Kismet

Chapter Nine

I wake the next morning I wake up earlier than normal for me on a summer day: 8:34. Surprisingly, nobody in my family was up. Not even Dad, who spent the whole day yesterday at his job. That would make sense, of course. He would want to sleep in- it was Saturday, I think.

   I instantly roll over and check my phone for any messages. Nothing. Not even any from Amanda. I groan and put it back on my wooden nightstand. I whip my covers off my body, knowing that I won't be able to fall asleep again if I tried. It was still cold from last night.

   I suddenly remember why I'm tired and woke early. Ethan came over and we looked at the stars. Or was that a dream? My head is spinning. I shake it off and walk across my room, opening the door silently. What had he said to me last night? Something about. . . His dad died in a war in Afghanistan, I think. A few years ago. He let me borrow his hat shortly. . . .

   I shiver. He had also grabbed my wrist. Why is that so clear to me right now, when everything else is a blurry memory?

   I look down at my wrist, as if to see his hand creepily still attached. I rub it faintly, looking up and down the hallway. Senses recovering, I walk down the stairs as my feet get some feeling in them again. I walk into the downstairs bathroom, grabbing a brush off the sink and trying to restrain some of my morning hair. I pull it back into a messy bun, out of my face.

   I notice something odd in the garbage can as I lower the brush. I tilt my head to the side, trying to read the words on the pink pencil-sized package. As I read what it says, my eyes widen and my hand flies to my mouth.

   I half-run out of the bathroom, my foot hitting a stray cat litter box on the floor. I walk into the kitchen, my thoughts tumbling. What was that doing in the trashcan, in our bathroom? Why did anybody even get it?

   My brain is still frozen from all the things I had to take in this morning. I distantly grab a cereal box out of the pantry. I pour myself a bowl, spilling some over the sides. I quickly get some milk and pour it in, and I walk into the living room to each peacefully. Well, as peaceful as my thoughts would let me.

   Shelby meows at me, but I hardly hear her or reconise her at all. I just walk blankly to the couch, plopping down. Some of the milk spills on my shorts, but I don't notice it.

   I am too numb to turn on the TV. I just stare at the black screen, thinking about why that box was in the can, and why my parents would use the product inside the package.

   I am finished with my breakfast by the time I hear footsteps on the stairs. They walk to the door frame, silently and sleepily.

   I whip my head around to see Mom walking towards the kitchen, probably getting her coffee. "Why did you buy that?"

   She turns her head, startled. "What are. . .  what are you talking about, Kiara?" she asks, sounding confused. "Buy what? And why are you down here so early?"

   I ignore her other question. A faint sense of betrayal, and a bit of anger boils inside me as I stand to my feet. "Why did you buy that pregnancy test, Mom? Did you. . . are you pregnant?" I try to keep my feelings out of the tone of my voice. It doesn't work. I choke as I say the words.

   Mom looks up the stairs, and then walks a few steps towards me. Pleading is in her eyes. "Kiara, please do not tell your father. Not yet."

   "But. . . why did you tell us before?" I ask, anguise making my tone bitter. "Are you?"

   She pauses. "Yes. But I don't want to tell anybody. Not yet."

   M hand flies to my forehead, and I try to make sense of this while situation. "When wrere you planning on telling us? Huh?"