Chapter Ten The Wifey Role
The vomiting started at 6:23 AM.
Miu woke to the sudden, unmistakable realization that her stomach was about to stage a revolt. She made it to the bathroom with approximately two seconds to spare. The cat, startled by the noise, fled from the sink to the bedroom and did not return.
She knelt on the cold tile—the same cracked tile from the positive pregnancy tests, now serving as the backdrop for a different kind of life-changing event—and waited for her body to finish betraying her.
It took a while.
When she finally sat back, she heard a knock. Someone was knocking at 6:30 in the morning.
Miu wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and listened.
The knocking stopped. Then her phone buzzed.
Are you awake? — Lena.
Miu stared at the message. How did she know? Could she hear the vomiting through the floor? The building was old, but not that old.
Barely, Miu typed back. Why?
I heard something. Are you okay?
Miu considered lying. Considered typing fine and going back to bed. Considered the fact that Lena Thomson l, a corporate robot, had heard a noise through the floor and immediately texted to check on her.
Morning sickness, she typed. Kill me.
The response came in seven seconds. I'm coming down.
No—
The doorbell rang.
Miu groaned. Dragged herself off the bathroom floor. Wiped her face. Opened the door.
Lena stood in the hallway wearing sweatpants—actual sweatpants, grey, with a drawstring—and a t-shirt that had definitely seen better days. Her hair was in a loose ponytail. She looked like she had rolled out of bed and walked downstairs without stopping to check a mirror.
She was holding a glass of water and a sleeve of saltine crackers.
"You look terrible," Lena said.
"Good morning to you too."
Lena stepped inside without being invited. The cat, who had been hiding under the couch, emerged to investigate. Lena ignored him. She walked to the kitchen, set down the water and crackers, and opened the refrigerator.
"What are you doing?" Miu asked.
"Making you something to eat."
"I can't eat. Everything I eat comes back up."
"Then you need something bland. Rice. Toast. Banana." Lena pulled out an egg carton. Considered it. Put it back. "Not eggs. Too strong."
"You're not making me breakfast."
"I'm making you breakfast."
"You're in my apartment. At 6:30 AM. Wearing sweatpants."
Lena paused. Looked down at herself. "Is that a problem?"
Miu opened her mouth. Closed it. The truth was, Lena in sweatpants was somehow more unsettling than Lena in a blazer. She looked human. Approachable. Like someone who might spill coffee and laugh about it.
"No," Miu said. "It's not a problem. It's just weird."
"I've been told."
Lena found a pot. Filled it with water. Set it on the stove. "Rice porridge. My grandmother made it when I was sick. It's bland and impossible to throw up."
"Challenge accepted."
Lena's mouth twitched. She stirred the pot. The water began to simmer.
Miu sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and watched Lena Thomson cook in her kitchen. The cat jumped onto the couch and curled into her lap. The rice porridge bubbled. The morning light was gray through the dusty windows.
"What time do you have to be at work?" Miu asked.
"I don't."
"Everyone has to be at work. It's Tuesday."
"I told Adrian I'd be late."
"You told Adrian you'd be late because I threw up?"
Lena didn't answer. She added rice to the pot. Stirred.
"Lena."
"I told him I had a personal matter to attend to."
"That's code for 'the woman downstairs is puking her guts out.'"
"It's code for 'I'm busy.' Adrian doesn't need details."
Miu leaned her head back against the couch. The ceiling crack was still there. Still shaped like broccoli. She had never noticed how comforting it was to have something familiar to look at.
"You don't have to do this," she said.
"I know."
"You could go to work. I can throw up alone. I've been throwing up alone for twenty-nine years."
Lena turned off the stove. Ladled porridge into a bowl. Walked to the couch and handed it to Miu.
"Eat," she said. "Then we'll talk about what I have to do."
Miu took the bowl. The porridge was warm and plain and exactly as bland as Lena had promised. She took a bite. It stayed down. She took another.
Lena sat on the other end of the couch. The cat looked between them, then settled in the middle, tail flicking.
"You're being very domestic," Miu said.
"I'm being practical. You need to eat. I know how to cook rice porridge. That's not domestic. That's efficient."
"It's domestic."
"It's adjacent to domestic."
Miu snorted. Took another bite. The porridge was good. She hated that it was good.
---
Adrian Park arrived at Lena's apartment at 8:15 AM.
The door was unlocked. This was unusual. Lena's doors were always locked. She had a security system, a deadbolt, and a general philosophy that the world was full of people who wanted things from her.
He stepped inside.
The apartment was empty. The bed was unmade—unmade, which had never happened in eight years of working together. The pillow still held the shape of her head. The blanket was pulled back.
Adrian stood in the doorway of the bedroom and stared.
Then he heard it. Voices. Downstairs. Through the floor.
He walked to the window. Looked down. Couldn't see anything. But he could hear—faintly, muffled—the sound of two women talking. One of them laughed. The other one said something he couldn't make out.
He pulled out his phone. Checked Lena's calendar.
9:00 AM — Meeting with Legal (Prenatal Agreement)
10:30 AM — Call with Tokyo Office
12:00 PM — Lunch with Rosana
2:00 PM — Board Prep
He looked at the list. Looked at the unmade bed. Listened to the laughter floating up through the floor.
Then he started making calls.
---
The first meeting was with Margaret Doyle, the corporate lawyer who specialized in making chaos legally structured. She was waiting in Lena's office at 8:55 AM, her laptop open, her expression permanently stressed.
Adrian walked in alone.
"Ms. Thomson won't be attending this morning," he said.
Margaret blinked. "Is she sick?"
"She's attending to a personal matter."
"The prenatal agreement was her idea. She said it was urgent."
"The situation has evolved." Adrian sat down in Lena's chair. It felt wrong. He did it anyway. "I'll take notes and she'll review them this afternoon."
Margaret stared at him. "You're not a lawyer."
"I'm not. But I can write down what you say. That's most of law, isn't it?"
Margaret opened her mouth. Closed it. Then she sighed and began talking.
Adrian took notes. He did not mention the rice porridge. He did not mention the sweatpants. He did not mention the laughter.
---
The call with Tokyo was rescheduled.
Adrian sent the email himself. Ms. Thomson is unavailable due to an unforeseen personal commitment. She apologizes for the inconvenience and looks forward to rescheduling at her earliest convenience.
He did not define "unforeseen personal commitment."
He did not need to.
---
Lunch with Rosana was canceled.
Adrian called her directly. This was not something he enjoyed. Rosana Thomson had a way of making phone calls feel like performance reviews.
"Adrian," she said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Ms. Thomson won't be able to make lunch today."
A pause. "Is she ill?"
"She's attending to a personal matter."
Another pause. Longer this time. Adrian could hear Rosana thinking—the soft machinery of her mind working through possibilities.
"The pregnant woman," Rosana said.
Adrian said nothing.
"I see." Rosana's voice changed. Softer. Almost approving. "Tell her we'll reschedule. And Adrian."
"Yes?"
"Whatever she's doing, don't interrupt her."
The line went dead.
Adrian set down the phone and looked at the ceiling. Somewhere above him—well, not above him, he was in the office, and Lena was in her apartment, which was across the city—but somewhere, Lena was making rice porridge for a woman who had thrown up.
He had never seen her make rice porridge for anyone.
He had never seen her make anything for anyone.
---
By 10:00 AM, Miu had kept down half the bowl.
This felt like a victory. She celebrated by lying very still on the couch and not moving her head too quickly.
Lena was washing the dishes. Washing them. In Miu's sink. With Miu's sponge.
"You don't have to do that," Miu said for the third time.
"You've said that."
"You're not listening."
"I'm choosing to ignore you." Lena rinsed the pot. Placed it in the drying rack. Turned around. "Is there anything else you need? Ginger tea? More crackers? A different blanket?"
Miu stared at her. "You're being very... much."
"I'm being thorough."
"You're being a wife."
Lena's hands stilled on the dish towel. "I'm being a co-parent."
"You're making me breakfast and washing my dishes and asking about my blanket preferences. That's wife behavior."
"I'm not your wife."
"I know. That's what makes it weird."
Lena folded the dish towel. Placed it on the counter. Walked to the couch and stood over Miu, looking down at her with an expression that was trying very hard to be neutral and failing.
"Do you want me to leave?" Lena asked.
Miu looked up at her. The sweatpants. The ponytail. The hands that had just washed her dishes and made her porridge and held her sleeve in the ultrasound room.
"No," Miu said. "But you should probably go to work."
"I told Adrian I'd be late."
"It's almost eleven."
Lena pulled out her phone. There were fourteen messages. She scrolled through them. Adrian had rescheduled everything. Canceled lunch with her mother. Moved the Tokyo call. Even sent a note to Margaret Doyle that said Ms. Thomson will review the notes this evening. She trusts your expertise.
Lena stared at the screen.
"He rescheduled everything," she said.
Miu craned her neck to see. "Who?"
"Adrian. My assistant." Lena scrolled further. "He canceled my lunch with my mother. He told Tokyo I had a personal commitment. He didn't even ask."
"Maybe he decided for you."
"That's not his job."
"Maybe he saw something you didn't."
Lena looked up from the phone. Miu was watching her with those sharp eyes—the ones that saw too much, the ones that had noticed the sweatpants and the porridge and the way Lena kept checking to make sure she was okay.
"I should call him," Lena said.
"You should stay."
"I have responsibilities."
"So do I." Miu placed a hand on her stomach.
"I'm growing a human. That's my responsibility.
And right now, that human is making me throw up.
So I'm going to lie here and feel sorry for myself.
You can join me or you can go to work. But if you go to work, you can't come back and make me breakfast tomorrow. "
Lena sat down on the couch.
"I'm not making you breakfast tomorrow," she said.
"Yes you are."
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are. You're going to show up at my door with tea and crackers and ask how I'm feeling. It's going to be annoying and domestic and I'm going to complain about it."
"Then why are you smiling?"
Miu touched her face. She was smiling. She hadn't noticed.
"Shut up," she said.
Lena almost smiled. Almost. "I'll take that as a compliment."
---
Adrian sat in Lena's office for the rest of the morning.
He answered emails. He reviewed documents. He told three different people that Ms. Thomson was unavailable and no, he could not say why.
At 1:00 PM, his phone buzzed.
I'll be in this afternoon. — Lena
He typed back: No meetings scheduled. Take the day.
A pause. Then: You rescheduled everything.
Yes.
Without asking.
You would have said no.
Another pause. Longer this time. Adrian watched the three dots appear and disappear.
Was I wrong? he typed.
The response came immediately.
No.
Adrian set down his phone. Looked out the window. The water was gray. The mountains were hiding. The city was doing its usual thing.
He thought about Lena making porridge. Lena in sweatpants. Lena smiling at a text message about gummy bears.
He had never seen her like this.
He hoped he would see it again.
---
At 3:00 PM, Miu fell asleep on the couch.
The cat was on her chest. The blanket—the cream-colored one Lena had left weeks ago—was pulled up to her chin. Her mouth was slightly open. She was snoring. Just a little.
Lena sat in the armchair across from her, watching.
She should go to work. She should call Adrian. She should review the notes from Margaret Doyle and prepare for the board meeting tomorrow and do any of the seventeen things that were currently being neglected.
She stayed.
The afternoon light moved across the floor. The cat twitched in his sleep. Miu's hand rested on her stomach—flat, unremarkable, growing something that had a heartbeat.
Lena pulled out her phone. Opened a new note.
Morning sickness remedies:
- Rice porridge (worked)
- Saltine crackers (untested)
- Ginger tea (buy some)
- Cold washcloth for forehead (she didn't ask but she needed it)
She stared at the list. Added one more line.
- Show up. Every time.
She locked the phone. Set it on the arm of the chair. Leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Downstairs, Miu slept.
Upstairs, Adrian had gone home.
The building was quiet. The city was loud. And somewhere in between, two women sat in the same room, not touching, not talking, not doing anything that looked like falling.
But the floor was shifting beneath them.
Neither noticed.
Neither would have admitted it if they had.