Hatchetfield and Friends

8 - Everything Is Not Okay

Emma felt her insides turn to liquid as she held the small little stick in her hand. Panic bubbled and her throat closed, she felt a hot tear slip down her cheek.

"Emma, I'm home!" Paul called from the living room.

She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Emma collapsed on the ground, her legs betraying her. She pressed her back against the bathroom door and tried to breathe.

When was she going to tell Paul? Was she going to tell Paul? No, she couldn't keep something like this from him. They'd been working on telling each other things, being honest, opening up. But this...this was a little different. She was pregnant. She had a tiny life in her stomach, no bigger than a poppyseed.

Was she going to kill it? No, no it's not killing because it isn't even alive. Too soon.

"Emma?" There was a knock at the bathroom door.

Emma wipes her eyes with shaky hands. She stands up, unlocks the door, and turns the knob.

"Are you okay?" Paul's eyes were filled with concern as he stared into her eyes.

"Just a rough day at work." Not quite a lie.

"You sure?"

Emma offers him a smile and nods her head, Paul pulling her into a hug.

"Um, I should make us some dinner," Emma sniffles, pulling away.

"I can try to make us something, you can just relax-"

"Paul, no. You touch that stove and I'll shove the damn bandages up your ass," Emma retorts. "You remember what happened last time?"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Paul sighs. "I promise not to touch the stove. But what are you making for dinner?"

"Grilled cheese and tomato soup," Emma answers with a smile.

"Wow, can't even trust me to make that," Paul scoffs.

"Can't take any chances."

Not with a child in her stomach. Emma and him hadn't even put a label on their relationship yet, how was she supposed to tell him that she was pregnant?

"Alright Em, but if you burn the sandwich or curdle the soup I get to make dinner tomorrow night," Paul declares.

"Hah, this is a classic dish. No one could screw this up, it's like the number one thing you make for kids babysitting," Emma scoffs, reaching for the butter and cheese.

"If no one can screw it up then why can't I make it," Paul asks, raising his eyebrow.

"Because even if you could make it, you'd probably injure yourself in the process," Emma giggles.

She turns on the stove and places the bread on the stove. She grabs the can of soup and yanks it open.

"The real question here is, do you make tomato soup with milk or water?" Emma gives Paul a suspicious look.

"Water, of course," he replies nonchalantly.

"You monster! If you use water, you're dead to me. I don't care if you're lactose intolerant, tomato soup is to be used with milk, it makes it more creamy."

"You're crazy, it takes away the tomato flavor. That's the whole point of the soup!"

Emma sighs and shakes her head. "Just go sit down so I don't...accidently burn your sandwich."

Emma flipped and stirred, making sure she didn't leave anything unattended so she could show Paul. To what she was showing him was unclear, but she'd do it.

As her mind wandered, she found herself emersed in thoughts of her situation. Her terrifying, stressful, life-changing situation.

"Emma! Emma!" Paul shouted, shaking her arm.

Emma turned to face him, her bowl of soup cold and her sandwich untouched. When had she finsished making that?

"Okay, you have to tell me what's wrong," Paul persisted. "I care about you."

Emma felt another wave of emotions roll over her. Tears pricked her eyes, but she fought hard to keep them in.

"Paul, you have to promise you won't get mad or upset or...just please." Her voice came out a whisper.

"I doubt I could ever really be mad at you, Em. Please, tell me what's wrong. I want you to trust me, I want to help you, I love-"

Paul froze. Emma stopped breathing.

"You...love me?"

"I-I guess so? I do."

"I'm pregnant."