backup birth control.
She dropped the pen on the calendar and sat back, pushing trembling fingers through the thick fall of her hair.
What am I going to do if I’m pregnant?
Her hand pressed against her belly in an instinctive, protective gesture.
Her one night of incredible passion with Jorge might have consequences that would alter her life forever. Not to mention her body.
She tilted her chin down and stared assessingly at her torso. She couldn’t discern any changes—her abdomen was as flat as usual.
But if she were pregnant, the shape of her body wouldn’t stay the same for long. She’d seen lots of pregnant women come and go through the doors of Manhattan Multiples, a care center for mothers expecting more than a single baby, and she had no illusions about what would happen to her now-slender body if she were carrying Jorge’s baby.
Jorge. She blanched. Did she have to tell him?
Of course I have to tell him. How can I not?
On the other hand, how could she? Would he be happy? Angry? Would he want visitation rights, or God forbid, custody?
Allison pressed a hand to her chest, felt the heavy thud of her racing heart, and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself.
She had to be practical, she thought, forcing herself to think logically, when she really wanted to run screaming from the building. Before she considered all the many questions, she had to find out if she was really pregnant. On her lunch hour she would go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy kit.
She glanced at her watch. Two hours until lunch.
Resolutely she shifted her calendar to the corner of her desk and pulled a file toward her, flipping it open. She forced herself to focus, bringing up the appropriate data file on her computer and moving doggedly through the necessary action.
She canceled a lunch date with a co-worker and went to the pharmacy instead, returning with the kit concealed in a plain brown bag tucked into her purse. The afternoon hours dragged by, the hour hand on her watch moving slowly toward 5:00 p.m.
The hum of activity in the office grew louder with end-of-the-day preparations, drawers opening and slamming shut, files being dropped into the return-to-shelf basket.
“Don’t work too late, Allison.”
Allison lifted her head to find her boss, Eloise Vale, standing in her office doorway, her purse slung over one shoulder and a leather briefcase in her hand.
“I won’t.”
“Good. You spend too many late nights in the office,” Eloise chided, her smile affectionate.
“Not tonight. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Eloise glanced at her watch. “Oh, drat. I’m going to be late. Bye.”
Allison called a good-night as Eloise whisked off down the hall. She forced herself to wait until all sounds had ceased, until the last slam of desk drawers being closed and cheery good-nights were followed by the closing of the outer door. Then she made herself wait another ten minutes in case one of her office mates had forgotten something and might return to their desks.
At last, reassured by the absence of human activity in the silent outer office, she picked up her purse and left her office for the community bathroom.
The room was silent. Allison pushed open the doors to the three empty stalls to verify that she was alone before dropping her purse on to the marble-topped vanity. A crystal vase with a bouquet of spicy, white carnations, lush pink roses and delicate white baby’s breath brightened one corner of the gray marble countertop that held two sinks with porcelain fittings. Recessed lamps cast a soft light in front of the long mirror that took up the entire wall above the vanity.
Allison drew in a deep breath, flipped open her purse and closed her fingers over the brown-bag-enclosed test kit.
The door flew open with a bang. She jumped, startled, and spun to find the white-haired janitor, who looked every bit as surprised as Allison felt.
“Oh, my goodness!” The janitor’s hand flew to his heart and he audibly caught his breath. “I’m sorry, ma’am—I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll come back later….”
“No.” Allison curved her lips upward in a stiff smile. “No, I’m finished.”
She edged her way past the elderly man and his cart of cleaning supplies and walked back down the hall to her office. Leaving the door open wide, she sat at her desk and turned on her computer, staring blindly at the glowing screen. The minutes seemed to crawl by. At last she heard the rattle of the cart as the janitor left the rest room and moved off down the hall. Allison forced herself to wait until the sound of wastebaskets clattering against the trash can ceased, until the music from the portable radio clipped to the wheeled cart faded, until the outer door to the offices clicked shut. Silence reigned once more.
Allison picked up her purse and crossed to the doorway, peering cautiously out into the hall. Nothing stirred. For the second time, she left her office and moved quickly down the hall to the rest room. She flipped on the lights, crossed to the vanity and pulled out the test kit.
Scant moments later she stared at the stick. There were two little windows, one a little circle, the other a little square. Both of them had a pink line. The test result was positive.
I’m pregnant.
She couldn’t stop staring at the pink lines in their small windows. In an unconsciously protective gesture, her hand lifted to rest on the flat plane of her abdomen.
Her gaze followed the movement of her hand, searching for any change in her body beneath her fingers.
Nothing. She looked just as she always did.
She wondered frantically if she could ignore the pregnancy.
Oh, right. That’s a great plan. The functioning, practical side of her brain scoffed at the ridiculous idea.
Her gaze lifted and she stared at her reflection, dazed, her stunned mind struggling to grasp the fact that in eight months she would give birth.
She had to have a plan. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, overwhelmed by the concept of the tiny life growing inside her. How would she cope with a baby? She didn’t know anything about being a mother. And how could she work at the office all day, go to school at night and still have time to care for a child? But how would she support them if she didn’t finish law school? The barrage of scattered, panicked questions hit her like a tidal wave until she felt light-headed.
She braced her palms on the vanity edge and bent forward to lower her head. Her hair swung forward to brush against her cheeks, and she closed her eyes until the dizziness passed.
At last she opened her eyes and cautiously lifted her head, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. The soft lighting was kind, but there was no denying that her cheeks were pale, her eyes dark and bruised looking. Feeling faintly nauseated, Allison ran trembling fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face.
I can’t
