Page 35 of Forever Christmas
Chapter 13: Corabelle
Dad and I sit in the waiting room far longer than we intend. Mom knits and speaks quietly to Gavin’s mom. Grandma K keeps her glowering vigil.
I’m not feeling super well, so I’m staying put.
In the two weeks since the positive pregnancy test, I have felt perfectly fine. Tina says she’s not as sick as the first time, so I assumed I was justseasoned in this pregnancy thing and morning sickness wouldn’t be as debilitating as it got with Finn.
Right now, I’m realizing I was wrong.
I sincerely regret eating one of the donuts Gavin and June brought this morning.
The milk, even more.
I take deep calming breaths, sure the tummy upset will remain an internal discomfort and not make itself known to the spectators in the waiting room.
I am wrong again.
The eruption is so sudden and unexpected that I don’t even have time to aim. I turn my head away from my father, managing to throw up down the back of the chair in front of me.
Grandma K’s chair.
Oh, God.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, looking around, trying to find anything I can to clean it up.
I lift my skirt, but my mother says, “Don’t soil your dress, Corabelle. I’ll get somepaper towels from the bathroom.”
The trouble is, more is coming.
I push past my dad and race for the door ahead of Mom. I don’t know where the bathroom is exactly, but I’d rather upchuck in the hall than on anyone else in the room.
My stomach roils. Why did I eat that donut? Why is this hitting me now?
“To the left,” Mom says behind me, and I turn that way, relieved to see the little male/femalesymbol above a door to indicate a family bathroom.
I’m barely inside before it comes again. I spot the sink first, and aim for that.
Pink sprinkles. Gross.
I flash my hand across the sensor under the faucet to wash the evidence away. Of course the drain is too fine and it won’t go down.
This is horrible.
“Stay right here,” Mom says. “I’m going to run some wet paper towels to Katerina andI’ll be right back.”
She douses a handful under the spray and takes off.
I pull a few paper towels out myself and try to clean the sink. My stomach heaves again, but now it’s empty, so nothing comes out.
Enough already, baby. We’re done here.
Mom returns. “Let me get that,” she says. She glances around. “There’s no place to sit in here.”
I lean on the cold counter beside the sink. “I’ll beall right.”
“You nervous about Robert?” she asks.
“That and I should have skipped the donut.”
