Page 40 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“I don’t feel good,” I say, feeling like her baby sister complaining of a tummy ache.
“I can see that.” She plucks the tea thermos from my hand as I step in. “Nausea?”
I nod. “I’m probably just overtired.”
“You do not have a weak stomach, Casey. In fact, you might have a stronger one than I do. I have seen you drive yourself without sleep for days. It doesn’t make you nauseous.”
“Maybe food poisoning.”
“When was your last period?”
My eyes fill, and I stumble to the nearest chair and drop into it. Tears fall, and I rub them away as humiliation fills me. We don’t cry in my family, and I definitely don’t cry around April.
“Casey?” she says, and her voice is almost soft.
She moves forward and hesitates there, as if she feels an obligation to embrace me.
“I fucked up,” I whisper.
“How?”
I manage a wan smile. Anyone else would assure me I haven’t. April wants the details before she’ll assess culpability.
I look up at her. My sister is five years older than me. We’re often mistaken for half sisters, because—despite the fact that we share the same parents—she looks white and I do not. I’ve come to realize that bothers her more than it does me. She feels as if half of her heritage has been erased, letting her blend into the dominant population. I won’t pretend I fully understand, but it is yet another wedge that drove us apart as children.
“When I missed a few days of my pill,” I say.
She frowns. “Yes. I remember that. But it didn’t seem to be at the right time of your cycle, which is why I told you not to worry about it. However, I’m not a gynecologist, so…”
I find that tiny smile again. “I shouldn’t have listened to you?”
“There was nothing to listen to. It was already too late for a morning-after pill. If you are pregnant now, then you will have decisions to make.”
Here’s one thing I love about my sister. Her pragmatism. Whatever medical decisions I made about a pregnancy would be my choice, with zero judgment, because it really is a medical decision.
I shake my head. “I want that right and that choice, but it’s not for me.”
“Unless there is a medical reason to consider it, such as the fact that you may not be able to carry to term, and it would endanger your health.”
I say nothing.
“Casey?” Her voice sharpens in that way I know indicates distress. “If your health was in danger—”
“We’re jumping the gun. I haven’t taken the test. That’s why I’m here.”
“I’m not sure how necessary it is. You missed a few days of your contraceptive. Now your period is late and you’re nauseated upon waking. There is a reason it’s called morning sickness.”
“Can I just get the test, April?”
“You should have sought answers to your gynecological questions years ago, Casey. At the very least, you should have sought them once you became serious about Eric. You’ve been together for—”
“Can we not, please, April?”
“If the problem is that you cannot carry a fetus to term, then there were decisions to be made—”
“April.” I meet her gaze. “Whether I’m pregnant or not, I will get those answers, okay?”
The clinic front door bangs open. Then a loud rap sounds at the door into the exam room.
