Page 115 of Falling for Her

FINLEY

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

I put the cup down on the bathroom counter before I pick up the white paper with instructions: Remove the cap from the test stick. I pull the pink cap off. “That’s easy enough.” I look down at the test in my hand. “Now what?” I put it down and pick up the instructions again: Place the absorbent tip in your urine stream for five seconds or—I scan the paper—twenty seconds if it’s in a cup. I pick it up again. “I don’t know if there is a chant or something I have to do.” I inhale deeply and say, “Here goes nothing.” I close my eyes once and put the tip in the cup. “We’re going to do thirty seconds just to be safe,” I mumble to myself, taking out my phone and starting the timer for forty-five seconds, “to be really safe.” I continue reading the instructions: Replace cap. “Okay, then what?” I huff out. “This is taking forever.” I switch to the pictures now to see what the next steps are instead of reading them: Wait for one to five minutes according to the test.

I put the paper down and stare at the cup of my urine on the counter. My finger taps it. I check my phone, watching the numbers tick down. I start the ten-second countdown as if I’m counting down the fucking New Year. The phone beeps on the counter as I take the test out of the cup and put the cap back on it.

I pour the leftover urine down the toilet and then take out the antibacterial spray and clean down the counter before I walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The sun is shining into the window as I look over at the bed that I just fixed. So much has changed since I first walked into this house, including how I make the bed. Who knew how therapeutic it was to fix your bed every single day?

The test is in my hand as I walk down to the living room, as if it’s a bomb ready to detonate. I think about getting myself something to drink, but instead I sit on the couch and put the test on the table in front of me. I kick off my slippers and curl my feet under me. The tears come, and I’m not prepared. I try to exhale, but it just makes the tears come on faster.

My eyes never leaving the test on the table, I try to calm my heartbeat, but it just speeds up more. My head feels like it’s in the middle of a tornado, where everything is being tossed around and then spit out.

Outside, a car door slams and boots thud up the front steps. The front door opens and is slammed shut.

“Finley!” I hear him shout. It happens so fast, I don’t have time to fix myself. He stops mid-step, his eyes on mine. “What’s wrong?” His voice is soft as he takes one more step toward me. “Why are you crying?”

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working and, I don’t know, saving people from whatever they need saving from?” My voice goes higher at the end.

“I was saving people,” he says calmly. “But I went by the barn to drop off the new green drink that Everleigh was making for you. They said you called in sick.”

“I didn’t call in sick,” I defend myself. “I just said I was going to be there tomorrow.”

“That means the same thing.” He takes another step. “Now do you want to tell me why you’re sitting in the middle of our living room with tears running down your face?”

“Not really.” I hope he doesn’t look at the table.

“Are you hurt?” Worry is etched all over his face.

“Not really.” I sniffle and use the back of my hand to wipe my cheek.

“Are you having second thoughts?” The pain in his voice makes my heart break a little bit more.

“No.” I shake my head at the same time as I say, “Never.”

“So, then what is it?” He moves deeper into the living room, coming to sit next to me. “Whatever it is, we can talk about it.”

“I’m not sure about that.” My eyes accidentally slip toward the test and then back to him, and I see his eyes follow mine. Then they look like they are about to come out of their sockets.

“Is that . . . ? Is that what I think it is?”

“That depends.” I swallow the lump that has now formed in my throat. “What do you think it is?”

“Finley.” He says my name, and just like all the other times, it feels like a big bear hug, but in a good way and not like I’m being mauled to death.

“What?” I’m so nervous, I feel like I’m going to throw up and then have a heart attack at the same time. “I don’t know what you think it is. It could be a cooking utensil or a wand or⁠—”

He cuts me off mid-sentence, knowing that I’m just babbling at this point. “Is it a pregnancy test?”

“So you do know what that is?” I put my hand on his, and he turns his hand over to link our fingers together.

“Why are you taking a pregnancy test?” His thumb rubs mine gently.

“I didn’t feel so good yesterday when I got to work, but I thought it was just because you made me that sausage-and-egg croissant and I overate. So I ignored it and started riding, and then I started feeling more and more nauseated. Which then had me think maybe you poisoned me at breakfast.” He rolls his eyes. “One can never be too careful, Lincoln. Anyways, I walked inside to grab a glass of water, and Charlie was there eating a sandwich, and I barely made it to the bathroom. When I came out, he was joking with me that I was probably pregnant. I laughed because, well, that can’t be, can it? I’m on the pill.”

“We do have a lot of sex.” His eyebrows go up.

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” I push his hand away from mine, but he just takes my hand back. “It’s all your fault.”