Chapter four
1152 Words
Cynthia sat on the side of her bathtub, staring at the white stick clutched tightly in her trembling hand.
Two lines.
She blinked once more. They still were there.
"No," she cursed, shaking her head back and forth. "No, no, no… "
But the lines stayed. Her hammering heart, dampened hands.
She kicked the pregnancy test into the sink and jumped back, gasping.
"This. this isn't happening."
She called up her phone, opened her calendar, and started counting dates.
The night she'd spent with Adam.
The night she'd spent with Fred.
The kiss she'd shared with Justin—one only, on one evening after a burst of softheartedness had softened the line between need and comfort.
"Please God."
Her knees came to water and she fell to the floor, doubled over herself. The apartment itself was too quiet, too close, too charged with the past suddenly.
She had escaped that.
She had escaped.
This, though? This would place her in arrears.
What if it's Fred's? What if it's Adam's?
Her head turned round, her stomach rolled. She was plummeting.
She hauled herself up on the ground and wept.
Later in the day, Cynthia wiped her face, zipped into a sweatshirt, and walked into the hospital.
She had not prepared anything—she was afraid. She needed something formal. She needed to know.
She mumbled her information in at reception. She was given a clipboard and she was ushered quietly into a waiting room.
It seemed something dreamed.
She looked at posters on walls—the smiling mums with babies hugged in arms. It made her with a sickness. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't even certain if she wanted this.
But it was happening.
Her blood and urine were being collected by the nurse.
We'll have some tests, like hormone levels. It will let us know how far you are," she whispered.
Cynthia nodded slightly.
"Any issues with the pregnancy?" the nurse asked gently.
Cynthia's mouth fell open but she couldn't speak. She paused before she shook her head. "No. I just… I want to be sure."
The nurse smiled and left the room.
Cynthia walked into the hospital waiting room to wait. Her head was stuck— buzzing, full, but empty as well.
She sat on a bench, hands in hair, eyes on the floor.
That's when she heard him—his voice.
Deep. Even. Familiar.
She raised her head a little bit.
And there he was.
Fred.
But not behind-a-counter. Not in jeans and a T-shirt.
He was in a suit. Clean, sharp, expensive.
He was being directed away from the corridor, his back to her, talking to two white-robed physicians. They'd smiled when he'd made his comment, tilted their heads respectfully.
Cynthia stood paralyzed.
What in the world?
She leapt up quickly, her thudding heart, and ran behind one of the tall pillars that stood in the foyer.
Her chest was heaving. Her head was spinning.
Why's he here? Who is he?.
She glanced again. Fred shook the hand of one of the doctors, then was going to leave.
He took a few strides towards her.
Cynthia's body was jammed against the pillar. Shut tight eyes wished she were elsewhere.
The footsteps came closer… stopped.
And then there it was.
"Cynthia… "
Her eyes creaked open.
He was some distance away from her, brow furrowed, tone casual—but questioning.
"It's been awhile."
Cynthia was frozen.
Fred's voice was a wrap around her like a memory she wasn't prepared to deal with. She emerged slowly from behind the pillar, hoodie pulled up over her face, as if it would conceal her from what she felt.
He stood regarding her, dark eyes on, unreadable.
"You remember me," she breathed, hardly sure that she'd spoken.
Fred nodded slowly, almost not noticeable. "How could I forget?
She swallowed hard. Her heart thudded miserably in her chest. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here," he answered brusquely. "Or at least… I supervise part of this business."
Cynthia's eyebrows furrow into a scowl. "You're a bartender."
He gives a weak smile. "I was… that night. It's a messy story."
She didn't answer. Her head reeled. This man—this odd, comforting stranger who'd seen her most vulnerable—wasn't a bartender, either. He was a different kind of guy altogether. A guy to keep it in the dark.
Fred extended a hand to her. "You okay?"
His voice too too relaxed now, more questioning.
Cynthia recoiled. "I don't know," she said honestly. "I really don't know."
Fred frowned down at her, weighing his words. "Want to talk?"
She hesitated. One half of her wanted to flee, but another small voice in her brain told her to remain.
"I'm here for an appointment," she said. "Something personal."
Fred shifted his head, a slow nod which indicated he knew she was telling him her less than all. "Okay. And if ever you want to talk about it, I'm here. Not behind a pub this time, but. still listening."
Cynthia gave a small, quivering smile. "Thanks."
He didn't push her. He just nodded and turned away, into a crowded hospital corridor with patients and hospital personnel.
She stood there for a moment, trying to steady her breathing. Her hand instinctively went over her abdomen.
Was it his?
The night replayed in her head—his hands, his sweetness, that he hadn't called her bluff when she'd cried.
The way she'd vanished last morning before the sun had even cracked.
Silently, without even a note.
Did he ever for a moment imagine she might be pregnant with his child?
She sat down on a bench and buried her face in her hands.
What if it is not his? What if it is Adam's? Justin's?
The weight of all this was crushing her breast, choking her.
Her phone beeped.
A message from the hospital
"Thanks for visiting. Your lab test results will be ready in 3-5 days. Please check your patient portal or come back for follow-up with your doctor."
Cynthia gazed at the screen. Three to five days.
Three to five days of concern. Three to five days of not knowing if she would ever again feel normal in her life.
She pulled her legs onto the bed and sat up at the hospital, the biting wind stinging her cheeks. The world was turning just a bit too fast for her to catch up with it.
But she did not cry again.
Not this time.
Not yet.
As she crossed to her car, her phone beeped one more time.
A text message from an unfamiliar number:
"I didn't know you were in today. Hope you're alright. —Fred."
She stood there scanning the screen for a minute.
Then replied:
"I don't know what I am. But thank you… for seeing me anyway."
She sent and got into the car.
It wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
- Writer
