Layla
My period is late.
My alarm just went off for the fourth time, interrupting a vivid dream about talking tampons. That’s
what made me check my calendar and realize it’s been six weeks since I last had my cycle.
Leif took me out to dinner a week ago to celebrate. The Sorensens’ anniversary party is in only seven
days, and I’m stressed out of my mind. I’ve been working like crazy, falling head over heels for Leif, and
running around town trying to plan the perfect party. There’s a lot going on. I haven’t had time to think of
my menstrual cycle.
I rub my eyes, the gears in my mind grinding ever so slowly.
It’s just stress... right? Stress and mineral deficiencies. I just need to eat more vegetables and start
sle eping more, then my cycle will normalize again. Probably.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stare at the wall.
Definitely just stress. I’ve been going through a lot. Exc ept for that first time when he pulled out, Leif
and I have used condoms every time. So I know I’m not pregnant.
Maybe all this sex I’ve been having has messed up my hormones somehow.
Yes, that’s what’s been going on. I’ve been napping all the time and I feel run-down, but what else is
new? I always feel that way. I fell asle ep right before Leif was going to eat me out for the first time, for
crying out loud.
This morning, I’m meeting Rachael to go over the final touches to the menu. Then I have to go to the
Sorensens’ Long Island estate to get some measurements for the rental furniture, then I have a meeting
with my grandparents’ lawyers.
I don’t have time to be tired. So, ignoring the case of the missing period, I get to work.
That evening, I fall asle ep on the couch while Emma bakes in the kitchen. She prods me with a finger
to wake me up, then ushers me to bed. A wrinkle appears between her brows when she asks me if I’m
feeling okay.
“I feel fine,” I mumble, then collapse into bed. Rinse and r epeat. The days before the party are a blur
of exhaustion, faint nausea, and inexplicably sore boobs. I ke ep expecting to see blood when I go to the
bathroom, but my PMS seems to be lasting an eternity this time.
I spend a lot of time with Leif and his daughter, watching Harriet do her job with the quiet efficiency
of someone who is truly gifted. I’ve never been as good a nanny as Harriet, and I probably never will be.
Maybe I’ll never have to be... If this party goes off without a hitch, I could be looking at a partnership
with one of the wealthiest women in the state.
The night before the party, my eyes grow blurry as I go through the final to-do list and my plan for
tomorrow. I rub
my eyes and let out a heavy sigh, then turn my head when I hear Emma shouting from the bathroom.
“Do you have any tampons?” my sister calls out. “I’m all out.”
“One second!” I head to my bathroom and check my cabinets, but I already know I don’t have any. I
haven’t had to buy any feminine hygiene products since we moved to the penthouse, which was four
weeks ago—and seven weeks before my last period.
But I’m not going to think about that right now. Stressing about my period will only make it even
later... right? Assuming all these symptoms are due to stress?
Moving outside Emma’s bathroom door, I lean against it and speak to her. “I haven’t got any,” I tell
her. “I’ll go out and grab you some. Need anything else?”
“Chocolate,” she says with a groan. “Lots of chocolate.” “Coming right up.” I grin, then head out the
door. As I walk to the nearest pharmacy, my heart starts to thud. There’s another explanation for the
missing period. One that doesn’t seem so far-fetched, considering Leif and I had unprotected sex. Twice.
We used the pull-out method, but... ugh. I remember sex-ed enough to know it’s nowhere near perfect.
Bells tinkle above my head as I walk into the store and head for the correct aisle. I grab Emma’s
tampons, then pause. Right beside the shelves of feminine hygiene products are condoms, lube... and
pregnancy tests.
I’m not pregnant. I’m just stressed. Everything is changing, I’ve moved, I’ve been having sex... um,
not enough vegetables...
I close my eyes. What the hell do vegetables have to do with anything?
Before I can lose the nerve, I grab a pregnancy test and shuffle to the cash register. Grabbing
chocolate bars at random from the space below the counter, I throw them onto the conveyor and reach for
my purse. I pay without
making eye contact with the middle-aged woman behind the register, then cradle the bag containing
my purchases next to my chest and rush home.
I’m being ridiculous, of course. But isn’t it better to be sure? I’ll pee on the stick, it’ll be negative, and
then I can focus on the party tomorrow.
Easy peasy. But when I get home and give Emma her stuff, I can’t quite bring myself to take the test.
Plus, when I hide in my room and read the instructions, it says it’s best to do it when you first pee in the
morning.
I’m not chicken, I’m just following instructions. But the next morning comes far too quickly and I
find myself staring at the unopened pregnancy test box, as exhausted as ever with no menstruation in
sight. My doubts grow.
“Just do it, you coward,” I whisper to myself. So I do. Pee, wait, check. And then I panic.