CHAPTER 41
Palmer
Day Twenty-four
Lindy flips through the movie titles on the screen as she drapes herself across the living room couch. “Okay, I think I’ve narrowed it down to two: The Devil Wears Prada or Mamma Mia!”
I chuckle, scraping the spatula along the edges of the mixing bowl. “Hm… so, bad bitch Meryl Streep or Queen Meryl Streep, got it.”
“Yeah, you know, the usual.”
“Well, in that case, I guess I’ll go with Meryl Streep.”
“Excellent choice. Mamma Mia! it is!”
The opening number keys up, its music trickling in from the living room as I begin rolling out the dough to put it on the baking sheet. “Lindy, can you preheat the oven for me? Three-fifty, please.”
Her footsteps pad across the floor, followed by the jingling of Mouse’s tags on the metal ring of her collar. “On it!” The curls piled on top of her head bounce as she presses the button and turns on her toes to face me. “What next, chef?”
I pinch a ball of dough and hold it out toward her. “Bon appétit!”
Lindy takes it from me and pops it in her mouth, chewing contentedly. “Mm. Delicious as always, PJ.”
I plop the final ball on the sheet then turn to wash my hands as Lindy slides the baking sheets into the oven. “Can you set a time—”
The beeping of the oven finishes my sentence for me.
“Never mind.”
She turns to face me, an ornery grin on her face, and holds her finger up to her lips. “I know I always tell Chase that I’m not a mind reader, but he doesn’t need to know otherwise.”
Pantomiming a zipper across my mouth, I promise, “My lips are sealed.” I swipe my finger along the edge of the bowl, collecting enough dough and chocolate chips to eat, then lick it off my finger.
As I chew, I collect my dirty dishes. The gritty texture of the dough swells against my tongue, and my mouth begins to water.
“You good?” Lindy asks from across the room, her brow furrowed.
Forcing myself to swallow, I grimace at her in an attempt at a comforting smile. “Yeah.” I set the dishes in the sink and turn on the water to fill a glass. My stomach rolls, and my mouth fills with saliva. “Sometimes I jus—”
I make a beeline for the trashcan and hover over it as I retch, the cookie dough coming back up along with the minimal food I ate today.
Lindy rubs her hand softly against my back then holds my hair off my neck.
“Thanks.” I gag, dry heaving from the combination of the smell of the trash bag and the regurgitated sugar on my tongue, which doesn’t appear to get any better when I scrape my teeth down it.
Once I’m pretty sure there’s nothing left in my stomach but bile threatening to make its way up my throat, I gingerly stand upright and hobble to the sink.
The cool water against my skin feels nice as I scoop some into my mouth.
I swish it around before spitting it out and splash it onto my face, eyes closed, just breathing.
After a minute or two, the nausea subsides, and I’m able to open my eyes.
“Okay.” I inhale deeply through my nose. “I think I’m good now.”
“What the heck happened?” Lindy looks at me quizzically. “Is there something going around in eighth grade?”
I lean forward and lay my cheek on my arm against the cool tile. With a shrug, I reply, “Beats me. Isn’t there always something going around at school?”
She chuckles. “Well, yeah, but I thought we were past the spring bug going around.”
“We are.” I groan. “Now it’s apparently time for the ‘It’s Almost Summer’ bug.”
“Right, how could I forget! It’s always something with these kids.”
With a nod, I raise my head slightly, but the movement sets my stomach rolling again.
I gesture toward the dishes in the sink.
“Could I talk you into loading those in the dishwasher for me? Then I think you should probably go home. I don’t want you to catch whatever the hell this is, and I think I should probably take something and go to bed. ”
“You bet!” Lindy makes quick work of the dishes then moves me to my room, setting a trashcan along the side of my bed. She puts a sleeve of saltine crackers on my nightstand, then pats the bed to call Mouse up next to me.
I crack open the sports drink she holds out to me and take a small sip. “Thank you. That was super weird. I feel okay now, but it’s like the nausea just kind of comes and goes without warning.”
“Weird,” Lindy muses as she stands to go. “You’re probably just pregnant.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Ha! Yeah, right. Thanks again, Lindy.”
She smirks at me. “Yeah, I know. Just had to mess with you.” The kitchen timer goes off. “I’ll go pull those out for you. Do you just want them on the cooling rack?”
I nod, lost in thought.
“Sounds good. See you later, P. Let me know if you need anything.” Then she closes my bedroom door, and I slide down into my sheets.
Lindy’s parting words ring in my head.
You’re probably just pregnant.
There’s no way. The implant is basically one hundred percent effective.
Basically.
Yeah, there’s definitely no way I’m pregnant. Although…
I pull up my period tracking app on my phone.
Oh, fuck.
The phone rings less than once before Lindy picks up, and I hear her voice both through the receiver and across the house. “Miss me already?”
“I’m late.”
“Late? As in—”
“As in my period. It’s late.”
“Shit. Give me a second.”
I hear the clanging of the cookie sheets hitting the oven, and Lindy bursts into my room. “How late are we talking?”
“A week? I think?” I can feel my pulse strumming under my skin. Using the calendar in my app, I start counting. Fuck, I forgot to mark it last time. “Uh, between maybe… two and fourteen days? Maybe? I’m not sure.”
Lindy’s eyes are wide. “Oh, uh, okay. That’s either not super late or really fucking late. Aren’t you on the implant?”
“Yeah, but I’m never late. I don’t miss periods, Lindy.”
“Okay, hang on a sec.” She starts scrolling through her phone. “It says the implant is super effective, especially within the three-year window. When did you get it?”
I stare back at her, my jaw hanging open slightly, giving her all the answer she needs.
“You know what, it’ll probably start later today, so you should be good. Even if you’re outside the three-year window. I bet that’s why you feel so crappy. Probably your period starting.” Her words are soothing, but her voice isn’t so steady.
“Bitch, you know me,” I interrupt.
Lindy sighs resignedly. “Yeah, I just thought I would try my hand at not panicking first.” She stands from the bed. “Come on, Mouse. Let’s go kennel.”
From the living room, I hear the gate latch and her voice ringing out as her keys clang together. “I’ll drive. I’ve got tests at my house, or we can go to the store.”
I don’t answer for a beat.
“Good point,” Lindy answers the silence. “We’ll grab both.”