It was the second day of NaNoWriMo, and I had the flu. I was also late, but every other month that doesn’t seem to matter much. One of my ovaries is shy. Or lazy.
Anyway. I watched the flu episode of The Golden Girls and then sat down to write. And sneeze. Neil was at the gym and I was doing laps to the toilet to pee, between sneezes.
I didn’t write much that day. But I counted. Six times.
I was wearing three layers. And I still had goosebumps.
When Neil got home, I was on the couch breathing from the one nostril I had left.
He raised one of his really perfect eyebrows.
‘Have you got your period yet?’ There are no secrets in our relationship.
The other eyebrow went up.
We’d had the same conversation for the past few months.
Later, Neil left to go see some friends, and I hadn’t left the couch. Except to pee. On the way back from trip 11, I counted again. On my calendar. Both of my eyebrows went up.
The next morning, I was as late as late ever was. And awake in the dark. So was Neil.
‘Should I pee on a stick?’
‘I think so.’
There was a test burning a hole in my wicker drawers.
‘What if I’m not?’
‘What if you are?’
‘Let’s do this.’ I hurled myself into the chair, sat down on another seat. I might have peed into a cup I pilfered from Broadway, right after Neil said, ‘Fire when ready.’
‘Kinda makes sense.’
I did the deed, and then made Neil take the cup out of the room. I didnotwanttoseeit.
And so. He paced. I sat. Goosebumps.
I saw Neil’s feet first. Usually, I don’t like his feet, but that day we were OK.
I looked at his feet, because I could not look at his face. Until I did. It looked different from the other times.
‘Do you want to see it?’
‘I don’t know. Do I?’
He flashed it. And my eyes went from the plus sign to his face and back. In slow motion.
‘Oh, God. No.’
And my husband said, ‘Yes.’
And I’m holding onto Neil, because y’know, I want to. And because I might have fallen off the toilet.
Neil cried before I did.
‘Let me see it again,’ I said. A blur of blue.
‘Is that a yes?’ I asked.
‘An emphatic yes.’
And then I cried.
And we went back to bed. Where I threw up. ‘Not the flu,’ I said.
We’re holding on. ‘What do we do now?’ Neil asked.
‘Go to Disney World?!’
‘Never mind,’ I said.
We’re holding on.
‘Well, that went well,’ we said.
Join the new Gin & Lemonade newsletter!
Subscribe to get post alerts and other groovy stuff every week!