Chapter 1
His hand came into focus before his face did. Black sleeve, white plastic, two pink lines sharp enough to cut. Behind it, blurred by the shallow depth of field and the tears I hadn't wiped away, I was on my knees on the cold wood floor of our apartment with my hand over my mouth and my eyes squeezed shut. I could hear the daylight humming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The test should have been in the trash, buried under coffee grounds where I'd put it that morning, and in his hand it made no sense. He was crouched so close I could smell his cologne and the faint starch of his shirt, and at the same time he felt a mile away, held apart by that little stick.
My name is Anna, and that afternoon I learned how quiet a apartment could get when someone was waiting for you to lie.
It was just past two. The sun was high and flat against the windows, washing the living room in that bright, clean light that made everything look exposed. I hadn't heard him come in. The key had turned while I was still kneeling by the bathroom doorway, my robe pooling around me, my breathing too loud. When I opened my eyes he was already there, crouched to my level, holding the test out in his palm like evidence. He didn't raise his voice. He held it steady in the foreground between us, angled so I had to see the lines, and he looked at me over the top of it.
"Where did you learn to hide things from me?" he said. His voice was low and even with a small pause before the last word, and his eyes didn't leave mine.
I tried to breathe and couldn't. My hand was still pressed against my mouth. I could feel mascara wet on my cheeks.
"I wasn't, I was going to tell you," I said. It came out thin and broken. I didn't drop my hand. My eyes closed again without me meaning them to, and the tears slipped out anyway.
He leaned forward an inch. The test stayed between us. "Whose is this, Anna?" he asked. Quiet, but every word placed. His thumb tightened just a little around the end of the stick, knuckles pale against the black cuff.
I should have answered right away. I didn't. The air conditioner kicked on and hummed through the apartment, and for two seconds the only sound was my breathing.
"It's yours," I said.
He stared at me. I watched his jaw work once, watched his eyes move slowly over my face like he was checking for the lie in it. Something in his shoulders eased and something else locked. He didn't stand. He shifted his weight and brought the test closer to his chest, but he didn't put it down.
May you like
"You're coming with me."
I didn't move. He didn't reach for me yet. Outside the window a bus braked on the street below and somewhere in the hall outside our front door, the elevator dinged. His head turned just enough toward the sound, and his hand stayed where it was, holding the test between us, and we both listened to the footsteps coming closer down the hallway.
