44: Wretched Stick!

Mario waited until he had chewed his forkful of pasta before speaking.
"What's worrying you?"
The love in the way he said it disarmed her completely.
"Shall we go back to your flat?" She changed the subject.
"Why won't you tell me?"
She exhaled deeply and let herself be overcome by the situation — though not by the fear.
"I'm not going to tempt fate. I don't want to get ahead of myself."
He set his fork down on the plate.
"You're scaring me."
"I could go to the pharmacy now, but I'm almost certain of the result."
Mario got up urgently to hold her.
"Whatever it is, we'll face it together."
"I don't doubt that — do you trust me?" She looked up at his face.
"Hey, my queen — you're offending me." He kissed her forehead, the only thing he could reach. "Don't doubt that either!"
"Let's stop by the pharmacy and go back to yours so you can try out that easel. We'll deal with it as we go."
"You don't want to tell me?"
"I don't want to say it out loud yet. It's not the same thing!" She looked slightly overwhelmed. "Please!"
Mario crouched down and kissed her.
"You know I'm going to find out at the pharmacy. Don't you?"
"That's the time I have to get used to the idea."
The meal ended in silence. They cleared up, cleaned, and were about to leave when he picked up his shirts — the black one from the week before and the burgundy one from the day before.
"What are you doing?" she protested.
"Taking them home — they're dirty."
"They smell of chocolate. Leave them."
The comment undid him. He dropped the shirts on the back of the chair and launched himself to hold her.
When they separated to breathe, Marta was blinking in astonishment.
"What was that for?"
"You drive me mad, my queen."
She answered with a faint, mischievous laugh and they left the house heading north, towards Mario's place.
One doorway past the corner shop, there was a small pharmacy sharing the premises with an optician. They went in and Marta went to the counter.
"Do you have tests?"
Neither the pharmacist nor his assistant looked up. But a male voice was the one that answered.
"Covid or pregnancy?"
Mario took her by the waist, so she could feel him beside her. He kissed her temple.
"The second one." She answered the pharmacist with a knot in her throat.
While the man went into the dispensary and the assistant briefly looked up at them before returning to her duties, Mario finished the embrace from behind and, not content with that, buried his nose in her hair.
"Pineapple and chocolate." He whispered.
"Not the moment, Mario." She answered at the same volume, forcing a smile.
The pharmacist came back with a long narrow box.
"Do you know how to use it?"
Marta paid the fifteen-odd euros for her peace of mind and nodded without a word.
The man grew concerned at the look on her face and on Mario's, half-hidden behind her.
"Shall I give you a purple mask?" he asked, moving his hand below the counter.
Marta understood all the protocol that implied. She was alarmed and had to set the record straight.
"I'm forty-nine years old and any result terrifies me. I didn't call the police — this isn't anything like that!"
The man quickly took his hand from below the counter and looked straight at Mario.
"And you?"
He was about to answer when Marta spoke for him.
"Does that matter, sir?"
The pharmacist exhaled, raising his hands in surrender.
They left the pharmacy with the test burning a hole in her pocket. They walked back to Mario's building, Marta trembling under his arm.
"What was all that about the smells?"
He didn't take long to answer.
"The combination sounds like a dessert, doesn't it?"
"Don't joke about this!"
"It's no joke, Marta. I like the idea — very much."
"Well, any outcome terrifies me!"
"I understand that..." He stopped. "Wait — both of them?"
"Obviously, Mario!" She put her hands over her face. "Either I'm going through the menopause, or I'm about to bring someone into the world who, by the time they finish school, I'll be watching their graduation with serious mobility problems."
"You're forgetting about me, my queen." He caressed her with the most tender words that came to him.
"No — I'm not forgetting you." She exhaled with exhaustion. "But you have your whole life ahead of you, and only one outcome is right for you."
Mario let go and stepped in front of her.
"Marta, I'm not with you depending on how life turns out." He took her hands and held them together. "I'm not going to choose one path or another. I choose you." He gave a broad, conspiratorial smile, waiting for a response. "Because for me, you're my Pikachu."
"I beg your pardon?" Marta was so baffled by the phrase that her tears seemed to recede. "Pikachu?"
"In the Pokémon video games, when the main character doesn't choose one of the starter creatures, the professor offers him the little electric mouse." He took creative liberties with the script. "Well — for me, you're my only choice. All right?"
Her heart began beating hard. She stepped to one side, sidestepped him, moved ahead and turned her back.
"Were you also planning to throw a red and white ball at my head to catch me?"
Mario caught up with her at the building entrance. He puffed out his chest and said the first thing that came into his head.
"Marry me!"
Marta exhaled, raising her right hand.
"I already am — to your father. Remember?" She extended her hand towards the door. "Would you open it, please?"
He did, and they went up the three flights to his flat.
"Do you need any help?"
"To urinate on a stick?" She smiled. "I think I can still manage that on my own, thank you."
He apologised with innocent eyes as she went into the bathroom.
They were the two longest minutes of his life and he knocked at the door.
"What does it say?"
She opened it.
"I don't know."
"What needs to come up?"
"One line means negative and two means..."
"Positive — I follow. And what's come up?"
"Is it positive or negative?" She showed it to him.
Mario looked directly at the second line — it was very faint, nowhere near as strong as the control line.
"Wretched stick!"