My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

47. Pregnancy Test Yields Unwanted Result

Andie sat in her fuzzy Chewbacca bathrobe poised at the edge of her tub in the almost-empty apartment, stomach churning, fixing her gaze upon the little window of the pregnancy test wand. It became the center of her universe as the marble gleam of the modern bathroom, the vestigial scents of her coconut body wash, the spacesuit crumpled in a pile atop the bathroom scale, retreated into a background haze. She held her breath and concentrated, as if by doing so she could produce a negative result through sheer will.

"It'll be fine," Bad Andie soothed, breaking Andie's concentration. An irrational part of her worried this interruption would break the spell and screw up the outcome. But she pushed this aside, because right now she needed logic, not magic. Logic and nerve. "No matter what, I'll be with you."

"You're stuck with me now."

"Like crazy glue."

"Emphasis on crazy," Andie said. "Me, not you."

"No need to clarify. You giving up that hunk of male alien flesh makes you certifiable. It's not too late to change our mind. He doesn't even know what an idiot you are yet"

"He went to the ship to warn his father. Which means he's loyal to them. Even if I wish he was on my side, it's not fair for me to expect an Amu prince to betray his people. I'm destroying everything they've built on earth. All they've strived to attain for decades. If anyone found out he knew my plan and kept it a secret, he'd end up in space jail, or worse! For the rest of his life. Not to mention that the punishment for interspecies relations is death. If there is a child, it will be born a capital crime. I can't risk them killing our baby. At least with me out of the picture, he can try to make amends with his dad. He'll get over me," Andie said, impressed at her capacity for self-pity, self-delusion, and world-class wallowing.

"Huh?" Bad Andie blurted, interrupting Andie's ramblings of self-pity. "What does that mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"Three blue glowy lines. The pregnancy test. Did you already forget why we're hanging out in a moldy bathroom?"

"It's not moldy, and oh my god. You distracted me."

Andie scooped up the box from the floor and reread the directions. All it said was one red line: you're not pregnant, two: you are. Nothing at all about three blue lines glowing with what was apparently Neuronic energy. She threw the box across the room and missed the trash can. Then she tossed the wand, which also missed.

"I should've gotten the other brand. This one's broken."

"It's not broken, Andie. Face it. You're pregnant with a half-alien baby. As if your achy breasts, unnaturally glowing skin, increased bouts of nausea, zappy blue energy, mood swings, a Zut-master induced vision, and a suddenly affectionate spaceship weren't enough clues." Andie flopped her head into her hands. "But look at the bright side."

"Which is?"

"Even if the baby is born while we're hiding in the mountains of some far off country, tending goats, and trying to keep your half-alien child from zapping things in front of the rest of the goat-herder population, it can still run for president because you're a U.S. citizen."

"Why in the world would my child want to be president?"

"Because it would be hilarious. Any new alien civilizations popping over to earth for a brief invasion or a stint of intergalactic peace talks, or meeting their monthly abduction & probing quotas, would say 'take us to your leader' and it would be President Lieder." Bad Andie laughed uncontrollably. She even snorted. "I did not snort!"

The truth hit Andie's consciousness like a drug-laced Snickerdoodle. She unleashed an unearthly sob. Tears streamed down her face—cinnamon-flavored tears! "I'm pregnant."