Page 100 of Barefoot Dreams
“I wanted to see if you had anything to help with it?” I force the bile crawling up, down.
Whatever I knew of, doesn’t help. Ginger? Forget it, the scent alone sent me into the bathroom yesterday at work when I was making one of my tonics with it in there. I can’t even brush my teeth after I throw up. I thought minty flavors were good for nausea! I thought they help.
Not me, apparently, because it’s been killing me these past few days. Even now, when I’m feeling much better after throwing up last night’s dinner, my stomach is churning at the scent of the herb.
Mom is about to say something when I feel it.
I suck in another deep breath. Nope…there’s no holding this one back. “Hold that thought, Mom,” I mutter, clutching my hand over my mouth as I run to the bathroom down the hall.
I didn’t think there was anything left to throw up, but boy, am I wrong.
I close my eyes, tipping my head back against the wall at my back where I’ve been crouching for the past fifteen minutes since barely making it to the bathroom. One deep breath, two, three, after a solid minute of this, I lift myself off the ground and turn on the tap. I run my hands under the cold water and splash it over my face, gulping a mouthful in the process to get rid of the bile taste.
Knock, knock.
“Honey? How are you feeling?” Mom asks through the door, and I shut the water off, wipe my hands, and open it for her.
She immediately barrels inside cradling my face in her soft hands once more. “Oh, my poor baby girl. How long has been going on? Let’s go to the kitchen, I made you mint tea.”
I stop dead, shaking my head, my eyes wide. “Mom, please, no mint! That’s what sent me to the bathroom just now. I smelled it at your porch.”
Mom stops too, regarding me with her brows pulled together. “So how long did you say this was going on for?”
“I didn’t say yet. But…” I count in my head. “I started feeling queasy about a week ago, and then the main act”—I motion behind me toward the bathroom—“started two days ago. It must’ve been that fish I had at LPs, I thought it smelled funny to me when we had dinner there last Sunday with Griff. But he didn’t feel bad, so we couldn’t be sure. But that’s the only thing I can think of. We ate at home after that mostly.” I shut up when I realize Mom’s been too quiet.
Unnervingly so. And then out of nowhere, she reaches out and pokes at my breast.
“Ow!” I yelp. “Mom! What in the eight planets are you doing?” I clutch my hands over my boobs, protectively, frowning and then…tears well up in my eyes.
Why am I crying? It hurt but not that much. I shouldn’t be crying. This isn’t something to get emotional over.
But if I thought there would be an apology coming or at least a sorry expression, I’m dead wrong.
The woman smiles! Shesmiles, clapping her hands together as her blonde hair bounces around her shoulders.
“Sweet daisies, did you take too many gummies this morning?” I ask her, sniffling.
“Stay here, let me go dump the mint tea so it doesn’t trigger you again.” I don’t get to reply because she’s already out of my view, and a minute later I hear. “The coast is clear. The enemy has been dealt with.”
I roll my eyes, still clutching my boobs that are way too sore after just one small poke and stop in my tracks.
Slowly, instead of holding onto them, I start feeling and prodding myself.
I’vebeensore for days. I have no idea why it came to me just now, but I have been.
Yesterday, before Griffin had to go to his shift, we had sex and when he played with my boobs, it felt different.
“Julie?” Mom calls out but I just stand there, staring straight ahead but not seeing the wildflower wallpaper on the walls or the million pictures of me and Cal as kids.
“Honey.” Mom’s voice is a lot closer. I feel her hands around mine, but my mind is away.
“Mom,” I mutter warily. “I’ve been nauseous.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And my boobs are sore.”
“Seems like it.”
