Everything had been going fine.
And then Natalie pulled out a carton of eggs, cracked one, and dropped it in the skillet. Usually, a fan of eggs, I was shocked when the scent hit the air and my stomach twisted in disgust.
No. No. I’m about to eat. I don’t want to be sick.
The smell of eggs cooking filled the kitchen.
It’s fine. Everything is fine.
I hugged my stomach.
Come on. Give me a break.
Bile rose in my throat. I thought, if I didn’t use my nose to breath, it would work out.
Natalie dropped more eggs into the pan .
I opened my mouth, inhaled, and exhaled.
It didn’t help.
Humming, Natalie set a plate in front of Louis. I glanced at it. Two fluffy eggs were stacked on top of thick biscuits doused in a crumbling white sauce.
“Would you like some coffee too?” Natalie asked him.
Louis placed his hands together, as if he was in prayer. “Please, you beautiful angel.”
My eyes watered.
My head went dizzy.
Natalie giggled. “Oh my God, Louis. You’re so funny.”
Louis stabbed one of the eggs. Yellow goo spilled out.
Ick.
Jean-Pierre leaned my way. “Don’t worry. You’ll get the next plate, no matter what.”
Oh, God no. I’m no longer hungry.
I shook my head, trying not to speak too much. I didn’t want to throw up all over my new clothes.
Jean-Pierre frowned. “You’re not hungry?”
“I feel sick.”
“Again?” He studied me. “You already threw up. Do you want water?”
“No.” I held my stomach and turned away from the eggs on Louis’ plate.
Maybe, if I don’t look at them.
Natalie said something to her son. All I could do was focus on pushing away the nausea.
For some reason, I turned back to Louis.
He tore a biscuit and dipped it in the gooey eggs.
Oh God.
He lathered up more of the goo, twisting it around in the white sauce and then stuffed it into his mouth. Egg dripped down his chin.
Natalie looked at me. “Are you sure you don’t want anything, Emily?”
Blinking, I hugged my stomach, knowing that if I opened my mouth it would be over.
“Don’t worry.” Natalie’s face brightened. “I couldn’t eat eggs in my first trimester either.”
I swallowed down the saliva gathering in my mouth. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh.” Natalie raised her hands. “My bad. I was watching you since you’d been here. . .and… girl, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Yeah. It was just…never mind…Gwen says I’m always assuming crazy stuff that’s not there. Ignore me.” Natalie, starting all over again, grabbed another egg from the tray, cracked it on the frying pan, and dropped it in . The air filled with the aroma of fried eggs. They sizzled.
Oh fuck this. I can’t.
I jumped up and covered my mouth.
Natalie called after me, “The bathroom is that way!”
I checked over my shoulder.
Natalie pointed down the hallway.
I rushed in that direction, got into the bathroom, fell to the floor, opened the toilet lid, and let it all out. I didn’t even have food in my stomach. Just bile and stomach acid. It all came out anyway.
Why me? Why now?
When I finished, I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and rinsed my mouth. No longer was I interested in bacon, or anything else.
My stomach twisted in pain.
But I have to eat. Fuck. What’s going on? I’m pregnant. It has to be, or I’m allergic to eggs being cooked while being kidnapped g.
Someone knocked at the door.
Leave me alone!
My hands shook. I didn’t know where I was. I no longer knew my body, and the most privacy I could get, always involved a room with a toilet.
I opened the door.
Natalie stood outside of it. “I have pregnancy tests in the medicine cabinet. At least three.”
I blinked.
“You can use them. . .just when you get free. . .and I know you will.” She gave me a weak smile. “Send me three pregnancy tests back though. A sista works hard. You know what I’m saying?”
My voice was low. “Okay.”
She lowered her voice. “Where’s my phone?”
“In your dresser drawer. ”
“No one’s coming this way?”
“No.”
She shut the door.
I turned to the medicine cabinet.
Enough with the avoiding the answer, it’s time to know. If anything, maybe that will help me get control.
I walked over to the medicine cabinet, opened it, and pulled two out, not thinking I would need three. Seeing them made me think of my best friend Kennedy.
Kennedy brought a bag of pregnancy tests to my house. “Here girl. Stick them next to your boxes of condoms.”
I waved her away. “I’m not getting pregnant. That’s why I have the boxes.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re not 100%.”
“Not happening, Kennedy. Keep those things out of my house.”
I sat with her in the bathroom many times. At least once a year she got a pregnancy scare. However, her period would come late due to change of eating, stress, or some new work out plan. Still she would freak out for a week, call me over, and have me help her with the tests.