Around Our Heads

I was having a major flashback. Not like I actually had a real flashback, like I was transported to a time in the past. Like I woke up with a major case of Deja-vu. I woke up to the blinding lights of the Mcdonald’s ceiling and a guy in a paramedic’s uniform hovering over me.

“Oh jeez,” I said, putting my hand to my head.

“How are you feeling?” the guy asked.

“Like I crash landed on a hard linoleum floor.”

“Has this ever happened to you before?” I groaned.

“Yes.”

“Would you like me to take you in?”

“No, I’ll just get my fries and go home. I always faint when I’m….” When I’m what? Did I want to say it yet? “I’ll just go home.”

“I don’t think you should be driving.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need to eat something. And I live right down the street.” He helped me stand up.

The worker at the counter gave me my fries and a free soda because that’s all I wanted, and I guess he felt bad about me fainting. So I rested on some chairs until I wasn’t shaky anymore. Then I got back in my car and headed home.

The entire house smelled like delicious home cooking. I could smell tomato sauce, garlic, and boiling pasta. My stomach rumbled even though I’d just eaten a bunch of fries.

“Chris?” I called since Avery didn’t rush out to greet me.

“I’m in the kitchen,” I heard him reply. So I went in to greet him.

“Smells amazing.” I went to his side, and he wrapped an arm around me and kissed my head.

“Here, have some wine,” he said, handing me a glass.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“I’m happy to be home. I missed my family.”

“Where’s Avery?”

“My mom took her for the night.”

“So, what are you making?” He handed the wine over, and I sniffed it.

“My mom’s stuffed shells.” If my heart could swell up and explode out of my chest—boom—blood, and membranes all over the walls.

“Oh, I love your mom’s stuffed shells.”

“I know you do.”

“When you said you were making my favorite, I thought you meant pizza.” He laughed. “And she gave you the recipe? I’ve been trying to get it out of her since I met her.” He shrugged.

“It was a gift.”

“For what?”

“Avery’s birthday.” He was lying. I knew him well enough to know when he was lying. His answers were always short and vague. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him. He ignored me. “I’m also making garlic bread.” Then I didn’t care about the lie anymore.

“Mm, remember that pesto bread I made that one time?” I asked him.

“Yeah, that was good,” he replied.

“I’ve been craving it all damn day.” I went to put a piece of cheese in my mouth and stopped halfway. The sirens were going off again, but I wasn’t going to ignore them this time. He saw me freeze.

“What’s the matter?” he asked me.

“Oh my god,” I said. His eyebrows rose in question.

“You alright?”

“Yesterday—I was craving pickles. Like really bad.” His eyebrows furrowed now.

“But you hate pickles.”

“I know.” We stared at each other in silence for a moment. “There’s something I should probably tell you.”

“What?”

“The reason I was late—I passed out at McDonald’s.” There was another moment of silent staring.

“You think?” he prodded.

“Remember how it was with Avery? I got all those mood swings, ate an entire container of ice cream to myself, and fainted when I got hungry,” I explained. He nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I almost cried at work today.”

“Why?”

“I was thinking about babies, and when Avery was a baby, and I got all choked up.”

“When was the last time you had your period?” I looked at the ceiling as I tried to count it in my head.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I stopped counting.” My periods used to always be irregular. Then I had Avery, and they were regular like clockwork. But I still never actually counted the time between them or recorded them. I usually just always knew I was about to start because of the PMS. But that also means I didn’t notice if I skipped one. Or two.

“Huh,” he said. “I guess we can get a test tomorrow.” He went back to cooking.

“You’re not freaking out?” I asked him.

“Why would I freak out? We already talked about it. At least this way, we don’t really have to set up a plan, right?” He smiled, and I returned it weakly.

“Sorry. I suppose freaking out is like my go-to response.”

“So if you’re not already pregnant, wanna get pregnant?”

“That sounds like a lot of fun, but you have to do the thing I like.”

“Of course, babe.” He kissed me again. I smiled and reached for my wine glass without thinking. It was inches from my lips when Chris yanked it out of my hand, splashing wine onto the floor. “Probably not a good idea,” he said. I nodded.

“Forgot.”

“Just until we know for sure.” I nodded again.

“I think we still have some of Avery’s grape juice. So I’ll just have that instead.”

“Good idea.” I cleaned up the spilled wine and went to the fridge to pour myself a glass of grape juice. I thought it was disgusting, but it didn’t taste any less disgusting than wine.