Bring Me Back(11)

“Christmas is over,” I remind him.

“Not by much,” he argues, “it can count.”

I shake my head and ignore him as I shimmy out of my jeans and open the box.

My heart is racing a mile a minute. I’ve never been so excited and nervous at the same time. I feel jittery and my stomach is rolling. I unbox the magical little stick and pee. I might cry, “Hallelujah,” while I’m peeing because I’ve been holding it for so long. When I hear Ben laugh from the bedroom I know for sure I said that out loud.

I finish up and put the cap on the end. I wash my hands and Ben knocks on the door. “Come on, Blaire. Let me in.”

I unlock the door and open it, so Ben practically falls inside. I shake my head at him. “What does it say?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” I hop up on the counter and he stands in front of me. “It takes a few minutes.” I purposely covered the screen on it with the directions so neither of us can peek.

Ben places his hands on either side of my thighs and leans forward, nuzzling his head into my neck. His stubble scrapes my skin, but I don’t mind. He presses a kiss to my neck and pulls away. “But you’ve never been late before, right?”

“No—” I shake my head “—I haven’t. But it doesn’t mean this isn’t a fluke.”

“Do you think that night…in the family room on the pillows?” he asks, putting his hand on my stomach like he truly believes a baby is hiding in there.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I nervously bite my lip.

I know there’s no way it happened that night, but there’s no point in trying to explain my period to Ben. He might practically be a doctor but he’s still a guy and there’s no point wasting my breath trying to explain how a period works. Unless you have one you don’t understand.

“How much longer?” he asks.

I glance at my phone. “Two minutes.”

He groans. “I never knew minutes were so long.”

“Me either,” I agree.

We both grow quiet, waiting. Hoping. Possibly even praying.

Ben looks at me and I stare right back. We both take a breath and I knock away the papers so I can pick up the stick.

“No peeking,” he warns.

I hold it out so we can both see.

I squint, but the gesture doesn’t change the outcome.

It’s negative.

I feel crushed. Devastated. Like I was handed a gift and then someone said, “Oh yeah, sorry, this isn’t for you. I need that back.”

“Blaire—”

His words come too late. I break down, a sob shaking my whole body.

“Blaire, I’m sorry.” He wraps me into his warm, strong, capable arms. He kisses the top of my head. “We’ll try again. We knew it probably wouldn’t happen the first time anyway.”

I try to tell him that I know, but I can’t seem to speak around my tears. I cry into his shirt, smearing mascara all over the blue cotton. I don’t even know why I’m so sad. I was more reserved about this than Ben. More time is a good thing, but it doesn’t feel that way. Suddenly, I feel fearful that it’s never going to happen. What if there’s something wrong with me? Or him? Or both of us?

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Ben forces me back and takes my face between his hands. “I know what you’re thinking and there’s nothing wrong. These things take time.”

I nod, but more tears come. “I really thought I was pregnant,” I confess on a hiccupping cry.

Ben pushes my hair away from my face. “I know, baby, I know. It’s okay, though. We’ll try again; that’s the best part, right?” he tries to joke, but I don’t feel like laughing. Or smiling.

I stare down at the white stick lying on the bathroom counter. I feel like it’s a bright neon light glaring at me, crying: You’re not pregnant. You’re a failure.

Ben wipes my tears off of my cheeks. He looks pained, and I feel bad. I’m completely breaking down and he’s trying to remain strong, even when he’s as bummed as I am. I lean forward, pressing my head into his solid chest, and hold on to the sides of his shirt. I’m not crying anymore, but I need to hold onto him a moment longer.

His arms wrap around me fully and he rests his chin on the top of my head. Neither of us says a word. We don’t need to.

Eventually, I pull away and lift my head to kiss him quickly.

“It’s going to happen,” he says with so much hope.

I hop off the counter and grab the pregnancy test to toss it, and the box, in the trashcan. It feels symbolic somehow.

“It will, Blaire.” He comes up behind me and hugs my back to his chest. “I know you’re still thinking all kinds of negative things, but it was only the first month.”

I know that our chances of getting pregnant are good, but I can’t shake this ominous cloud that seems to be forming above my head.

“It will,” I echo his words, but not with nearly as much conviction.





A week later I find myself standing on a podium in the dress shop for my final fitting. Casey and Ben’s mom are joining me. I wish my own mom was here for this moment, but at least she’ll be coming to the wedding next month.

February twentieth.

“That dress is so beautiful on you,” Loraine says, dabbing at her eyes.