I don’t cry over the single pink line. No, instead, I hyperventilate and assure Emmett I’m totally fine because it’s still too early and I don’t know why I’m even testing, all while laughing, like a mature, emotionally healthy adult. Then I try to blow Emmett’s mind anyway, even though he convinces me I don’t need to, suggests a walk instead—it’s a beautiful, warm fall day, after all. Except my hands won’t stop trembling as I tug at his clothes, and when I press my lips
