Page 60 of Game Change

“Ernestine? I don’t care if you don’t give her coffee. Apologize and leave her the hell alone, and if she starts any shit with you, tell me.”

“I wouldn’t give her a stick of gum,” he says. “But Ice Princess can’t have any coffee. I’m pretty sure she’s pregnant.”

The words don’t faze me for a couple of seconds. It’s not until he has his hand on the doorknob that they register. “Wait? What?” I ask him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s pregnant. She’s been puking, and she looks like shit. I’ve never seen her look so bad. I’d never tell her, but her taste in clothes are chef’s kiss.” He puts his fingertips to his lips and kisses them.

“How do you know she’s pregnant, Heath?” I practically yell.

“Well,” he says as if we’re two teenage girls gossiping. He moves closer, lowers his voice, and says, “When Tabitha Fitzhugh got pregnant, she looked as horrible as Ice Princess.”

“Who the hell is Tabitha Fitzhugh?”

“A girl from my high school. She was knocked up, and a week later, she wasn’t. Draw your own conclusions,” he says with a raised brow. “Ice Princess puked twice today and tried to drink some tea, but the smell offended her. And because I have to do everything around here, I gave her a bottle of water and told her to stay away from caffeine.” He walks out after that, leaving me utterly confused.

There’s no way. This is probably just Heath starting another rumor in the office. The times we’ve had unprotected sex are too recent for her to be having signs of pregnancy. The other times, we used protection.

But protection is not one hundred percent.

He’s wrong. Only a fool would take Heath’s words seriously, but the time tracks. What if she is? If she is, I don’t doubt for a second that it’s mine. But she’s not. She would tell me if she was.

I’m still annoyed that our talk didn’t happen on Saturday. I plan to invite her to my place for dinner tonight to talk, but instead of waiting, I decide to go to her office. I find her running toward me when I step out in the hallway. She has a hand over her mouth and goes into the bathroom. It’s not the ladies’ room. This one is a single, unisex bathroom. There’s no one in the hallway, so I walk to the door, put my ear to it, and hear loud retching. I turn the knob, and it’s unlocked, so I go in and lock it.

She’s too busy throwing up to hear me. She does it until there’s nothing left, and she dry heaves for a few minutes. I put a hand on her back, and she stills but doesn’t push me away. She flushes, stands, and approaches the sink to rinse her mouth and face. She pats it dry with a paper towel, and when I look into her eyes, I see what Heath is talking about.

Her eyes are still beautiful but sunken, and she looks horrible.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I ask.

“Uh,” she says. “I think I have a stomach bug. Either that or food poisoning.” She reaches inside her pocket and pops two mints in her mouth.

It sounds believable, but Heath says she can’t stand the smell of certain foods. I don’t know how he would know that’s a pregnancy symptom, but it is. When Lisa was pregnant, she told me she could not stand the smell of most foods or perfumes.

“Don’t lie to me, Brynne.” I run a hand over my face. The last thing I was expecting to hear today is that I’m going to be a father.

“What do you mean?” She tries to walk past me, but I block the door. “And why are you in here? This place is already a hotbed for gossip. I don’t want people saying we were having a quickie in the bathroom.” When I don’t move, she says, “Can you move, please?”

“So, you’re not going to tell me you’re pregnant with my baby?” I point at her stomach. “I want it, by the way.”

“Excuse me?” she asks. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re pregnant,” I hiss.

“Where the hell did you get that idea? You know, people can throw up for other reasons besides pregnancy.”

“What about your sensitivity to smells? Your inability to eat?”

Her eyes widen, and her head rolls back. Then she narrows her eyes.

“How do you know all that?” Then something changes on her face, and I think understanding dawns. “DidHeathtell you this?” When I refuse to answer, she says, “Unbelievable. I’m not pregnant. I got my period on Sunday. I still have it. Do you want to see?”

When I move closer and look down, she says, “Well, I’m not going to show you, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. And how dare you barge in here to tell me what to do with my body.”

“I didn’t tell you what to do with your body. What I said was if you were pregnant, I’d want the baby.”

“Well, there is no baby, so you, your demands, and Heath can kiss my—”

“Bend over, and I will,” I say. There’s also a small measure of relief, but I know I want this with her, and I’m glad I have more time.

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