Match Me

Chapter 17

I sat cross-legged on my living room floor and stared at the deck of cards in front of me.

I knew what I was going to ask my tarot cards. Should I test?

Because the AccuTest boxes sat next to me on the floor, waiting to be opened and peed on. It had been six hours since my almost-arrest and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do it. Not because I couldn’t pee. I’d drank two diet Cokes and a glass of water. And every time I’d slipped into the bathroom, I tried to take a test with me. And failed.

I needed moral support. I needed Jill.

For the hundredth time, I picked up my phone and started typing a text. And for the hundredth time, I closed it out, unsent. I wasn’t ready for her wrath. I wasn’t ready for her judgment. And I wasn’t ready for her common sense. I wasn’t ready for anything.

Someone pounded on my door and I groaned. I should have known she would come by, should have known the best-friend radar would kick in. It was like I emitted some secret Bat Signal that told her I was in trouble.

“Come in,” I called, defeated. I cradled my head in my hands, not even bothering to hide the tests.

“Headache?” Paul asked. “Is that a symptom, too?”

I jerked into an upright position. “What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come in.”

“I thought you were Jill.”

“Nope.” He strolled toward me, his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes zeroed in on the tests. “You haven’t…?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He sat down on the couch. “OK. Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to know.”

Paul shook his head. “What? You think if you don’t test, you won’t be pregnant?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I was hoping for.

“Look, you need to know,” he said. “So you can prepare. Decide what you’re gonna do.”

I couldn’t believe I was sitting on my living room floor, having a conversation about pregnancy with Paul. My pregnancy. Why was he so interested? What did it matter to him? We hadn’t slept together.

He motioned to the deck. “Distracting yourself with solitaire?”

“No.” I smiled. “Tarot.”

“And how does that work?”

I never did complicated spreads with my tarot cards. I didn’t know how. I’d occasionally do a three-card spread but usually, I just formulated a question and then pulled a card to read the answer. Pulling cards rarely helped, but I loved the idea of tarot cards, of finding inspiration and answers hidden within a mysterious deck.

I told him.

He nodded. “OK.” He shifted off the couch and settled himself next to me. “So ask your question.”

“I’m trying.”

“There is no try,” he said, his voice Yoda-like. “Only do.”

“Greatest misquote of Star Wars,” I said. “’Do or do not. There is no try.’”

“Actually, it was The Empire Strikes Back. But whatever. You know what I mean.”

I did.

I sighed. “OK. I’ll ask.”

He leaned in. “So how does it work? Do you ask the question in your head or out loud or…?”

“I usually say it out loud. So I know what the question is. But usually I’m alone so that someone doesn’t interrupt me with a million freaking questions.”

“You want me to leave?”

Oddly, I didn’t. I didn’t want to be alone when I found out. “No. It’s okay.”

He nodded. “Right. OK. Do it then.”

“So, I’m thinking, should I test?”

He smacked his forehead. “No. No, that isn’t a question that’s negotiable. It’s not a question with multiple potential answers.”

When I didn’t say anything, he said, “Maybe you should ask why you’re afraid to test.”

I already knew that. I was afraid to pee on the stick because I might be pregnant. Duh. But I was terrified because it opened up a whole different can of worms.

Telling the father.

Chase.

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