My best friend pt. 2

Anna’s been my best friend since grade school. We made friendship bracelets for each other, traded mood rings, and took turns buying Slurpees to share. In high school, we crushed on boys, rode in their cars, and told our parents we were sleeping over at each other’s house when we were really at a club.

I fell in love for the first time when I was sixteen. I was going to marry Tom, I swear. So we had sex when I turned seventeen. But Tom broke up with me six months later, and that’s when I missed my period. Anna held my trembling hand as we sat on my bathroom floor, waiting for the faint lines to appear. I prayed so hard that day for that second line to not appear. I didn’t want a baby, no, not then.

Twenty-years later, I find myself doing the same thing, staring at a stick with no second line. Except this time, I wanted that second line to appear. Feeling a familiar disappointment, I swiftly pick up the stick and throw it out. The lines don’t change even if you leave the stick out for a while, I’ve tried it.

Anna had a baby recently. Of course, I congratulated her when I got the news. But it’s been a few weeks and I haven’t called. Holding on to the counter for support, I look up in the mirror and stare at my own reflection. My waterproof mascara is starting to wear off, leaving a faint smudge just below my eyelids. Waterproof is not the same as tear-proof.

My phone flashes. It’s Anna, she’s messaging me. I pick up my phone.

“Hey, how are things?” she writes.

“Hey! I’m good. How are you?” I write back.

I pause and wait as the ellipsis is flashing. She’s typing a reply, answering a question I didn’t really mean to ask and can’t afford to know. Cutting her short, I quickly write, “I have something to tell you, I’ve been trying to conceive, but it’s been hard.”

The ellipsis disappears. And I feel a familiar relief wash over, like that time twenty years ago, sitting on the bathroom floor with Anna, when the second line didn’t appear.