Page 68 of The Comeback

When did peanut butter, eggs, grease, and onions become demonic nausea producers? Last week, they would’ve earned top places on my all-time favorite food lists.

“Oh, dear.” Chloe reaches across the counter and grabs my hand. “How far along are you?” She rubs her thumb over my fingers. “I promise it gets better.”

“What?” I blink and try to make sense of her gibberish.

“I bet Weston is over the moon. I know when I got pregnant, Rich was ecstatic. There’s nothing like a baby to make a man get all weak in the knees.”

I swallow and shake my head. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh….” Chloe’s eyes are round as she jerks her hand back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything before you were ready.”

“No.” I lick my lips. “I’m not pregnant.”

Tara slaps her hand over my forehead and stares at me like I’m caring for the plague. “You should have said something if you were sick. I wouldn’t have ridden in the vehicle with you. You have no idea what a pukefest with kids looks like. They throw up while continuing to run around the house like maniacs while I feel like I’m dying.”

“I’m not sick.” For God’s sake people, get it into your thick heads, nothing is wrong with me.

My cellphone buzzes inside my purse. At this point, it could be the police wanting to arrest me, and I’d welcome the distraction.

A waiter breezes by the connecting doorway between the bakery and the café. On top of his black tray is a platter of nachos. Nachos? I sigh. I love nachos. My stomach rolls. I used to love nachos. Where’s the nearest bathroom?

What in the hell is going on? Everything I love is making me want to hurl.

Am I pregnant? Sweat covers my forehead as a wave of heat blasts me from the inside out. My knuckles are white as I clutch the countertop for dear life. I can’t be pregnant. We aren’t together.

Are you stupid? Like, ‘Oh, we aren’t together,’ is a form of birth control.

Did we use a condom every time? God, I don’t remember. I pull on the front of my T-shirt, fanning myself.

Gunner’s party. We didn’t that night, but isn’t that too soon to get sick already? That was only three weeks ago. Sweat pools under my armpits. This is so bad.

My cellphone buzzes again, and I snatch it out of my purse. Weston. My mouth dries. I can’t talk to Weston. What do I say? I may or may not be pregnant with your baby.

“Are you okay?” Tara grabs my shoulder and angles her head in front of me.

I lick my lips. My tongue feels like I’ve been eating sandpaper. “I’m not sure. I think there’s a small chance I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, wow.” Tara wobbles as if she’s the dizzy one. Yeah, we’re both in shock. This is bigger than anything else that’s ever happened to me.

My cellphone rings again. I clutch it with a shaking hand. “It’s Weston. What do I say? He’s going to flip. This is the opposite of everything he wanted. He’s going to think I did this on purpose to trap him.” All the blood from my face drains as the room spins.

“Give it.” Tara grabs the phone from my hand.

“No.” I shake my head and will my nerves to settle. Whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. Once I know for sure. I snatch the phone back out of her hand. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Weston. We need to talk.” Like I don’t know who it is. Tears spring to my eyes. I miss his voice. His touch. His smile. His…. Everything. But I’m about to bring down the whole house of cards and ruin everything. Do I tell him?

No. Not until I know for sure.

Then? Do I tell him if it’s a yes? I swipe my hand over my mouth as my stomach churns. “It’s not a good idea right now. Something is up.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about.” Liar. It’s about to be something huge for him to worry about. An eight-pound, four ounces, twenty-one inches long thing to worry about.

“You sound worried.”

I straighten my back and shoulders and clear my throat. “It’s nothing. Everything is great. Listen, I’ll get back to you sometime. Right now is not a good time.” I click off my phone and toss it into my bag.

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