Page 42 of Matched with Her Runaway Groom

“I’m not sure what’s wrong. I feel fine in the morning and then want to throw up around four in the afternoon.”

I try to go through the scenarios. “Could you be pregnant?” I ask, throwing it out there. Not like I’m well-versed in any of that.

Tiffany shakes her head quickly and then lifts her hand to support it. “No. I only get sick in the afternoon and at night. That’s the opposite of morning sickness, right? There’s no way I’d be pregnant right now. Drew and I decided we were going to wait a year or two before we expand our family.”

I shrug, giving her a small smile. “I’m not the one to be talking about this with. I have absolutely no experience.”

“True. But I don’t think it’s that. There’s just got to be something on this boat that’s making me nauseous. Like a strange smell or something?”

“I haven’t smelled anything strange. It might be worth finding a test to see.” On one hand, I’d be over the moon for Tiffany to have a little one growing inside her. On the other, I wish I’d invited Kenzie to help with the collision of events that keeps leading me toward Landon. She’d be a voice of reason. For all I know from our conversations, Tiffany is very much still team Lachelle.

“I’ll do that later. Now, what are we going to do about you and a certain someone on this boat?”

I frown, confirming my previous thought. “Tiff, I’m trying to enjoy this vacation because once I get back to real life, I’m going to wish I were on this ship. When the responsibilities creep up once we’re in Boston. You know, like pay the bills and eat.”

“I’m glad you put eating as a responsibility. It’s an important one.”

I watch Tiffany as she glances around the room, eating the buttered bread and drumming her fingers along the table with her free hand.

Our mothers might be twins, but there is a definite difference when examining at our upbringing. My mother was strict about appearances, mostly weight and style of clothing, whereas Tiffany had her father as a cushion, calming down all the negative energy my aunt radiates.

There was a time I counted calories down to the thinnest slice of a pea, mostly urged on by my mom. That was at one of my lowest points, right after my almost wedding. Buying my own place was the first step in helping me get past some of that.

“Why do you say that?” I finally ask, dwelling on her last comment.

Tiffany turns to face me, her smile softening a bit. “Because sometimes I worried you’d keel over from lack of nutrition.”

“I’ve never been anorexic, Tiffany.” Defenses are standing at attention, ready for a fight.

“Are you sure?” she says, her eyes softening.

“You know my mother. There was always a juice cleanse or a strict diet on the menu.” Thinking back, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have something pre-portioned and ready to eat, not since I was around eight or nine. It’s probably why moving into my own place had been a quick succession of stomach aches as I’d walked out of the grocery store looking like a nine-year-old who’d spent the entire budget on junk food.

Tiffany nods. “I get it. My mom would always mention a diet or a fitness challenge we should do but my brother and I would just laugh it off. And my father always nixed it if she tried to push it.”

I can picture Tiffany and her brother doing just that, and wonder why I’ve always needed to please people. Probably because it was the only time I received approval from my parents. But having a voice is more important for my own sake, something I’m quickly learning.

I need to remember that the next time I speak with my mom.

“How is my aunt doing, anyway?” Tiffany asks.

“I don’t know. I hung up on her the night I quit my job.”

Tiffany’s eyes widen to the size of the orange slices that are the only color on her plate. “Really?”

I nod. “She called saying I shouldn’t be posting pictures of myself in a paint balling suit in my state.”

“What does that mean? Are we in eighteenth century England?”

I keep my eyes on my plate, feeling shame wash over me as I say, “Meaning I’ve gained weight.”

“To behealthy,” Tiffany says with emphasis on healthy. “You’ve always been beautiful, Rachelle, but this version of you is amazing. And how much you’ve been able to figure out what you like and who you want to be, that’s the most important part of all.”

I take a bite of the ham and chew for a moment, processing.

Tiffany claps softly. “Atta girl, Rachelle. I’ve been waiting for you to tell her off for years.”

Waving my hands in the air, I shake my head. “I didn’t tell her off but I wasn’t going to stay on the line to have her berate me the day before I went on vacation. Maybe I’ll wait a few more weeks before talking to her after the cruise. I just don’t need the stress of wondering what her phone call is going to entail every time I pick up the phone. Either anger that I’m not living the life she wants or talk about my eating habits.”

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