“Oh, uh, yeah. I just, uh, got up to use the bathroom and cut my hand on something. I just need a bandage,” she said, lying through her teeth. I was about to say something, but her good hand moved to the glovebox handle.

“No wait-”

She opened it, but it wasn’t visible yet. I could stop her.

“There aren’t any-”

She was already moving things around. I saw her pause as her hand found something, and she pulled it out.

We were both staring at it.

My heart was beating a mile a minute, though whether it was from the fact that she had seen it or that I had to look at it again I wasn’t sure. I prayed that she wouldn’t say anything. I couldn’t talk about it.

Slowly, painfully slowly, she set it back down in the glovebox without a word and pulled out a bandage sticking up in the corner. I sunk back down into my makeshift bed as quietly as I could, as if she’d forget that I was awake. I barely even heard her close the door or felt the car bounce as she climbed back in through the back. All I could think was one thing, finally made real by having to see that stupid little stick again.

I was pregnant.

It didn’t feel like I slept at all, but I woke up to find Mitta sitting up against the windows opposite me, so I must have fallen asleep at some point. I sat up slowly, not daring to look at her. 

She knew. I was pregnant.

I kept my eyes focused on the blanket as I moved it around to cover my lap, on the box of cereal when she handed it to me, on the plastic bowl as I pulled it out of the bag, on the little pieces of disgusting cereal as I ate them one by one.

Mitta was silent. Was she angry? She had to be. She didn’t sign up to drive to Mexico with a pregnant woman. I was pregnant. I could almost feel her staring holes into my forehead, waiting for me to explain myself.

I chanced a glance up, and I was surprised – she wasn’t even looking at me. She was doing almost the same thing I had been, staring at her cereal like her life depended on it. But why?

Her outburst. She was afraid that I would ask about it. Terrified, just like I was, of having to talk about it. I was pregnant.

If neither of us wanted to talk about it, then we didn’t have to… right? We could just pretend it didn’t happen? But how could I break the silence and let her know that it was okay…

“So what’s today’s plan?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, and she looked up immediately. As soon as she realized what I’d said I could see her visibly relax.

“Umm,” she paused to swallow. “I think maybe we’ve spent enough time in New York. Let’s head to Baltimore – there’s an art museum there I want to see.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.” I was happy to leave New York behind. Yesterday had been… well, bad pun aside, a roller coaster of a day. I finished off my cereal and climbed out of the car, taking a minute to look at the slowly growing collection of Polaroids taped to my ceiling. Mitta really should have just let me take a picture of her in front of the roller coaster instead of asking a stranger to do it. I would have at least taken it straight, and then I wouldn’t have been in it.

We climbed into the front seats and Mitta turned on the radio, eventually getting a station to play clearly. I started driving toward Baltimore, wondering how long the tension would stay thick enough to cut with a knife.