Is a plus sign good? Sometimes. But it’s never good on a pregnancy test. Especially when you’re 27 and have just broken up with your boyfriend of five years who cheated on you.
It was Adam’s baby. Of course it was. He’s the only person I’ve ever had sex with in the last 2 ½ years. And I was probably about a month along. Because the only time we didn’t use a condom was on February 14, when he had proposed to me. It was now March 18, Adam’s birthday. How was I going to tell him that I was pregnant, on his birthday?
I walked out of the bathroom. Sam was sitting in the same spot he had when I went into the bathroom. He was nodding his head as he read a long article from Newsweek.
I sat down beside him, breathing heavily. He looked up. “What’s wrong?”
I started to sniffle, and then tears ran down my cheeks. I could feel my waterproof mascara drip down my cheeks. “It was a plus sign!” I buried my head in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
“What are you talking about?”
I looked up at him, still crying. “I’m pregnant!” His mouth turned upside down, and all he did was stare. I pulled away, afraid that I was freaking him out. This was the guy that I’ve known since I was 10 years old. The guy who I fell in love with. The guy who I was with for four years. The guy who broke my heart. The guy who I left at the airport for my career.
And we had only just seen each other yesterday for the first time in almost 6 years. And now we were at his parent’s house. And I was crying, making his shirt wet because of a stupid mistake I made with a stupid guy.

He laid a hand on my elbow and looked down, not knowing what to say. “I’m s-s-sorry,” I said and got up. I paced back and forth as he sank into the couch, letting the information marinate in his mind.

“You? Karlee? Get pregnant? Out of all the girls I’ve known, you’re the last I’d expect this from,” and then he laughed, nervously. “You should go to the doctor to make sure.”

I nodded and picked up my purse. I started to walk out, and realized that he wasn’t following. “Aren’t you coming?” He looked up in shock. “Please?” It was more of a question than a plead.

He got up silently and grabbed his keys. I’d forgotten where the doctor’s office was, but he eventually found out. We were in the car for 20 minutes, and not a word was spoken. I could feel my mascara tears drying on my cheeks, and he was still in shock.

We walked into the office and asked if anyone was available to give a pregnancy test. One doctor was open, so we walked in. Sam sat in the chair while I sat on the table, crunching the paper beneath me.

A nurse came in to take my pulse and blood pressure, then gave me robe to change into. I felt awkward changing in front of Sam, who hadn’t seen me naked in six years. Well, maybe on all of those magazine covers and in the movies I made, but not in the flesh.

But he didn’t move, and looked at the ground. I quickly changed and sat back on the table just as the doctor walked in. He immediately got to the test, and he confirmed that I was one month pregnant.

I waited for the doctor to leave, and I started crying again. Sam did nothing. I changed back, and he followed me out. We got into the car, and before he could start it, I said, “Say something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“How are you going to tell him?” Sam asked. He knew about my ex. I was a celebrity, and everyone knew. All you had to do was wait in line at the grocery store and pick up the latest issue of People Magazine. I’m sure our breakup was all over each cover.

“I don’t want to,” I said, realizing it was inevitable that I had to say something.

“You should call him, now,” I looked at him and widened my eyes, as if to say “Really?”

Even after six years, he still understood my facial expressions, and nodded. I reached in my purse and pulled out my cell phone. Adam’s number was still the number one speed-dial.

I held down the number and swallowed as I put the phone up to my ear. Then I felt Sam’s hand touch mine, and he was suddenly holding it. Sam used to do this all the time whenever I cried or was in pain. It was a loving gesture, and it felt good to hold his hand again. “Hello?” A groggily voice asked. Adam must have just woken up.

“Uh…” I couldn’t say anything. “It’s Karlee.”

“Karlee?” He was suddenly awake. “Um, hey.”

I inhaled and looked at Sam for support, but he just squeezed my hand harder. “I have something to tell you,” I said to Adam.

“Okay,” he said.

“Remember that night in Paris, when you um…proposed?” it was hard to say the word, because I just hated him for doing it.

He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was nodding.

“Well, um…we didn’t um…use a uh…condom. And now I’m uh…”

“Pregnant?” he asked.

I nodded this time, and I could hear him sigh. There was silence for about 30 seconds. Sam squeezed my hand tighter. “I don’t know what to say Karlee,” Adam said.

“Just don’t say anything. To anyone. Please?”

“Okay,” he said. He knew that being famous, people could find out I was pregnant in a second, and I didn’t want that to happen. My career would be over, and I’d be dubbed as a s***.

“Well…bye Adam.”

“I love you,” was all he said, and I hung up. I looked at Sam. He pursed his lips together and nodded, then started the car.

We drove out of the parking lot, and once again, there was silence the whole way home.

I could hear his steady breathing. And I could smell his light cologne. The same cologne I had bought him for Christmas in college. I smiled, knowing he still used it.

He saw me smiling, and smiled too. Then he reached out and held my hand again. And the rest of the silence on the way home was perfect.

And then I looked at him, with the expression that meant “I love you,” and he knew what I was saying. So he smiled back, saying the same thing.