it comes in waves

I had this idea for a patio lambrusco yesterday, but the wine bar was closed.

My friend finishes work, we go to buy mangoes instead. I’m nauseous. I wonder if I ate enough. One porchetta sandwich from the Italian bakery.

Am I late? I don’t think so. I don’t tell her my fear, but it’s always understood. I make a mental note to check my calendar when I get home.

My dinners in the summer rotate. It’s chicken with something green and tzatziki, pasta with a tomato sauce, or, my favourite - bread and olive oil and tomatoes.

“Sometimes I just want someone to cook for me.” I tell her. “Even the thought of making pasta is exhausting to me.”

And it’s so simple, really. It’s boiling penne, and then simmering San Marzano tomatoes and the leftover burrata I have from Monday.

But I can’t get excited about it.

When I get home, I curl my hair instead. I haven’t used a heat tool in months - which means my hair is thicker and healthier than usual. It’s been a while since I watched the lights flicker on from a curling rod, and do the dance of trying to balance the curler on the right side of the sink so it doesn’t fall in.

I separate my hair into sections.

I decide I never want to go back to being blonde. And I also wonder if I should pick up a test from the drugstore. Just in case.

It’s 7 PM. I skip the pasta. Real Housewives plays in the background. Miami is a good distraction. I grab the bag of pretzels off my counter and slip underneath the covers. My room is dark, the nausea is less.

I look at my calendar and count the days and weeks in between.

June 14th.

So that’s 1…2…3…almost 4 weeks.

I don’t think I’m late.

Saturday. I tell myself. If it doesn’t come by Saturday, I will take a test.

I go to the bathroom and examine my curls. I need more anti-frizz. The problem with curling your hair the same day as you washed it - is that the strands need time to de-puff and de-frizz.

My other problem is this: I will now be the boy who cried wolf. Would he even believe me if I was pregnant? Does that only happen in movies? When the guy doesn’t believe the girl and then she has to go through all of the moves and processes herself?

I table that thought. I hop into the shower. It’s my third of the day.

Is showering three times a day excessive?

I’m not sure, but it does make me feel something.

The sky gets darker at 9 PM, and I decide that now is an acceptable time to make that pasta I was talking about.

Things I should have done - I begin to tell myself. Bought a test when I was at the drugstore today.

I eat a few bites, but by 9:30, I’m ready for bed. I feel a cramp. I close the door to the washroom.

Nothing.

I crawl back underneath the covers and pull out the calendar again.

26, 27, 28.

When did I get it in May? I look back to a time where I was emotional. I’ve lost track of time. I fall asleep with my phone in my hand.

The pain resurfaces in the morning.

I close the door to the washroom.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and then, to my surprise, I begin to cry.