Page 66 of It Must Be Fate

Another wave hits me and I bend over the bowl, vomiting once more. I’m so weak, I can barely hold myself up. I drape my body over the edge of the toilet for support. Proximity to the bowl is paramount right now.

A hand comes down on my back and then Tristan appears beside me, bringing warmth and relief with him.

It’s as if he has a built-in homing beacon that alerts him when I’m in distress. No matter how far away he is, whether on another floor of the house or in another country altogether, he always seems to sense when I need him by my side. He never fails to drop everything at once and come to me.

He tucks my hair first behind my ear and then over my shoulders, keeping it out of my face as he comforts me.His presence instantly calms me, far more effective than any medication could ever be.

“It’s alright, baby,” he soothes, rubbing tender circles all over my back. I whimper weakly. “It’s okay, shh. It’s normal to have setbacks during your recovery.” He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my temple. “We’ll get back on track together. I don’t want you spiraling over this, it's all part of the process. Progress, not perfection.”

I shake my head but the movement makes me retch again. Tristan massages my back, his fingers digging gloriously into my shoulders.

He thinks that I did this to myself.

When we first met, my eating disorder was out of control. In fact, it actually controlled my life. Tristan played a major part in helping me get better. Seeing myself through his eyes taught me self-love.

It took a while, but slowly, I healed.

It’s been years since I’ve made myself throw up, but I can see why he’d mistake one thing for the other. He would find me in very similar positions back when I was struggling with my mental health.

I used to think that I would feel empty forever. I didn’t realize a person could come along one day and categorically refuse to be sidelined, instead stubbornly pushing past every obstacle I put up until he’d brought down every wall I’d built and filled that emptiness entirely with love.

A small part of me still feels like I don’t deserve to be loved by someone like Tristan. He’s too good and he loves mesomuch. He’s devoted in a way that borders on idolatry. I can’t quite believe I’ve ever done anything to merit that kind of happiness. My secret and most irrational fear is that one day he’ll realize he doesn’t love me and I’ll lose him.

“I didn’t purge,” I tell him, fighting another powerful wave of nausea. “That’s not…ugh, that’s not why I’m throwing up.”

I can’t see his face, but I can hear the confusion in his voice. “Then why?” Alarm raises the pitch of his words and I feel his hand tighten on my back. “Was it the breakfast I made you?”

“I’m pregnant.” I vomit again, except I’ve already emptied myself of my stomach contents so all that remains now is bile. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Surprise. It’s morning sickness.”

I steal a glance at his face and snort loudly.

“I knew you’d be grinning from ear to ear when I told you,” I groan, my eyes closing to ward off the dizziness. “I swear to god, every time you look at me, you get me pregnant.”

“If only it were that easy,” he mutters moodily. Then, “Kidding, baby, making them with you’s the best part.”

Tristan goes to the vanity, opens up a drawer and takes out a face towel. He runs a stream of water, testing the temperature with his finger, then wets the towel and comes back to me.

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” I say as he sits behind me with his legs spread to either side of me. “I’m sick and trying very hard to be mad at you.”

He chuckles warmly and reaches for me. Wrapping an arm around the front of my shoulders, he pulls me back against his chest and brings the towel to my forehead. He presses it to my skin, moving it every so often, and kisses my temple.

“Of course, baby. Work on being mad at me while I take care of you,” he murmurs, kissing me again. “You can yell at me when you’re better.”

“The presentation today—”

I start, but he won’t hear it. His voice is firm when he interrupts me.

“The presentation can wait. This is more important.Farmore important.” I rest against him with my eyes closed while he caresses my cheek.

Closing both arms around my chest, he squeezes me to him and sways us back and forth delightedly, peppering my entire face with kisses. “I’m so happy,” he whispers warmly against my ear.

I smile because I am too. As much as I’m ribbing him for it, as inconvenient as the morning sickness is, I’m thrilled. I could never be anything other than thrilled that our love is bringing more children into the world. Even if I wasn’t, Tristan’s obvious joy is infectious.

“Four kids by the age of twenty-five,” I muse. “People are going to think you’re trying to break some kind of record with me.”

He presses his mouth to the shell of my ear and whispers darkly, “Maybe I am.”

“Okay, but I haven’t worn non-maternity clothes in like, four years. Surely after this one, we’re done?”

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