He says, "Yes." He says he's worried, but I don't think he's worried enough.

I tell him I'm making an appointment this weekend for an abortion. "So don't make plans," I say.

He says something that I cut off in the middle.

I say, "I have to go throw up. I'll call you back."

I hang up and let my stomach settle and then I call Miriam. She says, "Remember last time you were pregnant?"

I say, "Last time was only sore breasts. This time is nauseous."

"Well," Miriam says, "sometimes I get nauseous from PMS."

"Really?" I say.

"No. Not really."

I say, "I'll take a pregnancy test."

"Good idea," she says. She says, "Call the 800 number—the women are social workers or something. Really nice. I used to call them when dates stood me up."

I unwrap my emergency test and pee.

I call Miriam. "One blue line," I say. "Can you remember if one line means yes or no?"

"Read the package."

"I threw it out," I say. "Oh," I say, "I have to vomit." And this time I really do. Lunch and then some.

Then I look in the mirror sideways to see if I lost weight from the vomit.

Then I am freezing, so I put on my sweaters, which are conveniently on my floor as bedding.

I am freezing and sleeping and then sweating and sleeping.

Then the pregnancy test place calls to say one line means no.

Tano knocks.

I feel a little better, but I decide not to say anything because I need him to express concern.

I tell him the door's open, and he says someone's going to come in and kill me while I'm sleeping.