Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

8. Madison

A loud buzzing,followed by the ringing of my phone, and a series of loud thumps, jolted me awake. My eyes focused on my darkened living room, lit only by the lights beyond my windows and my cell phone as it danced across my coffee table.

What time is it? I blinked myself awake and reached for my phone.

Liane. I swiped to answer. “Hang on,” I croaked. “Someone’s pounding on my door.” I dropped the phone onto the sofa and stumbled toward the door.

I looked through the peep hole to find Liane frowning at me from the other side. I slid the chain, flipped the deadbolt, and opened the door. Disoriented, I pointed behind me. “Weren’t you calling me?”

She brushed past me, a trail of sauteed garlic and spicy noodles in her wake. “Calling, buzzing. I even got the concierge to call the house phone, and you still didn’t answer. I was about to rent a helicopter and propel in through the windows.” She leveled me with a glare as she set the bags down on the dining room table.

“Sorry about that.” I stifled a yawn and wiped a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine. How long have you been asleep?”

I straightened my spine. “I was working.”

Frowning, she gave me a critical onceover. “You were sleeping,” she said, catching me in my lie. “Your bun is askew and there are marks on the side of your face that match the pattern on your throw pillows.

I felt around for my bun. “Guess I fell asleep.”

She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “And what in the world are you wearing?”

I had to look down. “Um… a hoodie and sweatpants?”

“Never have I ever seen you in sweatpants, and is that Connor’s sweatshirt?”

Judging by the volume of her sigh, I was about to get a lecture.

“I’m wearing sweatpants because I’m bloated and uncomfortable. And yes, the sweatshirt is Connor’s. I might not have gotten a ring, but I figured I’d keep some of his things.” I slid my hands into the front pouch. “Besides, it’s soft and comfy.”

She looked down at my feet, and I curled my toes trying to hide from her scrutiny.

“Since your socks look three sizes too big, I’m going to assume those were also Connor’s.”

Fully awake now, I narrowed my eyes and shot her a glare of my own. “Is there a reason for your visit or have you been appointed by some couture committee to scrutinize my leisurewear?”

“First, that’s not leisurewear. And second, I’m here to rescue you.” She stepped into the kitchen, grabbed two sets of chopsticks from the drawer where I kept my limited supply of utensils, and strolled into the dining room. “I brought your favorite. We’re going to sit down, and you’re going to eat while we discuss what happened to my best friend.”

I dropped onto one of the upholstered chairs at the head of my dining table, suddenly starving.

“That smells amazing,” I said, taking a whiff of my favorite Asian cuisine. “Did you go to Thai 22?”

She fixed me with Joker-like grin. “I did,” she said, digging into the large bag. “Tonight we feast. I got all our favorites.” She reached into the bag and started pulling out containers. “Tom yum soup with chili paste, lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, and straw mushrooms.”

Why she needed to detail the ingredients in every dish, I had no idea. What I did know, was that the blended aroma of entrees was getting a bit cloying.

“Then for you, khao pad ka prao gung,” she said, spoken like a true Thai. “With Thai basil fried rice, bell peppers, onions, scallions, and eggs in an extra spicy chili garlic sauce.”

My mouth filled with liquid and my stomach tilted. I breathed through my mouth to staunch the rising nausea.

“And for me, pan fried tilapia fillet with baby bok choy in a chili tamarind sauce and jasmine rice.”

“Nope.” I took off, barely able to gain traction in my oversized socks, I slid into the powder room, dropped to my knees, and spewed what remained of the grilled cheese sandwich I’d had for lunch. When I was sure this latest episode of communing with my commode was over, I rose, rinsed my mouth, washed my face, and turned to find Liane leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, arms folded, lips pursed, foot tapping.

“This has gone on long enough. You don’t have the flu, Madison. Or a stomach virus. Or a sudden dislike of your favorite Thai food.”

“It was probably the cheese I had for lunch. I think I’m lactose intolerant.” I tried to exit the bathroom, but she stood firm, blocking the doorway. “Do you mind?” I gestured for her to step aside.

“You’re not lactose intolerant,” she snapped. “I need you to do me a favor and humor me.”

Cue the big sigh. I was too tired to do anything but lie down. “I’ll humor you tomorrow. Right now, I just want to sit.”

“Perfect. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Take a seat.” She motioned to the commode behind me.

“I don’t want to sit there. I’m fine. It’s just an upset stomach. If you’ll step aside, I’m going to go sit on the sofa.”

“Not yet. Lift the lid, drop those ridiculous sweatpants and pee on this.” She produced a pink and white stick from under her crossed arm and held it out to me.

I took a giant step back. “What is that?” I demanded, knowing full well what it was but refusing to give in to this ridiculous charade.

“You know exactly what it is. Here.”

I shook my head so hard, tendrils of hair slipped from the messy knot clinging to the side of my head. “Nope. I told you, I’m lactose intolerant.”

“No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be puking your guts up from a whiff of your favorite Thai food.”

“Nope, nope, nope.” I inched backward until the backs of my knees hit the toilet.

Liane stepped into the room. “While you’re there, have a seat.”

“This is crazy. First of all, I’m not peeing in front of you, and second, I’m. Not. Pregnant.” My thighs quivered, and I began to sway. All this talk of peeing and now I had to pee.

“Fine, when was your last period?”

“You know I’m not regular.”

Her lips pursed so deeply, if she kept it up, she’d have fine lines around her mouth by morning. Retinol could only do so much. At this rate, she’d need a chemical peel.

Despite my raggedy appearance, I drew myself up with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Pee on the stick, Madison.”

“No, Liane.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“That’s a dumb question. Being pregnant tops the list, wouldn’t you say?”

“Then pee on the stick.”

I snatched the stick from her hand. “Fine. Just to prove you wrong, I’ll pee on the damn stick.”

She handed me a paper towel. “When you’re finished, set it on this and then we’ll wait for ten minutes.”

“This is ridiculous.” I pushed her into the hall and closed the door. Grumbling through the entire process, I yanked down my sweatpants, took a seat, and peed on the stick. I set it on the paper towel and washed my hands. I should go and wait with Liane, but I couldn’t take my eyes off that stick.

I couldn’t possibly be pregnant. Other than a one-night stand six or seven weeks ago, I hadn’t had sex in months. Connor had been traveling for work, and when he was around, he was always tired or too busy or... I yanked the scrunchie from the side of my head, and then pulled my hair up into another bun.

I’m such an idiot.

The girl in the mirror frowned at me. Blue half-moons were stamped beneath her eyes, which were swollen and puffy. She looked tired and in need of some sort of replenishing facial with steam. Maybe a rosehip oil face massage and mask. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, and recalled how wonderful it felt to be pampered.

First thing in the morning, I’d call Janet, my aesthetician. She’d know what to do. I leaned closer to the mirror, taking in the puffiness. With how sick I’d been, I’d recently lost a few pounds, but the swelling in my face made me look like I’d gained weight instead. I also needed a lymphatic facial massage. That, and a week’s vacation somewhere with lots of sand, tequila, and?—

“What the—?” An ugly red bump had bloomed on my chin.

The door flew open. “Are you pregnant?” Liane demanded.

“No!” I shouted, but then waved at the stick. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked.” I spun around and pointed at my chin. “It’s a pimple.” I touched the bump. Oh my god. It felt like there were more. I pushed up onto my toes to get closer to the mirror.

Sure enough, just below the skin there were two more bumps. They were already dark pink and swollen.

Wailing, I dropped onto the closed lid of the toilet seat and dropped my face into my hands.

I didn’t even have acne as a teenager. What is happening to me?

“I think I’m dying,” I whispered, afraid to verbalize what I was thinking and send it out into the universe.

“You’re not dying,” Liane said, but how would she know. She wasn’t a doctor. She didn’t know anything about lactose intolerance.

I flung my arms open wide, revealing the mess that was me. “Then what would you call it? I can barely eat without throwing up. I’m losing weight. I sleep all the time, but I’m always tired. I’m cold, then I’m hot. I have horrific indigestion, and I’m always burping.” I sucked in a shaky breath and let the tears fall. “And look at my face! I’m hideous.”

My head dropped onto my knees, where mascara-tinged tears dropped onto my thighs and soaked into my sweatpants.

“You’re not dying, and you’re certainly not hideous.”

“I am,” I sobbed.

“Madison.” Her voice gentled. “Look at me.”

“No,” I wailed into my thighs.

“I need to see your face.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Trust me, I do.”

I tilted my head only far enough to make eye contact.

She rubbed her hand over my back and squeezed my shoulder. “C’mon, all the way up.”

I rose slowly and wiped my fingers under my eyes. They came away smeared black.

“Look at me.”

When I did as she asked, she slipped her finger under my chin and tipped my face up higher, then she ran a warm washcloth under my eyes and over my cheeks and lips. She did that a few more times until she was satisfied with the results. I vowed not to look into a mirror again until after I saw my aesthetician.

“Take a deep breath,” she instructed.

I breathed in, filling my lungs until they hurt, and then breathed out.

She smiled. “One more.”

I rolled my eyes but did as she asked because it was having the desired effect. My mind had stopped spiraling and the tears had stopped flowing.

“We good?” she asked.

Nodding, I swallowed back the last of my sobs.

“You’re a smart woman. A very smart woman. Right now, I want you to listen to me. You can nod if you feel the need, but you may not speak. Okay?”

“How about rolling my eyes?” I frowned. “Can I do that?”

She considered for a moment. “I’ll allow it.”

I immediately rolled my eyes.

“Like I was saying, you, Madison Enright, are a smart woman. You have an undergrad degree from Bryn Mawr and an MBA from the University of Pennsylvania. They don’t hand those out to just anyone, do they?”

I sniffed. “No.”

Liane pressed her fingers to my lips. “No speaking.”

“You asked me a question,” I muttered behind her fingers.

“Then you either nod or shake your head.”

Again, I rolled my eyes.

“Thank you.”

“So, you have two degrees from major institutes of higher learning.”

I nodded, which earned me a smile.

“You also own your own business, which you started from the ground up and have built into one of the premiere public relations firms in not only Philadelphia, but on the East Coast and beyond. Correct?”

Again, I nodded. I didn’t know where she was going with this, and since I couldn’t ask, I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I’d have a headache before long.

“You work hard. Your clients love you. The staff loves you—most of the time.” She giggled while I hissed. “You also have a kick-ass best friend who will do anything for you. And I mean anything. Remember that.”

A lump formed in my throat. I tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t budge. This intervention or whatever it was she was doing was beginning to frighten me.

“There’s so much good going on in your life. So much to be grateful for.”

She rested her hip against the edge of the sink cabinet. “I want you to remember all that.”

I held up my hand. “Fine. I’ll remember.”

Liane’s eyes filled. Her smile wobbled between happy and sad as she held up the pink and white stick that I’d completely forgotten about while I was busy having my meltdown.

“Congratulations, honey,” she said. “You’re pregnant.”