Chapter 10
If only raw eggs were the biggest problem in my life.
Terri
I survey the buffet. It’s the first day of the Seals’ training camp and Hudson asked us to make the breakfast extra special. If he meant providing enough food to feed an Army, we’ve succeeded.
All the usual suspects are available – eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, etc.
As well as a few ‘typical’ athlete foods – oatmeal, berries, avocado toast, Greek yogurt, protein smoothies.
There’s also raw eggs, massive jars of peanut butter – apparently athletes add peanut butter to everything – cottage cheese, and pickle juice.
I do not want to know what the pickle juice is for.
And – because this is Smuggler’s Hideaway – I’ve added mermaid shaped pancakes, cranberry bog muffins, blackberry moonshine French toast, and fried oyster breakfast tacos.
I wanted to add Mermaid Mimosas – it’s not a breakfast without them – but Hudson nixed the idea.
No alcohol. I never knew my boss was this boring.
Achoo!
I frown as I make my way to Nadia. “Go home.”
Her eyes – her red rimmed eyes – widen. “I can’t go home. This is my job. It’s bad enough you got stuck fixing the whiskey barrel cake for my event.”
Ugh. The whiskey barrel cake made me feel nauseous for hours. I never knew the combination of sugar, chocolate, and whiskey was unappetizing before. Now, I do.
“You’re also sneezing into the food. Do you realize how paranoid athletes are? If they notice you and your runny eyes and red nose, they won’t eat an ounce of this food. And there’s a lot of food.”
She sniffs. “It would be a waste of food.”
I snatch her clipboard and nudge her toward the door. “Go. And don’t come back until you no longer resemble Rudolf the red-nosed pirate.”
She doesn’t argue. She must be feeling worse than a seasick pirate. Poor girl.
I check her list. She’s mostly finished. I check the time. The team is still in a meeting with their coaches, but they should finish and be here in less than fifteen minutes. I rush around finishing the items on her list.
By the time the doors open to welcome the athletes, my forehead is beaded with sweat and I’m gasping for air.
I find a corner to stand in as the team attacks the food. Technically, I could go back to the office. I’m not needed until it’s time to clean up the venue. But my legs feel heavy. And I’m tired. I slept nine hours last night, but it wasn’t enough.
I hope I’m not coming down with whatever bug Nadia has. The last thing I need is to get sick. Summer is the busiest season at the resort. And this year is even busier with the addition of the Steel City Seals.
“You okay?” Corbin asks me.
We’ve never met, but I know who he is. I’m a smuggler. I can’t not know he’s living with my friend Siena. She’s not answering her phone and messages, but she can’t avoid me forever.
“Just tired.”
“Here.” He shoves a bottle into my hand.
“What is this?”
“A protein shake. It’ll pep you right up.”
I sniff the drink and rear back. It smells of chalk, wet dog, and feet.
“Don’t be a wuss. Try it.”
I take one sip and gag. “What’s in this?”
He shrugs. “The normal stuff. Peanut butter. Protein powder. Raw egg whites.”
“Raw egg whites?” At least I know why the scent makes me gag.
I try handing the bottle back to him. “I think I’ll pass.”
“I promise it will make you feel better. Trust me. I’m an athlete. I can’t get sick or I’m benched.”
He does have a point. I try another sip but my stomach rolls at the smell. I shove the bottle into Corbin’s hands before rushing out of the room.
I barely make it to the restroom before falling to my knees in front of the toilet and losing the contents of my stomach. Once I finally stop heaving, I lean back against the stall to catch my breath.
I must have caught the bug Nadia has. Good thing I have Dr. Allens on speed dial. You wouldn’t believe how often bridezillas need a little ‘help’ to make it down the aisle.
“This is Dr. Allens.”
“Hi, doctor. It’s Terri from the Hideaway Haven Resort.”
She groans. “Is someone’s skin melting because the sun poisoned them?”
I chuckle. “No.”
“Is someone dying from the tiniest jelly sting in history?”
The guest’s panic was hilarious. Staying professional was difficult. “No.”
“Let me guess. Someone’s allergic to moonshine.”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
She sighs. “And this is Smuggler’s Hideaway.”
“Good point.”
“Okay. Let me think.”
I clear my throat. “There’s no need to guess.
There’s no guest who ate thirty-six oysters and now thinks they’re dying.
And no one needs sedatives because they’re traumatized by a seagull stealing their breakfast. And I have an EpiPen ready for the next time a guest discovers they’re allergic to seafood. ”
“Welp. I’m out of ideas. What’s the emergency?”
“No big emergency. I caught some sort of bug. Is there any medicine you can give me?”
“What are your symptoms?” She’s all professional now.
“Nothing drastic. I’m tired all the time despite sleeping more than usual. I’ve been sweating a lot for no reason. And now I throw up.”
“What did you throw up?”
“Some disgusting protein drink. It smelled of eggs.”
“Eggs?”
“Raw eggs.” I shiver. “Gross.”
“You don’t need any medicine. You’ll be fine in about seven or eight months.”
My brow wrinkles. “Seven or eight months?”
“Although the symptoms you’re describing usually recede after a few months.”
I rub a hand over my forehead. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Terri.” She uses her ‘don’t be an idiot voice’. “You’re pregnant.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice as fear rushes through me.
“Terri!” She shouts but I can’t answer. My body is seized with terror. “Terri!”
“What?” I manage to gasp out this time.
“You need to calm down. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”
Baby? Nope. No way. Not in this lifetime. I refuse to believe it. No way am I pregnant. I can’t be. Not after what happened with Mom. I decided right then and there I’d never have children.
“I’m not pregnant. I’m on the pill. Besides, you can’t diagnose someone as pregnant over the phone.”
“No, I can’t. Come in anytime today and I’ll draw some blood for a test. Then, we’ll know for sure.”
“I know for sure now. I’m not pregnant.”
“Really? When was your last period?”
“It was…” I trail off. I don’t remember. It’s been a while.
“Exactly. And have you had sex recently?”
My face heats. “Yes.”
“Stop by this afternoon and I’ll confirm your pregnancy. I can probably tell you how far along you are.”
“You—”
“Gotta go.” She hangs up before I have a chance to get my thoughts in order.
She’s wrong. She’s not jumping to conclusions. She’s flying through the air to the other side of the world where her conclusion can’t be correct.
It can’t be. I can’t be pregnant.
We used protection. I may be on the pill but I’d never have sex with someone without a condom. Not unless we were in a committed relationship. And closet rendezvous does not spell out committed relationship.
Besides, I must have had my period since then. I thumb through my phone until I find my period app. When was my last period? I scowl. According to this, it was two months ago.
Never mind. I often forget to update the app.
Except I can’t remember when my last period was. I close my eyes and riffle through my memories. The last time I remember was when I had to rush home for supplies because we decided to go for a swim and I didn’t have any tampons with me. The water was cold.
Because it was May. Nolan arrived in June. And it’s now the middle of July.
Holy mermaid swimming in the sea. Am I seriously pregnant?
I place my hand on my stomach as if I can answer the question by mere feeling.
I wish I could be happy. I wish I could welcome this child into the world. But I know what pregnancy means. Depression and death.
What am I going to do?