The House

“From stomach flu, not a baby.” She was annoyed at her mother's casual and obviously inept diagnosis.

“Why don't you check it out. These days that's very easy.”

“I know what I've got. I have the Asian flu, or consumption or something. Everyone at the office has it.”

“It was just a thought. All right, then go to the doctor.”

“I am. In the morning.” She lay in bed afterward, annoyed at what her mother had said, and silently calculating. Her period was two days late, but that often happened to her when she got sick. She wasn't even worried. Or she hadn't been, until she talked to her mother. Now she was, and she lay in bed thinking about it. That would be truly awful. It was the last thing she wanted. She had a great life, a terrific career, a man she loved, a wonderful house. And she did not want a baby.

She got so nervous about it finally that she got up, dressed, and drove to the nearest drugstore, where she bought a pregnancy test. Jeff wasn't home yet. Feeling stupid for even doing it, she followed the directions, did the test, left it on her sink, went back to bed, and turned on the TV. She'd almost forgotten about it half an hour later, and went back to her bathroom to see what the results were. She knew they were going to be not pregnant. She had been careful all her life, and aside from one or two scares when she was in college, she had never played baby roulette. She wasn't on the Pill. But with rare exceptions, she and Jeff were always careful, except at the right time of month, when she knew she had no worries.

She picked up the test with a smug look, glanced at it, looked again, and then fumbled in the garbage for the instructions. There were two lines on the test, and she suddenly couldn't remember if there were supposed to be one or two if she wasn't pregnant. The diagram stated it clearly so anyone could read it. One line, not pregnant. Two lines, pregnant. She looked again. Two lines. There was a mistake. It was a false positive. The test was defective. There was a second test in the box, so she used it. This time she stood tapping her foot, with a knot in her stomach, staring at herself in the mirror while she waited. She looked awful. This was ridiculous. She wasn't pregnant. She was dying. She glanced at her watch, then looked at the test. Two lines again. She stared at herself in the mirror again and saw herself go sheet white.

“Oh my God…oh my GOD! This isn't happening!” she shouted at the mirror. “I AM NOT !” But the test said she was. She threw both of them in the garbage, and then walked around her bathroom with her arms crossed, hugging herself. This was the worst news of her life. “SHIT!” she shouted out loud, and as she did, Jeff walked into the bathroom, looking worried. He had just come home from the office. Her mother was right.

“Are you okay? Were you talking to someone?” He thought maybe she was on the phone. She looked awful.

“No. No. I'm fine.” She brushed past him, went back to bed, and dug herself under the covers.

“Do you want to go to the hospital? Do you feel that bad?”

“I feel worse,” she said, nearly shouting at him.

“Then let's go. Don't wait till tomorrow, you'll just get sicker. You probably need antibiotics.” He was of the old school that still believed they cured all. He had been urging her to get some all week.

“I don't need antibiotics,” she said, glaring at him.

“Is something wrong? I mean other than that you're sick?” He felt sorry for her. The poor thing had been feeling awful for two weeks. It was depressing. But aside from that, he thought she was acting a little psycho. “How high is your fever?”

“I'm pregnant.” There was no point hiding it from him. She would have to tell him sooner or later. He just stared at her as though he didn't understand what she'd said. Neither did she.

“What?”

“I'm pregnant.” She started to cry as she said it. Her life was over. This was a nightmare. She still felt sick. In fact, she felt worse. He sat down on the foot of the bed.

“Are you serious?” He didn't know what else to say. He could see that she did not consider this good news. She looked like she was about to jump off the roof.

“No, I'm kidding. I always kid about suicidal events in my life. Of course I'm serious. How the hell did that happen? We're always so careful. We never slip.”

“Yes, we do,” he said honestly.

“Well, not at the wrong time. I'm not stupid. I know better than that. And so do you.”

He was thinking back, and suddenly looked sheepish. “I think it might have happened the night of your grandmother's wedding.”

“No, it didn't. We went right to sleep.”

“We woke up in the middle of the night,” he corrected her. “I think you may have been half asleep …I didn't force myself on you,” he said, looking unhappy. “We just kind of… did it… and went back to sleep.” She did a rapid calculation, and groaned audibly. That had to be it. If they had wanted to plan it, they couldn't have hit it better. Or in this case, worse.

“Was I out of my mind? How much did I have to drink?”