As far as I can tell, I’ve got two options.
And I’m shooting for the latter.
Seth
There have been moments when I’ve been thrown from my game—a bad grade on a test, the time I thought my dog was dying—the time he did die, the list goes on and on. But this moment, staring at my phone, wondering what the hell just happened has eclipsed them all by far.
As soon as my notification went off that Sunday was live, I hopped over to watch her do her thing. I’ve been watching for a couple of years now. Not that I’d ever let her know it, and right about now, I’m wishing I missed a show. This last one to be exact.
“Holy shit.” I sink down in my sofa and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I managed to screw up so proficiently and quickly.
I have to call her. She definitely looked freaked out. She looked panicked, and that’s the one expression on her beautiful face I’m not familiar with. But if that little box that was sitting behind her is any indication, I’d better get familiar with it and quick.
My thumb lingers over my phone a moment too long. What the hell am I going to say? I caught your show. I know you’ve got a plus one nestled inside of you, and I’m the one that put it there?
Technically, those are all things I should say, and eventually will have to, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like the right thing at the moment. She needs a friend—one of which she has made the point to let me know I’m not. But whether she likes it or not, I’m determined to be a shoulder to lean on.
I’m out of here. I need to find Sunday. There’s no excuse. I need to be with her. I hop off the couch, and before I can snatch my keys off the table, a heavy pounding comes from the door.
I pluck it open and Sunday herself stumbles in, slamming the door shut, shielding it with her body as if a knife-wielding maniac were after her.
“What’s going on?” Honest to God, I’m curious, but it works as a cover, too. If she spills what just happened, I won’t have to admit my addiction to her just yet.
“I don’t know!” She tosses her hand in the air and bolts past me as she paces the living room. “I was doing this vlog—it’s a stupid beauty thing. Wait”—she grips her hair at the temples—“it’s my thing, and it’s not stupid.” She shakes her head at the floor as if she were talking to herself, and I can’t help but note how beautiful she is even in this frazzled state. Her hair is fanned out, her skin glows pink from the mad jaunt over. It’s freezing out, and she’s not even wearing a jacket. It’s only then I note she has a limp plastic bag in her hand. “Anyway”—she comes over and rattles me by the arms—“a missed period led to a box, and now I need you to pee on a stick to prove I’m not pregnant!”
“Whoa! Slow down.” I’ll admit my stomach just did a revolution when she said the P word and the room is starting to spin, but I’m not the one I should be concerned with at the moment. “So, you’re not pregnant?” I hold my breath a moment as her watery eyes look into mine with fright.
“No, of course not.” She does her best to shake me, and my entire body exhales.
“Shit.” I rake my fingers through my hair. I swear on all that is holy I will never touch a beer again. “My God, that was a close call.”
“What are you talking about? Never mind what you’re talking about. I need a favor.” Her eyes skirt the room, frantic, and if I had to guess, her alarm only seems to be escalating.
“Anything. I’m here for you.” My heart riots against my chest, downright alleviated that I won’t be having a baby at this point in my life—her life. “Anything at all.” I’d give Sunday the moon just to make up for what I’ve put her through.
“Good.” Her body bucks with a silent laugh. “Because what I’m about to ask is a little out of the norm.” She dips her hand into the bag and comes up with the infamous box that had the comments of her vlog exploding like a grand finale at a Fourth of July spectacular. Her fingers work quickly, and soon she’s holding up a skinny pink stick and my stomach does another far more hostile revolution. “I need you to pee on this.”
“What?” I shout so loud the walls rattle. “Sunday, I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“I know! I just need a negative test result to share with my viewers.” The veins in her neck pop as she strains to convince me.
And just like that, the lights go out in my world. A dense fog takes over my brain, and I have the urge to drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness, vomit, and weep like a pussy all at once.
“So you’re”—I glance to the stick between us, unsure of how to phrase it.
“God, no!” She beats me with her free hand. “I just—” Her mouth opens as we stare at the stick together. “I just—I don’t think I can do it.” Her voice softens as her shoulders sag. Sunday never takes her eyes from that slender piece of plastic. “I’ve been late before,” she hiccups. “I mean, not this late. But I’m pretty sure I just have the flu.” Her voice is hoarse, and suddenly it’s becoming apparent that Sunday has been feeding herself a steady diet of lies and believing them. Or at least she’d like to continue believing what she once felt was a reality. “Seth.” She looks up at me and shakes her head. “This can’t be my life. It’s not who I am. I don’t lose my virginity and get knocked up all on the same night. I mean, Eli—he won’t even acknowledge what happened. My God, I don’t even think he remembers! I wasn’t memorable.” She chokes out a laugh while wiping down tears with the back of her sleeve. A black trail of mascara smears along her cheek and she looks bruised, so I brush the tears away with my own hand, clean her up. The last thing I want is for Sunday to be injured in any way, and here I’ve injured her far more than I could have ever imagined.
“Wait.” I shake my head as if demanding I snap out of this stupor. “You said you’ve been late before, right? And you haven’t taken the test? Sunday, you may not be”—I motion to her torso. I can’t even bring myself to say the word. A thin thread of relief washes over me once again. The last thirty seconds feel as if Sunday and I have climbed an emotional Everest and scaled back down again. “I shouldn’t be taking this test, Sunday. You should. Go on, right now if you want. I’ll be right here waiting for you. No matter what it says, you have my full support.” For the next eighteen years if it reads positive. And just like that, I’m right back to sweating.
“No, I don’t have time for something as ridiculous as that. You have to pee on this stick, and I need to upload it for my viewers asap to get those maniacal rumor mongers to knock this shit off. My God, Rush is going to hear about this!” She’s right back to shaking me as her fingernails embed into my flesh, and I can’t blame her. I’d like to shake myself, too.
It takes a second for me to wrap my head around what she’s asking of me. “All right. But you can’t just have me take the test. Anyone can fake it. We need to get another box, and you need to open it in front of your viewers.”
“Brilliant!” She jumps up as she rakes her nails along my arms. “Then I’ll go into the bathroom an indiscriminate amount of time and come out with the test that reads negative. Oh, thank you so much!” Her arms collapse around me as she pulls me in close for a hard embrace. For the life of me I can’t remember the last time Sunday and I might have hugged it out and sadly, even though I’m certain something of the sort happened that night at the frat house, I can’t quite remember that either. “I can’t thank you enough.” She pulls back, her lashes lined with tears as she works to blink them back. “Grab your keys. We’re going to Jepson.”
And I do. I drive Sunday and me out to the outer reaches of the city, and I’m stunned she trekked all the way out here to purchase the first test. She tells me all about the way she filled her shopping cart to the brim to hide the fact, and the cashier still called her out on it. I’d hate to say it, but she’s probably not the first Briggs’ girl to drive out to the edge of the earth to pick up a pregnancy test.
We head in and Sunday leads us right over to the most frightening section of them all—ironical
ly, the test kits are located just a hop and a skip from the condoms, and the irony isn’t lost on me. It’s something I’m pretty sure I should have manufactured that night. And who knows? In my drunken haze I could have shot three of them across the room like rubber bands. Hell if I know. It’s all still a beautiful blur. I ante up at the register, and we head back to the truck, back to Briggs without a word spilt between us.
I park in front of Cutler Tower, and we both stare at the building as if it were a menace.
“So, how do you want to do this?” I ask. “Does Trixie know?”
“Are you kidding? Telling Trixie is like shouting to my brother with a megaphone. Believe me, if she wasn’t dating my brother, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I’m all out of options, Seth.” She takes up my hand, and I can’t help but curl my lips into a depleted smile. “I’m sorry I’ve treated you so badly over the years. I swear, if I knew you were going to be the one who bailed me out of the biggest pickle of them all, I would have been kissing the soles of your feet long before now.”
My stomach clenches. There wouldn’t be a pickle if it weren’t for my—never mind.
“I’ll do whatever you need.”
Sunday invites me up, and I enter her dorm, taking in the hint of her perfume as it permeates the air.
“Okay, you go in there and do your thing.” She gives me a firm shove toward the bathroom. “I need to get live and do mine before too much time goes by. I’ll join you in a sec, and whatever you do, don’t make a sound.” She hands me the svelte pink stick and plucks off the cap. “Aim for this.” She touches the felt tip. “Soak it good.” She shrugs a bit. “And Seth?”
I turn around and take her in like this, worried, her lips quivering, and I hate myself for it.
A devious smile bounces on her lips. “If you’re knocked up, I won’t think too badly of you.”
“Very funny.” I head in and stare at the pink stick of defeat in my hands and an idea comes to me. I go ahead and do as I’m told, soaking the shit out of that felt tip and watch as the tiny window slowly morphs into a negative sign. And as ridiculous as it sounds, I’m a tiny bit relieved. The last thing I needed in this mindfuck of a day was to discover I’ve mutated into some biological wonder. I’m sure my dad would love to hear his son is knocked up.
Sunday’s mock enthusiasm floods in from underneath the door as she ratchets up her excitement. Footsteps head over, and there’s a slight bang on the door. I jump before letting her in.
“Why the hell did you lock the door?” Her forehead bursts into a series of worry lines as she hits the zenith of panic once again.
“I don’t know. It’s what I do when I take a piss.” I hand her the test. “Here you go. Maybe you should wait a minute, you know, make it look real.”
She bites down on her bottom lip as she looks at the results. “I guess you’re not going to be a dad.”
My stomach clenches. I know she’s trying to make light of the situation, but the jury is still out on that one. I take the stick back.
“What are you doing?” Her brows rise into her forehead.
“I’m not giving it to you.”
“What?” She swats me over the arms three times fast.
“Whoa, watch it. That’s my shooting arm. I need to be in top physical condition for my game.” I blink a quick smile, and any trace of one quickly drips off her face.
“Name your price and it’s yours.”
“Good. I want you to take the other test when you’re through.” I swallow hard. “And I want to be here for you.” My entire body turns into one giant heartbeat at the prospect of what the end result might be.
Her lips quiver as she struggles to smile. She gives a curt nod before snatching the stick back and heading out the door.
I lean against the wall and listen in as she reveals the stunning results—her words, not mine. And soon she’s laughing and bubbling with words, and she sounds exactly like the old Sunday I know and love.
Love. I shake my head at the thought. If I cared at all for her, I would never have let things get that far. And yet here we are. Me pissing on a pregnancy test—with Sunday next up at bat.
The door swings open again, and her shoulders sink as she presses out a smile. “We did it!” She pulls me in and touches her forehead to my chest. “They bought it.”
“They did? Good.” I swallow hard, knowing full well that unless that second test comes out with a giant line things won’t be good for long. I reach over on the sink and hand her the unused test. Her lids hang heavy as she eyes the pencil long menace. “Your turn.”
“I guess it is.” She looks up, her gaze steadying over mine. “You really want to know, huh?”
“Don’t you? I mean, I know it’s none of my business, but I thought maybe if you weren’t going to share the results with Trixie, you could share them with me. I can be your safe place.” Just like I kept her safe that night. “And if it’s negative, I’ll buy you a burger.” A part of me wants to tell her the offer still stands either way, but I’m terrified to admit defeat.
“I guess you should go then.” Tears steam down her face as she stares at the stick as if it were a loaded gun, and in a lot of ways it is.
I head out and take a seat on her bed, tossing up prayers I didn’t think I’d ever need. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to flunk a test so bad in my life—or anyone else to flunk for that matter.
Sunday scuttles out of the bathroom and takes a seat next to me, shaking the stick as if it were a thermostat.
“How long did you have to wait?”
“I don’t know, ten, thirty seconds?” I reach over and steady her hand from shaking, settling the test between us. The small window floods with color, washing itself a brilliant shade of purple before fading back to gray and then slowly, ever so much slower than anything I experienced, a thin blue line grows more vivid by the second.
“There you go.” My heart lets out a few violent wallops. “Negative.”
“It’s negative?” She draws the stick in closer to her, and we both bounce to our feet. “It’s negative!” she screams as she tackles me with a hug, and I squeeze her right back as we spin in a celebratory circle. “It’s over!” Her body bucks over mine as she laughs and cries all at once.
“It’s all over,” I pant as I land her back on the floor, fighting the urge to sneak in a victorious kiss over her lips.
Sunday brings the stick between us once again, and the celebratory smiles dissipate on cue. It looks as if that negative sign invited another line to the party.
The two of us don’t say a word. Instead, we stare at that stick as if it were an anvil that just dropped on our heads as one big fat positive sign stares back at us.
It’s not telling us anything we didn’t already fear, deep down inside.
Sunday is pregnant, and I’m the father.
Harboring a Fugitive
Sunday
Today’s To-Do List…
Hate Vlogging.
Hate people.
Hate chickens, boxes, and that foul root, garlic.
Avoid Rush and Nolan, thus avoiding death by fratricide.
Mine the ’net for ways to defuse the plague that has overtaken my body.
Sit in the corner and enjoy one hell of a pity party.
Repeat six.
I’m pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
My brothers will kill me. My father will disown me. My friends will want nothing to do with me once I begin waddling around campus like a penguin. My life as I know it is forever ruined and over. Done. My future just went up in pink and blue flames.
Seth and I stared at that stick an awful long time before I essentially thanked him for his bodily fluids and kicked him out. He looked desperately sad for me, and I really couldn’t handle that. The last thing I want or need is pity for how stupid I’ve been. I’ve made a life choice, and now I need to live with it—and him or her. The end.
A week sails by and then a few days after that u
ntil we’re right on top of Valentine’s Day. Seth has invited me out to his games, but as fun as that sounds, I’m just not up for it. Trixie goes, of course, because Rush is playing, but since the two of them still think I’m battling this wicked flu, neither has bothered to ask me to tag along. Thankfully.
I did somehow manage to fool my viewers with that bait-and-switch urine analysis, and I couldn’t be happier, but sooner or later—like, say in nine months—the truth will come out. I’m still so confused over everything that’s happened. It’s all I can do to keep my head in my books. I’m barely passing my classes as it stands. Not only is my attention span down to nil, but my nausea is downright debilitating on most days. I tried to ask a few of my professors if I could just read the books and show up for exams, and they surprisingly said it was fine as long as I had a doctor’s note. I don’t even have a doctor, and I’m pretty sure if you’re expecting a baby, a doctor is a key element in landing your future bundle into the world safely.
It’s another big game night, and the dorm is empty. Seth is playing, so he won’t be texting for a while. He’s been so sweet and attentive you’d think he were the father. Instead of sitting around and waiting for the toilet bowl to seduce me again, I snap up my purse and head to the Black Bear. If there’s one person who knows a thing or two about having a baby—or what to do about one in general, it’s Izzy. I’ve already texted and asked her to meet me there, and she said it was no problem. I’m pretty sure she thinks we’re about to discuss that makeover I promised her at the wedding, and I do plan on keeping my word. Just like I plan on keeping my word regarding that hundreds of thousands I inadvertently owe the homeless shelter down in Jepson. Wow, when I screw up, I really go big.
Reckless Kisses Page 6