5. Kidney Bean
Kidney Bean
A ragging laugh dragged Zoe out of the fog of her afternoon nap.
Before she even opened her eyes, she chucked the couch pillow at her brother. “Fuck off.”
“Since when do you sleep in the middle of the day? This is the third nap you’ve taken this week. And why does it have to be on the living room sofa instead of your bedroom?” Evan lifted her feet up, plopped down on the sofa, and set her feet back down on his legs.
“We’ve been so busy with the summer crowds already moving in.
Sucks the life out of me.” She sat up and winced as her bra pinched into her boob, sore as if her period was trying to start.
About damn time. When the monthlies called in late, they promised to rush in with a gushing vengeance.
Sleep heavy in her eyes, she rubbed at the haze and squinted at the fading sunlight. “Shit, I’m late for work.”
Evan shook his head and said, “I called in sick for you.”
“It’s my kitchen. You can’t call in sick for me.”
“Too bad. Mick was happy to cover. Said something about your stubbornness. Sick or not, you clearly need some time off.”
“I don’t need time off. I just needed a quick pick-me-up snooze.”
“You can go back to work when I stop coming home to find you napping on our sofa. What if you have walking pneumonia or something?” He stared her down with the chocolatey intensity they’d inherited from their mom, the honey in his extra gooey with worry.
“I don’t have pneumonia,” she grumbled and rubbed her eyes.
“I brought home lunner.” Evan tipped a nod toward the paper Halseth’s to-go bag on the kitchen table.
She took a long sniff and caught the scent of smoked salmon. Holding her stomach, she shook her head. “Did you mess up a batch or something? Maybe you’re the one who needs a vacation. Too much time running the smokers has killed all your brain cells.”
“I don’t criticize your recipes, don’t knock mine.”
Rising to her feet, her joints arguing with the plan as each creaked their disapproval, she wandered into the kitchen.
Maybe she was coming down with something.
Her back hadn’t been this stiff since she’d shown off a bit too much last football season, teaching the high school whipper snappers to tackle properly.
The scent of smoked salmon increased, melty with gouda, tomatoes, and grilled sourdough. Normally her favorite, but… ugh, it wasn’t hitting her right. She opened the bag to see what he’d done to it, and the overpowering smoky scent struck her like a Mack truck of nausea.
Uh-oh. On impact, she covered her mouth and bolted for the bathroom.
Her lack of lunch retched into the toilet, hollowing her out in a second. Damn, her stomach had been fine a few minutes ago. As the nausea eased, she closed the toilet seat, pushed to her feet, and flushed.
She smeared toothpaste over her toothbrush and started scrubbing. One at a time, she polished the minty goo over each tooth, roughly over her tongue, and spit out a mouthful, the foamy sensation making her want to puke again.
Feet wobbly beneath her, she wandered back into the living room. A few more steps, and magically, the nausea was gone.
Evan stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. “What was that?”
“I’m. Not. Sure,” she mumbled, wandering back toward the couch. “My stomach’s been off lately.”
“Did you… are you…” Evan stood in the kitchen, sniffing the sandwich and then looking her up and down. “Are you pregnant ?” he asked.
Throat clenching shut, she coughed and shook her head. “Of course not, I’ve just been going through some stomach issues lately. I think my IBS is flaring or something. I always use condoms.” Hands parking on her hips, she stalled in front of the couch and tilted a suspicious scowl at the windows.
“Are you late?”
“No, I mean, my last period was… just… I’ve never been an every twenty-eight days sort of gal…” Shit.
“I thought you and Raphe were taking things slower this time around…”
“We are,” she squeaked. “We haven’t…”
Evan’s lips formed a dramatically pensive O-shape, and her brother stuttered a response. “Not… you mean…”
Life leached from her cheeks. She braced her fingertips over her mouth in a useless attempt to stop the thoughts from solidifying into something real. “But we used a…”
“Ryder…?” Evan asked, standing like a statue, his skin quickly paling and probably a good reflection of hers.
A full pout pushed out her bottom lip, and she dropped her lead-filled arms to her sides and nodded solemnly. “Ryder.”
Cheeks puffing out, Evan growled under his breath. “Ryder doesn’t even live in town. He’s not exactly going to—”
“We used a damn condom,” she roared as heat flushed into her cheeks and she stomped her foot, tensing instead of throwing something at him. “You thought I should call him, now suddenly he’s—”
“Sorry,” he said, shoulders easing to a calm posture, and he took a step backward toward the front door.
“I didn’t mean to freak out. I…” He grabbed his keys and wallet from the basket on the narrow entry table.
“I’ll be right back. Just… don’t freak out yet.
It could be pneumonia.” Evan slipped out the door with measured caution, as if afraid of startling her.
As soon as the door closed, he took off and jumped into his Jeep and flew down the driveway, as if she was infected with some awful plague.
Where the hell was he going? Ditching her in the middle of a pretty fricking critical moment?
Dragging herself to the kitchen, she held her nose and closed the bag with the sandwich and stuffed it into the refrigerator.
She poured a massive glass of ice water and munched a piece of dry toast. Brain numb, she wiped down the clean countertops and unloaded the dishwasher.
By the time she finished re-folding the living room blankets, Evan sped back up the driveway, a dust storm following close behind.
The front door flew open and he smacked a pregnancy test into her palm.
No words needed, she nodded weakly and went back to the bathroom. She had to pee again already anyway. Shit. She didn’t need a test to tell her what she already knew. That Ryder Mallory was more than a brief indulgence.
Leaving the soiled stick of fate on the bathroom counter, she turned away and walked into the kitchen to set the timer.
The clock dragged. And dragged. And ticked its daunting rhythm while she waited. She wasn’t checking it a second early, not staring at it while it a blue line threatened to slash through her future… or not. Please be the latter .
“You owe me, you know. Bigtime.” Evan sat at the table with her, his knee vibrating just as fast, but he quirked a smile in his attempt to distract her with humor.
“What? Kinda busy freaking out right now.”
“Do you know how much it costs to buy a pregnancy test in this town?” He leaned back in the dining chair across from her, one side of his mouth lifting to taunt her.
She snorted and shook her head. “I’ll pay you back later.”
“It’s not the cash I’m worried about. Freya Harris and her mom were there. I was seen buying a pregnancy test by Tammy Marks. I said it was for a friend. She congratulated me anyway. At which point Freya and I shared a quick laugh, and she quietly explained to her mother how babies are made.”
Nearly finding a smile, Zoe chewed her cheek and said, “I don’t know, I’d rather you be at the heart of the gossip mills than me. It’s your turn.”
“How is it my turn?”
“I tripped and spilled cake on myself at that stupid wedding I went to with Raphe.”
“Ouch. I heard about that—what is it with you and dresses? First the broken strap at Finn’s, then you spill on yourself?”
“And this is why I live in leggings and hoodies. Nice clothes hate me.”
“Did Raphe gallantly lend you his shirt?”
Elbows on the table, she dropped her chin to her hands and shook her head, wobbling her hands under her chin. “He wasn’t wearing an undershirt.”
Evan didn’t comment, but quietly studied her.
The timer buzzed.
She couldn’t move. Her legs filled with sand where her bones were supposed to be. Her throat filled with sawdust and her tongue slackened. Swallowing was impossible.
Wordlessly, Evan walked into the bathroom and returned seconds later with the thing.
He slowed his pace as he neared and dropped to the seat opposite her at the dining table.
With a long, miserable inhale, and exhale, and inhale again, he slid the stupid piece of plastic across the table. “I’m sorry, Zoe.”
Two menacing blue lines mocked her. She subtly pulled out her phone and did a quick google.
“Statistics have always hated me. Did you know condoms fail to prevent pregnancy, like, thirteen percent of the time? And even with perfectly perfect use, they fail three percent?” Her eyes burned as a flood of clear lava pumped out of her tear ducts.
And her lip quivered. Had her lip ever quivered ?
“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay,” Evan crooned. He scooted his chair around and wrapped his arms around her. “At least it wasn’t some flyby you’d never met. You’re practically related.”
She fired a glare at him.
“By marriage,” he corrected, poorly hiding his laugh.
“He’s worse than a flyby. He’s the least accessible guy I’ve slept with… ever. I’m still trying to figure out things with Raphe, again, but now? He’s going to flip. This was not my plan.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. What do you want to do? Not that you’ve had time to think about it.”
Head heavy, she nodded weakly, salty crap beading in the corners of her eyes.
She bit her lips together and nodded. “I want it. Not ready for it, but that’s what Mom always joked, these things don’t always happen at the right time.
But, fucking hell, yes, I want it. Mom would be over the moon right now. ”
Evan nodded slowly with her, and she knew he was picturing the same bliss that girly-girl Brenda Halseth would be dancing with right now.