Only Uni (40 page)

Trish’s head felt both fiery and lighter than air. “They’re not bigger.”

“Have you had nausea?”

“No.” Well, only the typical stress-induced kind, and considering the past few weeks of her life, she wasn’t surprised.

“Sometimes you don’t get it. Is your bra tight?”

“I’m retaining water.” Or gaining weight, but she chose to be optimistic.

“Are your breasts sensitive?” Trish had a feeling Deborah enjoyed saying the word just to make the other women uncomfortable.

“They’re always sensitive right before my period.”

“When was your last period?”

She closed her eyes. She barely remembered to pay her bills, much less her last menstrual cycle. She remembered the period right before New Year’s. Right before . . .

Oh. My. Goodness.

“Catch her, she’s going to faint!”

“Sumiyo, move your walker, she’ll fall forward into it.”

“Somebody get some water.”

When she opened her eyes, the room spun around the only focal point she had, Deborah’s concerned hazel eyes. “Trish? Breathe. There you go. Another one. No, don’t close your eyes again. Take another breath. Not too fast, you don’t want to hyperventilate. There you go.”

She gripped the arms of the old-fashioned metal library chair, feeling the molded edges bite into her fingers. She didn’t think she could stand, but she had to. She had to get to a store.

She might be two months pregnant.

THIRTY-TWO

O
h, God. Oh, God.

She fumbled with the instructions. Maybe she hadn’t read that right. Two lines meant . . .

Oh, God. Oh, God.

She heard the insidious whisper and didn’t immediately shut her mind to it. She could get rid of it . . .

No.
She wasn’t so far fallen that she’d do that.

She cradled her forehead in her hands and curved her back against the cold porcelain of the toilet tank. A shiver shot through her, but her stomach didn’t unclench when it passed.

She was single, and carrying Kazuo’s baby.

What a mess. She’d been doing so well but now everything was crashing and exploding and demolishing around her without a sound.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

Why had God allowed this to happen? That last time she’d been with Kazuo, a couple days before New Year’s, they’d used a condom. But look what happened! Why was God punishing her like this? Lately, she’d been trying so hard to please Him.

Why are you doing this to me?

Her nose closed and her head pounded with her heartbeat. She squeezed her eyes shut. The tears falling down her face scalded her skin.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

Two lines said it was.

Her cousins would faint dead away. Well, Jenn might look at her with sorrowful eyes. When she couldn’t hide it anymore, her ruined reputation would destroy her mother, maybe bring on another heart attack. How could she possibly condemn her father’s moral condition when she herself was in
this
condition?

Grandma . . . she didn’t even want to think about Grandma.

Could she hide it? At work, she’d seen a call for temporary transfers to the Pleasanton site for cell work on a short-term project. She could move. Have the baby. Give it up. Come back.

Everything would be the same as it was before.

She sobbed harder.

“Trish?”

Griselle.

“Trish? The door was open.” The voice carried from the living room.

“Just a minute.” She shot to her feet, tumbling the stick to the floor. She twisted the sink handles and splashed water in her face.

“I knocked a few times. Are you okay?” Griselle’s footsteps sounded closer. She was probably in the kitchen. “I came to give you the reference for your MDiv.”

Trish scrubbed her face with the towel, then peered bleary-eyed at the cloudy mirror. She didn’t look too bad. Allergies. She had allergies.

She nipped into the open shower so she could open the bathroom door, clunking it against the toilet a little hard in her haste. She stepped out and entered the kitchen, where she casually hung herself against the doorframe. “How’re you doing?”

Griselled eyes popped out of their sockets. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

Trish sniffled. “Allerg — ”

“Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“No, I — ”

Griselle’s brow wrinkled. Her gaze seemed to go lower. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Trish crossed her arms.

Griselle fidgeted where she stood. It seemed to Trish she was trying not to stare at Trish’s chest. “Are you . . . uh . . .”

“No, I’m not pregnant!” Trish’s voice resonated off the newly scrubbed kitchen cabinets.

Griselle’s eyes became freaky big, like the Japanese
anime
characters. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

Trish burst into tears. “I am pregnant!”

Arms came around her, and a shoulder appeared right in front of her forehead to rest on. Trish wailed into Griselle’s blouse, smearing her tears and sniffles into the cotton.

“I was pregnant once.”

It was so soft, Trish thought at first she imagined it. “What?” She lifted her head.

Griselle looked like she’d aged years in only a few minutes. Dark circles under her eyes, sunken cheeks. “I had an abortion.” It was like a whisper from the grave.

“Oh, Griselle.”

She gripped Trish’s shoulders tighter than a vice, although her fierce gaze would have been enough to pin her to the floor. “You’re not going to abort the baby, are you?”

“No! No.”

Griselle backed down, obviously relieved. Her hands dropped from Trish’s arms. “How far along are you?”

“Two months.”

“Are you going to keep it? Give it up for adoption?”

Trish blinked and slid her eyes away. “I can’t possibly keep it — ”

“It’s not quite the same as an abortion, but once you give it up for adoption, it’s gone. No ‘undo’ button.”

“I know.” But she was single. In Silicon Valley, one of the world’s most expensive housing markets. “I can’t afford — ”

“I’m just saying to be absolutely sure. You never want to look back and regret not keeping it.”

Regret. Her whole life lately had been nothing but regrets. Griselle’s haunted eyes radiated love for her, but she wouldn’t be the one carrying it, facing the whispers, telling her family. Or making sacrifices in order to keep it, if she did decide that.

Another tear dripped from her eye. She swiped it away.

She wanted things back the way they had been before.

“Pleasanton?” Diana stared at her like she had a third eye. “Why do you want to transfer to Pleasanton?”

“It’ll only be temporary.”

“I know it’s temporary, but it’s completely routine work. Anyone could do it.”

“I need a change of place. Time away.”

Diana’s gaze hardened. “Did you and Spenser break up or something?”

Trish choked and coughed. “We were never going out.” Not really. They’d never actually had a conversation defining their relationship as a couple.

Diana blinked. “Oh. Well, you two get along so well, I thought . . . did you fight with him?”

“No.”

“Did you fight with Kevin?”

“No.” He avoided her like there was a temporary restraining order out and he had to stay fifty feet away from her at all times.

Diana sighed and took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes. “Trish, I can’t let you go. You’re in the middle of a high-profile study, and I’m filing the IND for the projects we ran last quarter. I need you here.”

“Maybe in a few months?”

“Maybe. We won’t know until we get the results from this next experiment.”

Well, it wasn’t a no. Trish plodded back to her office.

Spenser saw her face as soon as she entered the doorway. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She almost turned right around and walked back out. Had she really thought coming late to work would help her avoid Spenser all day? He might have been in the lab when she arrived, but she should have known he wouldn’t stay there until five, when he had to pick up Matthew from daycare.

“I’m fine.” Her legs had turned into electrophoresis gel, and she dropped into her chair.

“You’re not. What’s wrong?” He leaned against the cubicle partition.

He was too close, both physically and emotionally. It was so unfair. She hadn’t even gotten used to the news herself, but she had to decide what she was going to tell Spenser, what she was going to do about their sort-of dating.

She buried her head in her hands. “This is rotten timing.”

“What is?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away from her desk. “Look, I know you’re still mad at me about the earring, but — ”

“I’m not mad anymore.” It all seemed so petty now.

“Oh.” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh . . . Do you . . . need a moment?”

She was going to cry again. Maybe the pregnancy hormones were finally kicking in. “Thanks.” She sniffled.

He would hate her because it was Kazuo’s baby. She should sever all potential right now because she was guaranteed to lose him eventually. No normal male got involved with a pregnant woman, and most definitely not a pregnant woman carrying the baby of the man who’d seduced his wife and broken up his marriage.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make her mouth open to tell him the truth. Because a part of her — a very small, naïve part — hoped he might actually want to stick with her through it all, especially if she decided to give it up. He was a nice guy. He might do it.

And pigs would fly. Alongside Grandma.

It didn’t matter. Eventually, she needed to tell him.

If only it was possible she didn’t have to be there when she did.

Trish drove home, and despite the albatross hanging around her shoulders, the house triggered a wave of satisfaction.

She had arranged for painters to come next week to scrape the peeling strips of exterior paint and swab on a warm cream color. She had swept the garage, tightened a few screws, and used lubricant on the garage door so that it could close all the way. Eventually she would buy an automatic garage door opener — and be reimbursed by Mrs. Choi — but for now she kept the door locked.

Inside looked even brighter. The scrubbed walls revealed a modest beige color that a previous owner had painted a few years after the avocado-orange wallpaper era. She had reserved some heavy equipment for next week to sand down the hardwood floors exposed by the carpet removal. Then she would apply sealer, rent a steel wool polisher, and apply finish to her restored floors.

She had killed the mold on the bathroom ceiling and stopped the puddle under the toilet by tightening the spigot. At last, she could use the toilet without fear. She had hired a handyman to come in next week to check the joists for rotting from the water damage.

The kitchen still sported avocado-orange wallpaper, but also new grout between the tiles. She had replaced the yellow curtains with white cotton eyelet ones from a bargain store. In addition to cleaning the refrigerator, she’d scrubbed the grease from the ceiling and the cabinets, taking off some of the paint underneath. She’d strip the paint off and repaint later. The ceiling still had a beige stain, but at least it didn’t look like it would drip on her when she cooked.