“What!” I gasp, shocked, but then I get very angry very fast, ripping my arm out of Jerome’s hand for the third time in about an hour. “I don’t even know if there is a father, Jerome!”
“Of course there’s a father –“ he shouts, his voice cracking because apparently he’s as freaked out as I am.
“I don’t even know if there’s a baby!” I yell in response, gesturing fervently at the pregnancy tests.
“Ohhh my god,” he groans, sinking back on his own ass and putting his head in his hands. I glance around briefly at the other customers who studiously avoid our aisle but don’t hesitate to glance down it, their eyes wide and curious. I bury my instinct to snarl at them all to go f**k themselves and turn my attention back to Jerome.
“Seriously, Fay,” he says, raising his eyes to look at me with
