Chapter 1

I look down at the white stick in my hand and see the impossible. 

Two pink lines.

I pick up the other one, and this one says what the other suggests: PREGNANT.

I sink down on the toilet lid. “No! No, no, no, no, no!” I close my eyes and shake my head until it swims. 

One night with a real asshole is all it took, and this is what came of it. The situation is unreal. I can’t believe it. How could I be so stupid? Alcohol and penises just don’t mix.

There’s a pounding on the bathroom door. “Adder! Tell me! Tell me, tell me! Are you… preggers?” he whispers the last word like someone might hear. I grab my head and whimper. 

I do the futile and try to banish him, yelling through the door, “Jazzie, go away!” I lean my head against the Pepto Bismol color wall of my apartment.

“You are!” He gasps, rattling the door. Finding it locked, he starts knocking like he’s a Girl Scout with a cookie quota to make. “Let me in! I need to see!”

I stand, because my bathroom is closet-sized and unlock the door. Opening it, I wave Jazzie in and move to sit on the edge of our tub. He picks up the stick and then sets it down, cringing. “You tinkled on this. Augh! I forgot about that!”

“I didn’t pee all over it,” I defend myself.

“Knowing you, that’s debatable.” He rolls his eyes.

I sigh. “Jazz, I’m gonna toss you out in a second.”

“Will not, I’m your best friend.” He smirks. “I’m your only friend.”

“I can find more friends.” I knock my head against the tile.

“But we’ve known one another since we were six. I came out to you when I was thirteen. We have history,” he says smugly.

“We are going to be history,” I sass.

Jazzie ignores me, smiles before laughing joyfully. “We’re going to be mothers!”

I lift my arms in argument and let them fall to my thighs with a clap of defeat. “I can’t keep this baby!”

“You aren’t talking about…” he whispers, “abortion.”

“I’m talking about having this baby and dropping it off on PJ Westgate’s doorstep. He’s got money, and you and I eat out of the clearance racks at Vons.” I stand, grabbing the pee sticks and move out to the living room. I set the pregnancy tests down on our kitchen table, and Jazzie squeals.

“Ewww! No! We eat here!” He points at the table before going and grabbing napkins from our copious supply. We have a collection from nearly every fast food restaurant in the city. He lays out five, waves me to set down the sticks and makes a face. “So gross.”

“Seriously? I couldn’t do the tests any other way. It was urine only, nothing else was acceptable.” I give him a look of censure.

He shivers like he’s got the willies and sucks on his bottom lip. “Whateves. Take a picture. Send it to him. NO! Better yet. Send it to the whole band. Blast it. Make it so it can’t be ignored.”

“I don’t know. You’re talking about rocking the boat… again. That didn’t work so well last time. I lost my job and can’t worm my way into working anywhere in the entertainment industry again.” I look down at the tests. “Cheez Whiz. How am I going to afford the costs of being pregnant? It’s expensive. I mean, my bank account is hurting just in food I lose in tossing my cookies back up these days.”

“Well, you do buy expensive cookies.” Jazz sighs as I flip him off. “What? You’re a known cookie slut. I mean go with it. It’s one slutting you can wear with relentless pride.”

“Jazz? How am I going to do this?” I mutter.

“I have a great job.” He hugs me. “I’ll help.”

I wrap my hands around my best friend. “No offense, but you’re an Uber driver. You don’t have any benefits. With me out of work, we are eking by. We can barely pay for this apartment.” 

I look around. Our apartment is delightful with its parquet floors and 40’s-esque charm. Miracle Mile isn’t the most overly sought after location in Los Angeles, but everywhere you go in the city, you pay more than you should. Our one bedroom is barely 800 square feet, it’s small and over 2k/month. 

I got a great severance from CypherSphere when I was let go. I was a paid intern, which is a unicorn position in the industry. On top of that, I got a hush settlement to stop talking about what happened. Those two combined lasted six months. Not being able to find a job is an expense in itself.

“We’ll make it work.” Jazz nods. “Now send off those pee sticks.”