Bright blue eyes started at their reflection in the bathroom mirror. She'd always had a fascination with teary eyes. A terrible habit her mother had never been able to break her out of. She liked to watch herself cry. Not that she particularly enjoyed crying or whatever event caused the tears, but somehow she always found herself staring into her own reflection when it did happen. She had the type of eyes that sparkled when they cried. There wasn't much she liked about herself, but she did like her eyes. They were her best feature, and she determined that because of them she was not an ugly crier.
That didn't mean she wanted people seeing her cry. No, that was something she kept very private. This particular evening was no different. She'd just arrived home from work, a dead end job at a little diner off sixth street and brown. Right next to the Books-a-Million and across the street from a record store. As if anyone actually knew what records were anymore... The dying music culture was not why she was crying, although it did sometimes bring up the desire to be sick. She was crying because of the little white stick in her hand. The one she'd used that morning to decide her fate. How messed up was that? Letting her fate be decided by some pink lines on a stick. After a long day of dealing with rude, inconsiderate costumers, having her life defined by this one... or three... stupid sticks. This was not how she'd seen her day play out.
Kelly was twenty-two, struggling to finish college one class at a time while she payed her part in rent and gas and groceries. She'd used her last bit of cash to buy these stupid sticks. Dumb little tests with a fifty percent chance of passing or failing and she'd failed. All. Three. Times. Derick was going to kill her. She just knew it. He was trying to take care of his mom on top of his share of all life's expenses, and his Walmart job wasn't any better than hers. At least she got tips. How were they going to afford this? Would he even want this? Did she?
A noisy sputtering car engine pulled up, then stopped. She'd know that engine anywhere. Derick's truck hadn't been to a shop in six years, and he wasn't as good a mechanic as he thought he was. She swallowed, tossed the tests away, then wiped her eyes quickly and tried to reapply a bit of make up. She still looked a complete mess, but at least it was more of a "bad day at work" mess than a "guess what test I took today" mess. Maybe he wouldn't notice. That would at least give her enough time to figure out how she felt about all this and how she was going to tell him... Slowly leaving the bathroom, she walked back down the hall to the bedroom she shared with her boyfriend of four years. Kelly closed the door and sat on the corner of their bed. She had a few minutes until he'd come up, and she took those moments alone to let the news sink in. To really understand what she'd just been told by two pink lines on a stick.
"I'm pregnant..."
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