A Bump in the Road (5 page)

9:30
P.M.

Oh gee, darn it. I think I just got my period. Man, I hate when that happens. Wouldn’t you know it, I don’t even have a tampon in my purse. I hope they have a vending machine in the bathroom.

9:36
P.M.

Fuck.

1:35
A.M
.

I bet the antibiotics are the reason I missed it. They killed a bunch of bacteria in my body and I bet they killed some period stuff, too.

I went shopping with Julie yesterday. I should’ve been warming up my credit cards for their ass-kicking but instead spent the morning lying in bed, trying to ignore the acid churning in my stomach.

I kept telling myself to forget it and tell fabulous stories and have a fantastic time with Julie because when I finally
do
get my period, not only will I breathe a sigh of relief, I will have a wardrobe full of new clothes.

Or something like that.

2:00
P.M.

I arrived at Julie’s apartment and knocked on the door. She let me in, flame red hair piled on top of her head, wearing bubble gum pink Juicy Couture sweatpants and a black bra.

“Hey, baby! Sorry, I’m running late as usual! I got hung up at work.” She threw her arms around me and gestured for me to come inside. “You look fucking amazing! Love the top!”

“Thanks,” was all I could squeak out, seeing as how thoughts of diapers and baby bottles still danced through my cerebral cortex.

“Just give me a sec and I’ll be ready.” She bounded down the hallway to get changed, her enormous boobs bouncing everywhere.

“Your hair looks great. Did you just get it colored?” I yelled after her.

“Yep. Every six weeks at two hundred bucks a pop is a fucking nightmare but the color fades so fast. I would be a millionaire if I just gave up and went blond like every other bitch in this city.”

I sank down on her IKEA couch and slowly took in the comfort of Julie’s place. Her apartment still looks like a college student’s—full bar, martini glasses, IKEA coffee table covered in
US Weekly
and
InStyle
, heels scattered on the floor, and media cabinet full of Julia Roberts movies. It’s perfect.

“So what was going on at work?”

“Car accident plus multiple injuries equals a packed ER,” she yelled from her bedroom.

“Sounds awful.”

“It was. Good news: Hot Dr. Ben was on call so I got to stare at his ass while he stitched up a patient’s laceration.”

“At least it worked out.”

“For me. Not so much for the patient. He’s in pretty bad shape, poor guy.” Julie appeared in front of me, arms outstretched, sporting enormous cleavage. “Too much boobage?”

“Possibly, considering it’s not even happy hour.”

“Sweetie, happy hour isn’t a time, it’s a state of mind.”

I managed a weak laugh, fully expecting her to bust me and ask what was wrong, but her phone beeped and she opened it up and smiled.

“Who’s it from?”

“Mark. Saying thanks for the hot sex last night.”

“What?”

“Relax. I’m kidding.”

“You’d better be. We’ve discussed that many, many times.”

“C’mon, Clare, just once?”

“Sorry, no. You can’t sleep with my brother.”

“I swear I have nothing but honorable intentions.”

“Julie, he’s looking for a nice girl, not one who will sneak out in the morning before the sun comes up.”

“Clearly you haven’t heard his college stories.”

I knew I couldn’t hide my gloominess forever, so on the walk over to Michigan Avenue I initiated Julie’s favorite game: Remember the Time When . . .

Me: “Remember the time, sophomore year, when you did the Walk of Shame at eight in the morning after that Bikers and Babes party and you walked through a group of pre-frosh with their parents touring campus?”

Julie: “Remember the time, freshman year, at the Sigma house, when some guy hit on you while you were peeing in a bush outside? What did he say? Oh, I know, ‘I’ve never kissed a girl while she was peeing,’ and then he leaned down and stuck his gross tongue in your mouth?”

Me: “Or the time Reese’s mom found a list we made of our hookups, written in code so it said things like ‘Sigma Pee Boy.’ She thought we not only slept with all those guys, but couldn’t remember their names so we had to make up nicknames for them?”

Silence.

Julie: “Reese. God.”

Me: “Oh, look! We’re here.”

3:00
P.M.

“. . . so fucking hot and his lips are amazing. He’s so hot I’d sit on his face on a Sunday.” Julie rambled on about her ongoing lust for Hot Dr. Ben. By this point, she’d already bought two pairs of boots, a pair of gold chandelier earrings, and four cute camisoles, and all I’d bought was a latte.

“Oh, and did I tell you I have another strange coworker?”

Happy for the distraction, I said, “Really? Do tell. I love your coworker stories.”

“He’s another nurse but can’t seem to stop touching his crotch. Like, I’ll ask him what he did last night and he’ll shift his dong with every other word. He even pulses it a little, like he’s humping the air, when he talks to people.”

“That’s disgusting. Shouldn’t you say something to your hiring manager or something?”

“What the hell for? It’s entertaining. He loves—Hey!” She stopped and looked at me. “Why haven’t you bought anything yet?” She stared suspiciously at my empty hands.

I’d lost the will to spend all of my rent money when I saw a display of maternity clothes in the first store we visited. I knew I needed to buy something immediately. I desperately reached out and grabbed whatever my hand connected with first and blurted out, “I’m so buying this.”

Julie looked at me strangely. “That?”

I looked down and realized I had grabbed a
very
unflattering pink hair bow.

“Um, yeah. Hair bows are back in,” I mumbled.

After I purchased my stylish accessory, Julie decided she needed some new bras so we headed over to Victoria’s Secret. I moped around the store, wishing I was home and curled up in bed.

“Clare. Clare—come here,” Julie called from one of the dressing rooms.

“What?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t going to show me a thong or something.

“Can you get me the cute flower bra in a bigger size? My nipples are showing in this one.”

“I guess so,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could scrape together.

She poked her head but thankfully not her nipples out from behind the door. “What’s wrong? Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you bought anything? Didn’t you say you wanted something for your anniversary?” She stared at me with narrowed eyes.

“Sex is bad. Highly overrated. With dire consequences.”

“What?”

“It’s bad, Jules,” I said, shaking my head and staring at the floor. I couldn’t even make eye contact with her; I was afraid I’d dissolve into the pink-carpeted floor.

“What? You’re getting divorced, aren’t you?” She opened the door and stepped out of the dressing room—thong, too-small bra, nipples showing, and all. A guy noticed, choked on his gum, and dropped a bottle of perfume.

“Maybe we should go in here.” I pushed her back into the dressing room and closed the door behind us.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing but I’m really worried and I don’t want you to freak out or anything.”

“What?”

“My freaking period is late, OK?” I threw my hands up.

“Oh, God! That’s it? I thought you were having an affair or something.” She threw her arms around me. “I mean, that totally sucks but it’s no biggie, right? Just a fluke.”

“Um, yeah. I’m just freaking out.”

“You’re still on the pill, right?”

“Yeah, but I was on antibiotics.”

She waved her hands around. “That is such crap. You’re totally fine. I mean, it’s like that time that—”

“I know, I know. Hey, Jules?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go out there because the fact I’m having this conversation while I can see your nipples is disturbing me.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I stepped out of the dressing room and took the black rain cloud with me. A few minutes later, Julie walked out.

“Shopping trip is over,” she said.

“What? Why?”

“We have other things to do.”

“Is this because of what I said? Just forget it. I’m sure it’s nothing. I swear, I’ll buy something.”

“I
know
it’s nothing. That’s why we’re going to get you one of those tests so you can relax.”

“No way. I’m not ready for that.”

“Are you ready to drink wine and smoke cigarettes?”

“Always, what’s your point?”

“Well, my dear, that’s exactly what we’re going to do once you take that test and life can go on.”

“I just don’t think I can,” I said.

“I’ll even take one with you.”

“That’s crazy. You didn’t even miss your period.”

“No crazier than you freaking out, since you’re totally fine.”

“Well, I—”

“Shut up. We’re doing it,” she said.

4:00
P.M.

“Look at how expensive they are. No way. I’m not doing this. I can’t afford it.” I tried to walk away from the Scary Aisle in Walgreens and over to the fun section to buy some nail polish, but Julie grabbed my elbow and yanked me back in front of the pregnancy tests.

“I saw you buy a pair of boots last month that cost the equivalent of forty of these tests. Now’s not the time to be the girl who cried poor, OK?”

I thought,
Why? Why did I have to tell her? Why couldn’t I be trying on lingerie or jeans right now instead of profusely sweating in a drug store?

“Fine. You pick one,” I finally said as I wiped my hands on my jeans. She squinted at all eight million options and picked one out.

“Here! This one says ‘early result.’ This way there will be no doubt in your mind.”

Great, just what I’m looking for—concrete answers.

“Whatever,” I mumbled as I grabbed it from her and headed toward the cashier. I picked up a few fashion magazines and some gum to hopefully distract the cashier from thinking I’m a Big Pregnant Ho. I also made sure to use my left hand to scratch my nose a few times so he would see my wedding ring. I thought the first time I bought a pregnancy test would be a time when it was something I’d be hoping for, not praying against like a knocked-up high school student.

Maybe Julie is right. Maybe I’ll be drinking martinis and laughing about this in an hour
.

An hour later, we were back at my place.

“Did you do it right?” Julie asked casually, sipping a vodka martini.

“How should I know? I’ve never done this before.” I tried to grab the other martini next to her on the table but she slid it away.

“Oh, no. Not yet. This is for after you get your negative and the world can go back to revolving.” She took another big swig of her drink. “God, can you imagine if you are?”

“Julie! What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, whatever. I can say it since you aren’t, but what if you are? What would you do?”

“There wouldn’t be anything to
do
. Except completely flip out.”

“Yeah. Your life would pretty much be over. You’d have to wear high-waisted mom jeans and spend your paycheck on diapers.”

“Julie!”

“Just kidding. Can you imagine?”

“I thought you said I’m not so I shouldn’t even worry about it!” I cried out.

“I know! You’re not—don’t worry. Has it been two minutes yet?”

I glanced at the clock, wondering if 5:24 would become a significant moment.

“Yeah.”

“Well, go look,” she said.

“I can’t. I think I’m frozen. You do it.”

“Fine, drama queen.” She rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool and disappeared into the bathroom.

I tried to take a deep breath and calm down but grabbed the martini glass instead and took a big swig. I figured one more swallow wouldn’t hurt.

There was dead silence as Julie came out of the bathroom.

She held the test and stared at it.

“Where’s the box?” she said in this weird, almost nonhuman voice.

“Why? What is it?” I said, my voice shaking.

“The box! The box it came in. Where is it?” That voice again.

“I don’t know, it’s in the garbage or something. WHY? WHAT IS GOING ON?” I reached for the test and she jerked her arm away. “Give it to me.”

She just stared at me.

“Give me the fucking test.”

She slowly extended her arm and handed me the test. I looked down and saw two pink lines.

Oh, God
.

I started gagging.

“Clare! Get to the sink!” Julie rushed me over to the kitchen.

A million thoughts ran in my head in between heaves.

How could this have happened?

Bleech.

What did I do wrong?

Bleech.

Does this mean I have to stop drinking?

Bleech.

“It’s OK, hon. It will be fun! Designer diaper bags and all. And Seven! Seven jeans! Maternity jeans! Just came out! Coincidence? I think not! You’ll be super skinny still! You’ll probably be smaller than me when you deliver! I should lend you some of my clothes to wear as maternity clothes!” Julie blabbered on, rat-a-tat-tatting like a jackhammer.