Free Hooked by Catherine Greenman

time.
    I went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge for something for dinner. There was Old Amsterdam Gouda wrapped in wax paper in the drawer, just like at Mom’s. I made grilled cheese sandwiches with an overripe tomato and we had them on our laps in the living room. He ate his while I squeezed mine and tore it apart, feeling sick from imagined pregnancy symptoms. Part of me was afraid he’d be able to discern my potential problem just by looking at me, and I got a shiver down my spine at the thought of him finding out.
    “So when is the turkey coming?” I asked.
    “Tomorrow morning, between nine and eleven,” he answered, not looking up from his paper.
    “Do you think they’ll drown it in rosemary bushels again?” I asked. Thanksgiving always came from some herb-crazy caterer uptown, which we joked about every year.
    “I don’t know, Thea,” he said lifelessly. He could goforever without talking. When I was younger, I’d sit in the living room with him, and the silence compared to Mom’s chatting actually confused me. But that night I could tell he wasn’t talking because he was still pissed off about college. I picked up the empty plate from his lap and went to my room for the rest of the night.

11.
    “I wish the weekend weren’t over,” Will said on the phone Sunday night. “Four days without you. Sucky.”
    “I know,” I said, telling myself I wouldn’t mention the potential problem until I knew for sure what the deal was. “I’m so sick of Dad, I can’t wait to get out of here.”
    “Uh-oh, what happened?”
    “Nothing specific,” I said. “Wait, that’s not true. Let’s see, I spent Thanksgiving morning making these hors d’oeuvre–y things he likes, or at least I thought he liked.”
    “What did you make?”
    “Devils on horseback,” I said. “Mom made them for parties all the time when I was little and he would devour them.” I remembered hearing her heels clomping restlessly around the kitchen as she filled the hors d’oeuvre tray with olives and toothpicks. Mom was always really animated when she threw parties. When it was just me and Dad, she was bored. “But when Dad’s guests came on Thanksgiving, I put the hors d’oeuvres out and he wouldn’t touch them. The pudgy trader guy and his wife ate all of them. When I mentioned that Dadused to eat entire plates of them when Mom made them, he glared at me as though I’d insulted him. ‘Well, that was then, Thea.’ I swear I can’t win with him. You’re lucky your parents are still together.”
    “My dad says divorce is overrated,” Will said.
    “He’s right!” I said.
    “Yeah, but it sort of sounds like he’s considered it as an option.” He laughed. “Parents.”
    “Parents,” I said.
    “What else?” he asked. “Did I mention I wish you were here?”
    I threw the blankets off and sat up. “Will, I’m scared,” I said, immediately wishing I’d waited. “I think I might be pregnant.”
    “What? We’ve been on the phone this whole time and you don’t say anything until now?”
    “I wasn’t going to say anything until I took a test.”
    “You’re on the pill!”
    “I know, but it can still happen. Remember when I stayed up there a few weeks ago? I skipped it that day,” I said.
    “That was one pill!” he said.
    “Well, I’m probably just late,” I said, remembering that Vanessa’s cousin had done the same thing—skipped one pill—and gotten pregnant. There was a long silence. A door slammed on his end.
    “I almost wish you hadn’t told me. How am I going to sleep?”
    “Sorry,” I snapped. “Don’t worry. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I mean, I’ll take care of it. It’s not your problem.”
    “It’s not my problem? Of course it is.”
    “Well, it’s not even a problem yet. I’m just a little worried.”
    “In a way it’d be cool,” he said.
    “What would?”
    “Having it,” he said.
    I heard Dad walk by my