The Detroit Diaries 🖤📖
Before I Knew — Part Two
Why the Fuck Does Everything Smell So Strong?
By ten-thirty that morning, I had decided three things.
One—
I was fucking exhausted.
Two—
My boobs needed to stop hurting.
And three—
Every smell inside the tanning salon had apparently been turned up to approximately nine thousand.
Which made absolutely no fucking sense.
I worked here.
I was used to this place.
The salon was basically my second home.
Black walls with hot-pink accents.
Leopard-print details.
A dramatic black-and-white damask loveseat near the waiting area.
A huge decorative mirror with TREAT YOURSELF — BECAUSE YOU’RE WORTH IT across the top.
Behind the front counter were shelves filled with tanning lotions in every bottle imaginable.
Designer Skin.
Australian Gold.
Swedish Beauty.
Supre.
Bottles shaped like perfume.
Sparkly bottles.
Leopard-print bottles.
Pink bottles.
Purple bottles.
Lotions that smelled like coconut, vanilla, fruit, bronzer and approximately seventeen other things at the same fucking time.
Normally?
I loved it.
Today?
I wanted to throw half of it in the parking lot.
I picked up one bottle somebody had left on the counter.
Immediately—
My stomach flipped.
“Oh, fuck no.”
I put it down.
Fast.
One of my coworkers looked over.
“What?”
“That smells horrible.”
She stared at me.
“You literally told somebody yesterday that was your favorite.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Since yesterday?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
I didn’t.
Because my stomach was still rolling.
⸻
I grabbed my Dr Pepper and took a sip.
Better.
For about twelve seconds.
Then somebody opened a bottle of coconut tanning lotion nearby.
I froze.
Normally, coconut?
Loved it.
Today?
Absolutely fucking not.
“Can you close that?”
The girl looked at me.
“What?”
“The lotion.”
She screwed the cap back on.
“Why?”
“I can smell it from here.”
She stared at me.
“Jessica, I’m like fifteen feet away.”
“I KNOW.”
That was the fucking problem.
Everything smelled stronger.
Perfume.
Cleaning spray.
Tanning lotion.
Somebody’s body spray.
Even the warm tanning beds had a smell I’d apparently never noticed before.
My stomach rolled again.
I put my hand against it.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
Probably getting sick.
That had to be it.
⸻
Around eleven, I finally got a few quiet minutes.
No customers at the counter.
Rooms cleaned.
Towels folded.
Everything caught up.
I walked toward the waiting area and caught myself in the big mirror.
And stopped.
Because despite feeling like complete shit?
I looked fucking cute.
“Okay…”
I pulled out my little hot-pink Nokia.
The mirror showed everything.
My long black-and-platinum peekaboo hair fell in dramatic curls around my shoulders, platinum pieces framing my face against the darker underneath.
My eyes were done in smoky gray and silver with that soft pop of pink, thick black winged liner and enormous lashes.
Glossy petal-pink lips.
Pink gemstone nose stud.
Sparkling drop earrings.
My big diamond butterfly necklace glittering against my chest.
Black fitted lace camisole.
Tiny hot-pink shorts.
Huge metallic silver belt.
And those completely unreasonable zebra-striped platform heels with hot-pink heels.
My hot-pink purse was sitting on the loveseat behind me.
I turned slightly sideways.
Put one hand on my hip.
Held the phone up.
Click.
Looked at it.
“No.”
Again.
Click.
Too serious.
Again.
Click.
That one?
Cute as fuck.
I sent it to Marshall.
No caption.
Because I knew exactly what would happen.
⸻
My phone rang less than a minute later.
I stared at it.
Of course.
“Hello?”
“What the fuck?”
I started laughing.
“What?”
“You at work dressed like that?”
I looked down at myself.
“Like what?”
“Jessica.”
“What?!”
“The fucking shorts.”
I grinned at my reflection.
“You don’t like them?”
“That ain’t what I said.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You know what the problem is.”
“Nope.”
“You got dudes coming in there?”
I burst out laughing.
“MARSHALL.”
“I’m asking.”
“Yes, men are legally permitted inside tanning salons.”
“Funny.”
I leaned against the counter.
“You jealous?”
“No.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I ain’t jealous.”
“You called me approximately thirty seconds after I sent you a picture.”
“Because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And them fucking shoes.”
I looked down.
“What about my shoes?”
“Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”
“To work!”
“You look like you’re going to a club.”
“At eleven in the morning?”
“With you? Wouldn’t surprise me.”
I gasped.
“Fuck you.”
He laughed.
Then his voice softened.
“You look beautiful.”
And just like that, my stupid smile appeared.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I looked at myself in the mirror again.
“Thank you.”
“Send me another one.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because now you’re being greedy.”
“Baby.”
“Nope.”
“Jessica.”
“You get one.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I laughed.
“You’ll survive.”
⸻
Then my stomach rolled.
Fast.
My smile disappeared.
I put my hand against the counter.
“Fuck.”
Marshall heard it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s nothing.”
“You sick again?”
I frowned.
“How’d you know?”
“You said your stomach felt weird this morning.”
“Oh.”
I rubbed my stomach.
“Yeah. Kinda.”
“You eat?”
“Not really.”
“Jessica.”
“What?”
“You gotta eat.”
“I know.”
“You been drinking that Dr Pepper?”
I looked at the bottle.
“Maybe.”
“That ain’t food.”
“Don’t attack Dr Pepper. It didn’t do anything to you.”
He laughed.
“Go eat something.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
“Baby.”
“Fine!”
⸻
I went into the little employee area and found something to eat.
One bite.
Nope.
Second bite.
My stomach immediately protested.
I put it down.
“Are you fucking serious?”
My coworker looked over.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You look pale.”
“It’s my makeup.”
“No, it isn’t.”
I looked at her.
“Thanks.”
She laughed.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I think I’m getting sick.”
“Like flu sick?”
“I don’t know.”
I leaned back.
“I’m tired. My stomach feels weird. Everything smells like it’s approximately two inches away from my fucking nose…”
I shifted my camisole.
“And my boobs hurt like a motherfucker.”
She stopped.
I didn’t notice.
“And I’m fucking emotional.”
Still didn’t notice her expression.
“And I swear to God if somebody opens another coconut tanning lotion near me, I’m throwing it through the fucking window.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. What’s that face?”
“What face?”
“That fucking face you’re making.”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Okay…”
And went back toward the counter.
⸻
About twenty minutes later, I was writing something down when my brain suddenly snagged on a thought.
My hand stopped.
Wait.
I stared at the calendar.
September.
I blinked.
Then started counting backward.
Slowly.
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
I counted again.
Maybe I had the dates wrong.
I grabbed my purse and dug around for my little planner.
Receipts.
Lip gloss.
Wallet.
Random shit.
Finally—
Planner.
I flipped through it.
August.
I stared.
And suddenly I couldn’t remember.
When was my last period?
I usually knew.
Not down to the fucking hour or anything.
But roughly.
Except now—
Nothing.
I started counting again.
My heart began beating faster.
“No, no, no…”
My coworker looked over.
“What?”
I didn’t answer.
Because another memory had just arrived.
Atlanta.
Marshall.
The hotel.
That night.
I stared at absolutely nothing.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
I looked at her.
Then down at my planner.
Then back at her.
“I think my period’s late.”
Silence.
Her eyes got huge.
Mine probably did too.
“No.”
She slowly said my name.
“Jessica…”
“No.”
“Have you—”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”
“Yes, I fucking do.”
My hand went automatically to my stomach.
Still completely flat.
Nothing there to see.
Nothing there to feel.
But suddenly every weird thing from that morning lined up in my head.
Exhausted.
Sore breasts.
Nausea.
Smells.
Food.
Late period.
Atlanta.
Marshall.
“Oh…”
Fuck.
My phone started ringing on the counter.
I looked down.
Marshall.
Of course it fucking was.
My coworker looked at the phone.
Then at me.
“Are you gonna answer?”
I stared at his name flashing across that tiny pink screen.
Five minutes ago, I would’ve answered without thinking.
Now?
My heart was pounding.
Because for the first time all morning, the thought had actually formed completely.
Not flu.
Not stress.
Not bad food.
Not lack of sleep.
Pregnant.
I swallowed.
Then picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hey, baby.”
I closed my eyes.
“Hey.”
Pause.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“You sure?”
I looked down at my stomach.
“No.”
His voice immediately changed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Jessica.”
“I just…”
I couldn’t fucking say it.
Not yet.
Not over the phone.
Not when I didn’t even know.
So I looked at my coworker.
She mouthed:
Take a test.
My eyes widened.
I shook my head violently.
She nodded.
I shook my head again.
She pointed toward the door.
I flipped her off.
“What’re you doing?” Marshall asked.
“Nothing.”
“Who you flipping off?”
I froze.
“How the fuck did you know?”
“Because I know you.”
I laughed despite myself.
And somehow that made the panic loosen just a tiny bit.
“I’ll call you later.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Promise?”
I hesitated.
Then looked down at my still-flat stomach again.
“I promise.”
I hung up.
My coworker was already grabbing her purse.
I stared at her.
“Where are you going?”
“To the drugstore.”
My eyes widened.
“Oh, absolutely the fuck not.”
She grabbed her keys.
“Yep.”
“No!”
“Jessica.”
“I AM NOT PREGNANT.”
She opened the employee door.
“Then the test will say you’re not pregnant.”
I stood there.
No comeback.
Because unfortunately?
That was annoyingly logical.
I looked toward the giant salon mirror.
At the girl who had stood there twenty minutes earlier taking a sexy little picture for her new boyfriend.
Same hair.
Same makeup.
Same hot-pink shorts.
Same heels.
Same Jessica.
Except now I couldn’t stop looking at my stomach.
My phone buzzed again.
A text from Marshall.
LOVE YOU. CALL ME IF YOU NEED ME.
I stared at it.
Then whispered—
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Because there was now one question I desperately needed answered.
And depending on what appeared on one tiny plastic stick…
That selfie I’d just sent Marshall might’ve accidentally been the last picture I’d ever taken before I knew I was carrying his baby.
To Be Continued… 🖤📖
Next: Before I Knew — Part Three: Two Pink Lines
