Page 268 of What We Become

“How about one cup of pee?” he suggests, taking a paper cup from his magic bag. “One urination event. Then we dip all these bad boys inside. We’re not leaving this to the blue-dye demons.”

“Milo.”

“Statistically responsible, kitten.”

Holden drags a hand over his face. “I hate that he’s probably right.”

“I’m always right. People just resent the packaging.”

Micah reaches out and squeezes my hand once. “Do you want to go alone?”

I look at him, and a possibility I haven’t let myself consider catches up with me.

What if I’m not pregnant—and I’m disappointed?

Am I ready for this?

“Um . . . Will you come with me?”

His face softens. “Yeah, baby girl. Of course.”

Milo presses three boxes and the cup into Micah’s chest like a quartermaster arming a landing party. “Digital, pink dye, and early detection. Covering all our bases.”

“You packed them in order of accuracy, didn’t you?” Holden asks.

Milo lifts his chin. “Obviously.”

Micah takes the tests. I stand on legs that feel weirdly remote, like they belong to somebody else, and Eli’s hand slides down my back as I pass him, brief and grounding.

“Breathe,” he murmurs.

“You say that like I’m not already doing it.”

“You’re doing it badly,” Holden says.

I point at him without looking back. “If I’m pregnant, I’m making you read every baby book out loud as punishment.”

“Happy to,” he says immediately, which makes my heart swell.

Micah walks beside me down the short hall, quiet in that way he gets when he’s giving me room without actually leaving me alone. The bathroom door clicks shut behind us. For one second we stand there—me staring at the sink, him holding three boxes of possible life changes like they’re explosives.

“This is surreal,” I say.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. “It is.”

I laugh once. It sounds thin, weird. “I keep a list of the men I’ve killed. I can say it in order.” I look at the counter. “Somehow this is scarier.”

Micah sets the tests and the cup on the counter. Then he comes up behind me, his hands landing at my hips, warm through the flannel, and he rests his chin lightly on my shoulder.

“You don’t have to be brave for this,” he murmurs.

“That’s unfortunate, because I don’t know how to be anything else when I’m panicking.”

His mouth brushes my temple. “Then panic. I’ll stay.”

My eyes sting for no reason I’m interested in discussing. I swallow hard and nod at the counter. “Okay. Hand me the cup. I’ll pee while you read about the tiny sticks that’ll determine my fate.”

He passes me the cup, then opens the boxes, checking the instructions while I watch him in the mirror.