Waiting For Sunday

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{thirty-five}

Two lines. Two little blue lines.

Shit.

How did this happen? I mean I know how it happened, but fuck— this wasn’t supposed to happen yet. It’s only been a month since Oliver proposed. This past week I’ve felt nothing but sick, and Oliver’s been away for another convention, hoping he could persuade an author to publish with him. It worked, he could talk the birds from the trees, but jesus, how the hell do I tell him this.

Flicking through my phone I try to work out just when this could have happened. San Francisco, that’s when.

I thought I was up to date with my shot and then it dawns on me, it was that week just before, I’d been so preoccupied I’d forgotten to go. Christ, how’s he going to take this?

With a hard swallow, I wrap the test in tissue paper and tuck it inside the pocket of my bag. No one needs to see this just yet. What do I do? Do I book an appointment? Take vitamins? I’ve never done this before, can I be a mom? I didn’t get enough time with my own, so how would I know what to do?

He’s home tonight but not till near midnight. Should I wait, see how he is when he gets home? Should I just blurt it out? What’s the protocol for telling your fiancé that you’re expecting his child, a surprise at that.

I’m happy of course I am, but how could I have been so— reckless?

Walking out, aware that my face has drained of all it’s colour, Amalia takes one look at me, concern all over her face.

“What’s happened?”

“N-nothing,” I say, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. Another wave of nausea washes over me and I turn around, rushing to the bathroom and emptying the contents of my stomach, which to be fair isn’t exactly a lot. I’ve not been hungry and now I know why.

“Sunday?” She calls through the door.

’I’m— good,” I call out, sinking to the floor, my knees bent at an awkward angle. My head resting in my palm, I feel another surge of nausea wash over me and I wretch into the toilet.

“I’m coming in,” she insists as the door opens.

“What the hell?” She exclaims as she looks to the floor. In my rush to not cover the bathroom floor in vomit, I’d thrown my bag onto the floor and the test I’d taken not minutes ago, lays on the floor, the tissue paper unwrapped from around it.

“Sunday— what’s that?”

I swallow, pulling more tissue paper to my mouth, pulling harshly at the delicate paper and wiping my mouth, sniffing as I wipe the tears from under my eyes.

“I’m—, I’m—,”

“Pregnant,” she murmurs, sinking beside me.

“Sunday—, is this for real?” I nod in response, feeling tears well in my eyes, trickling down my cheeks as she pulls me in, soothing me as she runs her hand up and down my back.

“Does he know?”

“Not yet, I’ve only just found out myself,” I tell her, trying my best not to breathe my vomit laced breath on her.

“You gonna tell him?”

“Of course, I just don’t know how or when?”

“When does he get back?”

“Tonight. But it’ll be near midnight when he walks through the door and he’ll be tired and stressed and I don’t want to add to it,”

“And how do you feel?” She asks, her lips narrowing into a thinly pressed line.

“I don’t know, I’m—, I’m scared,” I answer honestly.

“Of what?”

“Of how he’ll take the news, of being a shit wife, being an even shittier mom, I don’t even really remember my own,”

“Wait—, wife?”

“Surprise!” I exclaim softly.

“When?”

“A month ago,”

“A MONTH!!”

“HEY!” I shout back with a frown, as she lowers her eyes back to the test on the floor, still abandoned and alone on the cold tiles.

“Don’t do things by halves do you?”

“Amalia, what the hell am I going to do?”

“Honestly?”

I nod, watching through sniffles and tears as she breathes in deeply.

“I’d be happy, I’d be—, excited and I’d tell him, maybe not when he gets in, but definitely soon,”

“You think he’ll be happy?”

“I’d like to think so,” she soothes as she helps me up. I scoop up the test and wrap it back up in the tissue and slip it back into my bag. With a deep breath, Mali hugs me, “It’ll be ok, and if it isn’t, then I’ll be here, you know that don’t you?”

“I do,” tears spilling from my eyes again as she hugs me hard.

“Go home, get some rest, you’re gonna need it,”

“But what about the studio?”

“Let me look after this place, I’ve done it before, I can do it again,”

I smile and give her one final hug before I take a deep breath and leave, breathing in the spring air, filling my lungs as I climb inside my Chevelle. Shit my car—, I’ll have to sell my car, this won’t be safe for a baby and Oliver definitely won’t let me have them in here. I could always secure the baby seat carrier thing with the seatbelts, but he’ll still say no.

There’s so much to think about. What type of seat? What cot? Clothes? Bottle or breastfed. Shit.

The drive home is suddenly filled with angst, stopping at every stoplight wondering if the seatbelt is too tight around my stomach. I need to make an appointment with the doctor, I’ll need to see how far along I am.

Walking through the door a little later, I look around at the apartment. Could I bring a baby in here, there are so many sharp edges on the furniture, they could fall and hurt themselves, then I’d definitely be a bad mother, and what about school?

Jesus Sunday, you’re thinking too far ahead.

I’m brought from my thoughts by another wave of nausea and as I race to the bathroom, my head almost collides with the seat as I wretch but bring up nothing. My stomachs empty, there’s nothing in there. Leaning back, my hand wipes at my mouth and I cry. Sob. Tears of confusion and panic and worry and joy all overwhelm me. How I wish Oliver were here, he’d make this better, he’d make me feel better.

You still need to tell him.

I know I do, I answer my subconscious. I need to tell him, but I can’t swamp him with this, he’ll be home tonight and he’ll be tired. I can’t spring this on him, it’s too huge. I don’t even know if he’ll want it. My hand suddenly sits against my stomach, protecting the little human growing inside me. My little human, my— little bean. It’s just a small blip, tiny, minuscule. I definitely need to book an appointment.

Standing slowly from the bathroom floor, I walk to the sink and rinse my mouth before brushing my teeth. As I walk out minutes later, I pull my phone from my bag and smile for a second when I see Oliver has sent me a text.

‘I’ll be home earlier than I thought. Can’t wait to see you, I’ve missed you x’

It says and then I feel it, my heart thumping as all the feelings I’d just felt come rushing back again.


Sitting patiently on the couch, my legs crossed, my kindle in my lap, I watch the door. My legs shake nervously, biting at the nails on my hand but not breaking them. Just nervously biting at them as I wait for the door to open. Within minutes I hear the handle turn and I smile half-heartedly as I see Oliver walk through the door, a smile as wide as his face as he sees me.

“Hey,” he beams, dropping his bags by the door and striding towards me.

“Hi,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck as I stand. I feel my heart hammer in my chest and decide there’s no time like the present.

“How was the trip?”

“Same old, same old,” he smiles as he lets go of me and turns walking back to his bag. He leans down, his back to me, blocking whatever he’s retrieving from his bag.

“Oliver—,” I call out, biting my bottom lip.

“Yeah?”

“I need to talk to you,”

“Can it wait?”

“Not really no,” I shake my head as he looks back to me.

Seeing the expression on my face he frowns, “What?”

“I uh—, I need to talk to you about something,” I say, swallowing again as I take a seat.

“Ok—, this sounds ominous,”

“Can you come sit down?”

With another frown he walks towards me, sitting down beside me, his hands in his pocket.

“Sunday?”

“It’s just that— well,” I sigh through my nose, a nervous puff of air escaping through my nostrils as he looks, his eyes burning into me.

“Sunday— what’s going on?”

Fidgeting in my seat, I can’t help but lick my bottom lip again, but when I look up to him, he takes my hand, cupping it in both of his, “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it, it’ll be ok,” he smiles softly. I nod, my eyes flickering between his own as I open my mouth, my voice barely a murmur as I swallow again and just say it.

“I’m pregnant,”

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