Match Me

Chapter 15

Jill left and I crumpled to the floor. Literally, like a sack of potatoes. Mentally, I tried to do the math. My period was like clockwork. 28 days, never fail.

Maybe I’d screwed up. Math had never been my strong suit. I thought about last month, tried to remember the day I started, came up with what I thought was right. And added 28 days.

I should have started Monday night. Tuesday morning at the latest. And it was Saturday.

I was five days late.

The nausea rose up and I panicked. Oh my God. I pulled at my waistband. Tight. The fainting? The not wanting to eat? The chocolate cravings? Were those pregnancy symptoms?

I grabbed my computer and opened my browser. Googling “pregnancy symptoms” brought up ten million hits. And every single one of them listed my symptoms.

Panic, panic, panic. My heart revved like a motorcycle. What the hell was I going to do?

My phone buzzed. Of all the people who could possibly call me at that moment, it was the one person I couldn’t talk to.

My mother.

I let the call roll over to voice mail. It buzzed again. She was calling back.

A new panic set in. What was wrong with my parents?

I answered.

“Bonnie!”

“Mom. What’s wrong?”

The phone crackled. “That’s why I’m calling.”

“What?” I gripped the phone tighter. Did she contract the ebola virus? Was Vern mauled by a hippo? Those things happened on African safaris. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“You tell me,” she said, her voice high-pitched through the static. “You’re the one who crashed a wedding.”

How had she found out? She was halfway across the globe in some remote African country. She’d told me which one but world geography wasn’t my strong suit, either.

Silence.

“Bonnie?” She sounded like she was in a tunnel. If there were tunnels on safari. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Talk to me.”

What was I supposed to say? That not only had I crashed my ex’s wedding, but now it looked like I was pregnant, too?

“I didn’t crash it,” I said. “I just sorta showed up. Um, uninvited.”

“I think that’s called crashing, dear.” Her sigh traveled the receiver loud and clear. “Should we come home? Call off the trip? Are you…are you depressed?”

My mother read Readers Digest religiously. Took every article to heart, knew every sob story there was. Three years ago, an entire issue had been dedicated to depression. She’d memorized every sign, every symptom, and was convinced they had manifested in me.

No. I was on the verge of an anxiety-induced mental breakdown but I was not depressed.

“No, Mom,” I told her. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She sounded doubtful. “We’re heading into Etosha. But we can cancel. Come home early.”

“Etosha? Is that one of those new countries in Africa?” I asked.

“It’s a park. In Namibia.”

“Is Namibia a new country?”

“It’s been an independent country since 1990, dear.”

“Oh.”

“Talk to me.” She paused. “Or call our health insurance company. There are some very good counselors available…”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I didn’t need counselors. I needed a miracle. I reached for the pillow next to me on the couch and held it over the phone. “I think our connection is–”

I pressed the End Call button and hung up.

 ☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

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