15. Olivia
Olivia
I've been looking forward to brunch with my friends all week.
Ever since I started working for Drake and Callie started dating Steve, it’s been harder for our friend group to get together.
Having a girls’ day and bonding over bottomless mimosas will be the highlight of my week.
Callie and I split an Uber to the restaurant, already anticipating being a little too tipsy to drive after brunch.
Michelle and Brianna are standing outside the restaurant when we arrive. We run over to them and collide into a four-way hug, all of us talking over one another about how excited we are to see each other.
“Can we make sure this is a regular thing from now on?” Michelle asks once we're seated on the patio and handed our menus. “I feel like I haven't seen you guys in years.”
“I know!” Callie shouts, holding her hand across the table. “It's been torture being away from you two.”
“Congrats on the new job, Livvie!” Brianna says, nudging my arm as everyone turns their attention to me.
I see the mischievous look in Callie’s eyes before she says anything, and I kick her under the table. I should have known better than to tell her about Drake. One sip of alcohol, and she’ll spill every secret she’s ever been told.
“Thank you guys,” I say, holding their attention so no one sees Callie's reaction to the kick. “It's been incredible so far. Everyone there is so nice.”
“Maybe a little too nice,” Callie adds smugly. Someone else is about to ask a question, but the server arrives to take our drink orders first.
Everyone else knows what they want to eat but me. “Sorry; she’ll be a while,” Michelle says to the server with a laugh. “She needs to make sure she orders the perfect dish.”
“Is it such a crime to want to enjoy what I eat?” I ask without looking at any of them as I scour the menu. I've probably had most of the items on the menu, but figuring out what flavors I'm craving today takes time.
The three of them laugh about how picky I am as I narrow my choice to two dishes. One of them is eggs benedict with a Sriracha hollandaise sauce.
I would normally avoid spicy breakfast food, but my curiosity is piqued. The other choice is chicken and waffles, which is a classic for good reason.
When I've made my decision, we flag down our server and I order both. I've never been unhappy about leftovers in the fridge.
“So, what do you do at your new job? You're like a corporate chef, right?” Michelle asks, sipping her first mimosa through a straw.
“I really just cook for the employees at the office I work in,” I say with a shrug. “It's one of those offices with a bunch of perks for employees. Basically, I make them bagels every morning, and they're supposed to enjoy working more.”
They pepper me with various questions about my job, all happy that I'm finally on my way to living out my dream.
I maneuver the conversation as far away from the fact that I work for Drake Vance as possible, but I can tell that Callie is dying to spill the beans.
I knew telling her was a mistake, and it's only a matter of time before all of Los Angeles knows.
I grab my Bloody Mary and take a small sip, wincing as my stomach gurgles when the tomato juice hits it.
“You okay?” Callie raises an eyebrow suspiciously.
“Yeah, I just shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach.” I laugh it off, pushing the drink aside and pouring a glass of water from the pitcher the server brought us.
My stomach doesn't want to settle while we make small talk and catch up after not seeing each other for a month.
Of course, everything they're telling me I’ve already learned through our group chat, but discussing our latest drama and hearing about other people's breakups doesn't hit the same way over text.
Soon enough, our server walks through the patio doors with our food. I'm starving, and I feel like if I don't get something in my stomach, this nausea will never go away.
“Here you are, ladies.” We thank him and hurriedly grab our forks and knives to dig in.
In culinary school, we learned that you eat with your eyes before your mouth, and seeing the plates set out before me makes me happy that I ordered both dishes. It takes a moment for the smells to set in, but as soon as they do, my stomach turns again.
I reluctantly set my fork and knife down and place a hand over my stomach, backing away and shaking my head. The others at the table look at me curiously, holding off on eating their food until they know
I'm okay.
Brianna reaches for my arm, and I shake my head and hold up a finger to signal that I need a moment.
“I'll be right back,” I say before rushing to the bathroom. There's a small line filled with moderately drunk women, but when I say I feel sick, they let me go ahead of them. I'm immensely grateful because as soon as the stall door closes behind me, I fall to my knees and vomit into the toilet.
“Oh no, honey,” a random woman says as she opens the door and holds my hair back. “You gotta make sure to eat before you hit those bottomless mimosas.”
I flush the toilet and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, shaking as she helps me to my feet. “Thank you.”
The woman digs in her purse for a water bottle and offers it to me. Then, we move to the sink where I splash some water on my face and take a few deep breaths before going back out to my table.
“Sorry guys, I'm really not feeling well,” I say as I grab my things and stand next to them, almost nauseous again at the site of the food on the table. “I'm going to head out, but you guys enjoy the rest of the day. Let me know how the movie is later!”
“You better not be pregnant,” Callie jokes, sparking laughter from everyone as she hugs me goodbye.
“Don't be ridiculous, Cal. You have to have sex to get pregnant,” Michelle says through an already tipsy bit of laughter.
“Yeah, can fictional men get you pregnant? Because that's just about the only way that would happen,” Brianna adds.
I think they’re waiting for me to join them and poke fun at myself, and in most situations, I would.
Unfortunately, there might be some truth to what Callie said.
My face blanches, and I feel a cold chill run down my spine as I start doing mental math trying to remember when my last period was.
Callie's eyes lock on mine, and a realization sets on her face, too.
Without hesitation, she grabs her bag, jumps up, grabs my hand, and pulls me away from the table. She shouts something at the others to tell them we're leaving, and I can hear the confusion in their voices though I can’t make out the words.
Everything is a blur as she drags me down the street toward a drugstore, where we wind up in the feminine care aisle surrounded by maxi pads and pregnancy tests. It doesn't feel real as she waits for me to do something.
“I guess we can buy one of each. I don't know which one is the best,” Callie says, opening Google on her phone to figure out the most reliable pregnancy test.
I lean against one of the metal aisles and stare at the pink and blue boxes in front of me.
Callie sees how upset I am, grabs a handful of pregnancy tests, nudges me toward the register, pays for them, and then shoves me in the back seat of a car.
I don't even register the car moving until we pull up outside of our apartment.
“What do you need?” she asks, pacing in the living room. She hands me a glass of water, watching me intensely while I nurse it. “Come on. You've got a lot of sticks to pee on; you can do better than that.”
I nod, guzzling the water as she hands me another. Within thirty minutes, I feel like my bladder is going to explode, and I rush to the bathroom to take the first test. Aiming on the stick is surprisingly difficult, but when I'm done, I open the door so Callie can come in.
We wait in silence as she sets a timer on her phone, neither of us able to look at the test. The three minutes we are supposed to wait stretch like an eternity before Callie’s alarm rings and we perk up, looking at the plastic stick sitting on the counter.
My heart is beating in my throat, and I feel like I'm going to vomit again.
“No matter what happens, I'm here for you,” Callie says as she takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand. She squeezes it tightly, and I've never been more thankful to have her.
I take a deep breath and look at the counter, staring at the stick to see two pink lines on the LED display.
“Two lines is good, right?” Callie doesn’t say anything right away, and I turn to look at her, hoping she’ll tell me that two lines means I’m not pregnant, that all of this is just a big misunderstanding, and that I really have the flu. “Callie? Two lines is good, right?”
“Let's just take another one,” she says, grabbing a different brand and shoving it into my hands. “These things aren't always accurate.”
We go through the same situation three more times, and each of the pregnancy tests reads positive. After the fourth test, I shake my head when Callie tries to hand me another. There's no use trying to disprove what's happening.
I'm pregnant.