and sit back on the couch. My hand slides between the cushions and something sharp pokes me. I slide over, looking down at the couch as I reach between the pillows. My fingers graze a flat paper object and I pull it out to look at it. It’s a picture of my parents in their early twenties. I know this because they look around the same age as they do in all of their wedding photos. My eyebrows pinch as I stare at the glossy photo. They are sitting on a hospital bed, my mother wrapped in a gown cradling a baby. My father sits next to her, his arm around her shoulder, smiling proudly. How did this get here? My mom usually keeps all my baby pictures tucked away in our album. Maybe this one got away from her when she was sorting.
“Zee,” Shana’s voice pulls my attention away.
“What?” I put the picture face down on the couch.
“Shit, when was the first night you two had sex?” she asks, but I’m quiet as I notice the purple writing on the back of the picture.
Daisy Teller. March 12th, 1995
What the hell?
“Zee.” She calls me again, her voice sharp. “When was the first time?”
“I told you, the weekend of the nineteenth.” I flip the picture again to look at the front. Who in the hell is Daisy?
“No,” she says, her voice heightening in intensity. “The very first time.”
I zone in to her question and my eyes go wide as fear grips me again. I stand, dropping the picture on the table. She’s talking about the night we got drunk; the night we got drunk and everything changed. How could I forget that? My mind races as I sort through my memory. Everything happened so fast and I can’t remember if we used a condom.
“Oh my God,” I say. Pressure builds in my chest. We both go silent and I count the days again, praying like hell I’m wrong. That night was almost two weeks before we got together at the hotel.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Don’t panic. You could be right. You were going through a lot last month with your parents and everything. It could just be stress like you said.”
“But what if it’s not, Shana?”
“It could be,” she says.
“What if it’s not, and I’m pregnant two fucking months after Jordan and I finally get together?” I’m speaking louder than I need to be. Though my mother is still shut in her room, she definitely isn’t deaf. Tears pool in my eyes and I dash to the kitchen, attempting to create some distance from the stairway.
“Calm down. You have options… but first of all, you need to figure out if you’re even pregnant,” Shana says, her tone even.
“I… I…” my words dry in my throat as I desperately try to blink the tears away. “This is going to ruin everything,” I finally say.
“What? No, it won’t. Jordan loves you.”
“We’ve been dating less than two months,” I whisper yell.
“You’ve been dating for years, you just didn’t know it,” she says. “Now, damnit, stop freaking out. Go buy a test. We’ll figure out what to do once you know for sure.”
I’m in a daze, shaking my head as I stare at the empty counter in front of me. I can’t think with words, all I hear is chaos and screaming.
“Okay?” Shana asks. Her voice seems loud.
“Okay,” I say, pulling in a deep breath. I’m nodding, trying to stifle my panic, but it only heightens when I hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. “Shit, let me call you back.”
I run into the living room and peek out the window to see Jordan’s blue Oldsmobile rolling to a stop. Oh fuck. I dash over to the mirror, the one my mother has hanging by the door, and quickly fix my hair and check my teeth. Then I open the door for him.
My thoughts are everywhere. Should I tell him there’s a chance I could be pregnant? Should I find out first? Should we do it together? He doesn’t see me right away. His head tilts, holding his phone in one hand, his computer and the other. His eyes grow bright when he sees me standing at the door.
“You’re up,”