Doctor appointment + 1 day (PM)
Gab didn’t say anything. She just pulled on a hoodie, covered as much of her face as she could, slipped her purse into her pocket and walked to the nearest pharmacy. It was an hour before closing time.
She had never been into this shop. The advantage of that was that they didn’t know her; the downside was that she didn’t know where anything was and had to ask one of the shop assistants for help.
“Where abouts are your pregnancy tests?” she muttered, as quietly as she could. It was the first time she had said the word pregnancy, and it tasted strange in her mouth. The shop assistant led her to the relevant aisle. Gab’s head spun as she looked at shelves and shelves of packaged fate. She didn’t know the first thing about pregnancy tests. Why should she choose one over any other? She kicked herself for not having thought of this earlier.
She tried to talk quietly when she asked the shop assistant which she should choose, but the girl, probably about fifteen, was jolly and exuberant. It seemed absurd to be given advice on pregnancy tests by a fifteen-year-old who did not look like the kind of girl who had used one before—but then, Gab suddenly realised that she was becoming the kind of person lots of people made presumptions about, and it was only fair and feeling not to make similar presumptions about others. Who knew what this girl had or hadn’t been through? This all flickered through Gab’s mind in wordless forms, while the girl explained the difference between the EarlyTest and the MummaNew. A decision felt impossible in that moment, so Gab let the shop girl choose, paid for the test, shoved it in her pocket and walked home.
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***
Gab had to pee on the stick while sitting on the toilet. Then the stick would tell her whether she was pregnant or not. Two lines, pregnant. One line, probably not. What an idyllic place to learn of my fate, thought Gab wryly. She didn’t want to take the test at home in the apartment where the others would be around. She went to her most-used block of uni toilets instead, locked herself in one of the many empty cubicles and got out the test. She read the instructions from top to bottom. She took the stick out of its plastic wrapping and tried to position its tip in the predicted wee-stream. She did hit the stick a bit, but she also got her hand. She would have recoiled, but she was too focused on the test. No turning back now. Hopefully enough wee had landed where it was meant to.
Gab sat, elbows on knees, pants around ankles, staring at the little white stick she was holding in both hands. She watched the stream of moisture gradually seep up, up the indicator strip until it reached the point where the lines were meant to appear. Her heart began to thump. One line. The moisture seeped up further. No second line. Not immediately. But then, faintly, faintly it began to show. It became stronger and unarguable in its prominence. Two lines. Gab’s heart skipped a beat. But then she just felt dazed, numb. Maybe it was wrong? These things couldn’t always be accurate. Better try another one, to be sure. Gab gingerly laid the first test down on the tiled floor by her shoe. She took the box out of her front hoodie pocket and opened up a second test. Then she remembered about the bladder factor, but thankfully, there was a little dribble that eked out onto the stick … and onto her hand, again. She rolled her eyes, wiped her hand with some fresh toilet paper, and held the stick up to watch the moisture run up.
Two lines, again. Unmistakable. This was it. She dropped the second test on the floor and let her head sink into her hands. But just as she did so, she remembered she’d just peed on her hand … twice. So she wiped, pulled up her pants, gathered her bits and pieces together and flushed the toilet. Then she proceeded to the basins to clean herself up, in the knowledge that she’d seen two lines … twice.