If she’s not going to bring Christopher up in conversation by name I won’t do it, either. Maybe she’s trying to open the door for discussion, but I don’t think she’s ready. It will only make things worse. Instead ofunching into a speech about how he wasn’t worth the time, anyway, I scroll through N*****x to find another movie. “Are we going with horror again? Oh, maybe we should pick a serial killer documentary?”


    “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” She burrows deeper under the nket before adding, “Bonus points if it’s about a woman who killed a man for fucking with her while she was on her period


    “Are you kidding? I would start a Go Fund Me for her legal expenses.”


    The sound of her glee leaves me smiling. “I swear, if men had to go through a period just once, there’d be a pill to magically treat the symptoms within a year.”


    The sound of a man awkwardly clearing his throat gets our attention, and we both look up from theptop to find Roger hanging in the doorway. His expression is painful, telling me he probably heard what we just said.


    “Since when do you sneak around on this side of the house?” Tatiana’s voice hasn’t as much energy or bitterness as I would


    expect, but she still sounds annoyed.


    “Is it sneaking when the door was open?”


    I shrug when she shoots me a dirty look. “I had my hands full, remember? I didn’t even think about it.”


    “What do you want?” she asks him with a sigh, sitting up.


    “I was passing the kitchen, and Sheryl asked me to check on you. She wanted to know if you needed more tea.”


    “Actually, since you’re here, yes, the pot is empty.” She holds it out to him, and he crosses the room, almost tentatively, to take it from her. I wait for the obligatoryment about him being her servant or for him to call her a spoiled brat, but it neveres. Their usual banter is missing.


    “Do you, um, need anything else?” He stands tall but doesn’t necessarily look at either of us, more like through us.


    “Can you convince my uterus to stop hating me so much?” Tatiana asks.


    All he does is shake his head and walk out of the room.


    I can’t help bursting intoughter, even if I feel bad for him. <b>“</b>I swear. Men.‘


    “<b>} </b>


    “They grow up hearing how shameful and disgusting periods are,” she sighs, shaking her head. “What can you expect?”


    rely it’s not the


    The man supervised the clean–up after Gianni blew my ex–boyfriend’s brains out. I’m sure that’s not even the worst thing he’s ever witnessed. Though somehow he can’t stand the thought of a natural biological process taking  period part that bothers him, and more of the who the blood ising out of instead.


    “I’m d you’re here, even if things areplicated,” Tatiana murmurs, resting her head on my shoulder as the documentary


    begins.


    “I love you, Tatiana, and regardless of where your father and I are in our rtionship, you are and will always be my best friend. So, I couldn’t find a show about a murderous menstruating woman, but I did find one about a serial killer who married wealthy men before poisoning them.”


    “Ooh, yes!” she exims.


    A few minutester, Roger returns. He taps <b>on </b>the door before walking in, carrying a pot of tea in one hand and a pill bottle <b>in </b>the other. He tosses the bottle of pills at her, and she catches them in the air, before handing me the pot of tea. <b>“</b>I went out and got these from my ce. You probably shouldn’t tell your father I gave them to you, but I thought they might stop your uterus from killing you.”


    She reads thebel, and I know I’m not imagining the faint smile that touches the corners of her lips. “What, you don’t think my


    father would like knowing you’re giving me narcotics?”


    ‘Don’t start, Tatiana. I can take them back as fast as I gave them to you.” Only he doesn’t. He’s too busy hiding a smile as he <b>leaves </b>the room.


    What the hell did I just witness<b>? </b>


    If I didn’t know better, I would think they were, dare I say it… friends. Exactly how much have I missed when I wasn’t here? I will probably keep my questions to myself, since I’d more than likely get an eye roll from Tatiana if I asked. Roger is a locked safe when ites to sharing personal information<b>, </b>so there’s no point in asking him.


    After a bit of contemtion, she takes one of the pills, and within twenty minutes, her eyelids droop. “I’m so tired. I should have cut it in half,” she mumbles, sliding down until her head is nestled against the pillows.


    I grab the cup of tea from her hand before she spills it on herself. “Maybe this is just a sign that you need some rest.”


    “And there I was,” she whispers, sighing as she rolls onto her side. “Thinking things were supposed to get better once I went on the pill. The doctors lied. My uterus still hates me.”


    “It worked for me. Everyone’s body is different.”


    She snickers, her eyes closed now. “Yeah, what a surprise. I’m different.”


    I would tell her maybe she just needs a different pill, but she’s already drifted off to sleep. As I’m lying beside her, it suddenly urs to me that I can’t remember thest time I had my period.


    Of course, being on the pill means ites regrly. As soon as I hit the fourth week of pills. But even though I’ve been taking them religiously–I even carry a pack in my purse just in case, which is good in situations like this weekend when I haven’t been home I haven’t had a period in… I search my brain trying to line up dates. Five, maybe six weeks. I don’t usually track it since I know when to expect it ording to where I am in my pack.


    Panic bubbles at the surface of my brain. Okay, deep breath. It could be nothing more than stress<b>… </b>right? Bile rises in my throat. There’s a hand gripping my heart. Gripping the muscle tightly. My chest hurts. Dear lord. What if… No, it’s impossible.


    Right away, I pull out my phone and go straight to G****e. I type in ‘Can stress affect menstruation‘ in the search bar. Yes, it’s possible, and perhaps that’s what I subconsciously chalked it up to. All the stress I’ve been under.


    I wish that made me feel better and made me believe further that it’s not possible. However, any time you have sex, you’re putting yourself at risk of pregnancy. Still, the chances of it actually urring has to be low, right? Even if I missed a pill, it’s only one. I’m sure it’s possible, but is it probable? With my luck, sure it is. All these years of being careful, it would be like me to identally get pregnant at the worst possible time in my life.


    That might not even be the problem–something else could be wrong with me. Maybe I’m not pregnant at all, maybe I’m just sick. There I go again, freaking myself out until I can hardly breathe. The easiest way to know is to mal on appointment with a


    ince myself that I doctor as soon as possible. Otherwise, I’m going to go crazy searching the web for information until 1


    have a brain tumor.


    Forcing steady, even breaths into my lungs I settle back against the pillows. It’s probably nothing, anyway, plus I won’t get anywhere on a Sunday afternoon. Not unless I want to go to the ER and that’s not worth the money or exnation. I try to focus on the documentary, yet no amount of trying gets the thoughts to go away. My brain is like a tilt–a–whirl<b>, </b>spinning around and around. How can I have a hundred different scenarios running through my head all at once?


    but


    And some of them–such as what my dad would do if he found out was pregnant with Gianni’s baby–are way uglier than anything I’ve seen so far. Even worse, yes, Gianni and I have discussed having a baby. I know he wants a child with me, talking about having a baby and having one are two different things. With everything hanging in the bnce, I’m not sure <b>our </b>already fragile rtionship can take the weight of something that big. Moreover, I’m not sure <b>I </b>can take the weight of something that big.