Page 303 of What We Brave
I step in behind him. Lean against the door until it clicks shut. Cross my arms.
Laine looks at us. Two grown men taking up every square inch of a bathroom built for one.
"Turn around."
We turn our heads toward the shower tile.
Foil ripping. The click of plastic. A pause that stretches too long. "Sing a song."
"What song?" Most of the music I listen to doesn't have words. I don't know any songs with words.
"Any song. It doesn't matter. I just need it to be loud."
Thank fuck for Reid. He starts howling 'Happy Birthday' at the top of his lungs. Turns out I do know the words to that song.
"Done," she says through the last line, and we stop. My ears are fucking ringing.
I turn back. She's setting a small white stick face-down on the vanity next to the soap dispenser. She pulls out her phone. Opens the timer.
Three minutes.
She hits start.
2:59.
Reid's knee starts bouncing against the side of the tub. He bites his thumbnail. "You'd think with modern technology this would be instant. We put a man on the moon."
"Chemistry takes time," Laine says.
"What if it's defective?"
"It's not defective."
"The bag was crumpled."
"The bag being crumpled doesn't affect the hCG antibody strips, Reid."
"You don't know?—"
"I literally do know that. That is exactly the kind of thing I know."
2:12.
"What if it's a false positive? Those happen. What percentage?—"
"Less than one percent with this brand."
"But not zero."
"Not zero."
1:45.
He's spiraling out. But he'll be fine. My girl looks on the verge of a panic attack. I push off the door. Step behind Laine. Wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back against my chest. Rest my chin on the top of her head.
My heart is hammering. She can feel it — I know she can, because her hands come up to cover my forearms and she holds on.
Hold it together.
