Chapter 20
Twenty
My boss’ remarks about symptoms starting early for some people ended up being prophetic.
The first change I noticed was tenderness in my breasts.
It was mild, and not much different from the soreness that sometimes accompanied my periods, but irritating because I knew what it was from.
It put me in a foul mood, which followed me to work and stuck with me throughout the day.
My unhappiness grew when I met Trevor for dinner only to realize that not only did food not sound good, but just thinking about eating made me want to vomit.
“Well, shit,” I muttered, slamming the menu down just as he picked up his wine.
My best friend paused with the glass a millimeter from his lips. “Bad day?”
“Bad life.” I glared at his glass when he took a sip, wishing I could shoot lasers from my eyes and make the thing explode. “First, I wake up with sore tits, and now the very thought of eating makes me want to hurl. Being pregnant sucks!”
I uttered the last sentence a little too loudly, causing a thirtyish woman at the table next to us to shoot me a glare. Not deterred from my foul mood, I returned the look with a fiery one of my own, wishing for the second time that I had laser eyes so I could show her just how pissed I was.
It was childish and not fair. She had a diamond ring on her left hand, telling me she was married, and taking the odds into consideration, it was very likely she was unable to conceive. And here I was complaining about it. It was a shitty thing to do.
That was one of the tougher parts about this whole thing, knowing how much I didn’t want it while so many other women would have sold their souls for a chance to have a baby.
But I couldn’t change what I wanted – or in this case, didn’t want – or my circumstances, and if I were omnipotent, I would gladly trade places with this or any other woman.
Trevor set down his glass. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I huffed to show him I wasn’t ready to give up being pissed. “And I don’t mean to snap at you.” Again, I glared at his wine. “Even though it’s seriously irritating that you can drink, and I can’t.”
The good thing about having a lifelong friend was I could be as bitchy as I wanted, and that even if I was being totally unfair and irrational, he would forgive me.
“I can quit.” Trevor’s shoulders rose and fell.
“Quit?”
“Yeah, give it up while you’re pregnant. I don’t mind, and it isn’t like I couldn’t stand to lose a few.” He patted his toned stomach. “Owen has been trying to get me to eat healthier, anyway. Maybe this will get him off my back.”
“I thought you liked that,” I muttered, making him smirk. “No. It’s fine. And it isn’t fair for you to suffer just because I am.”
“Even if I don’t mind?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Yes.” Again, I blew out a long breath. “And anyway, I’m pretty sure Owen wants you to go vegan. Not give up alcohol.”
“And that won’t be happening,” Trevor replied as he took another sip. When he’d once again set down his glass, he said, “Do you want to leave? Since you can’t eat, I mean.”
“I can eat.” My nose wrinkled when I glanced around, taking in the food the people at the nearby tables were digging into. “It just sounds awful.”
My stomach flipped when I looked at my wristband, thinking about someone at the Department of Fertility monitoring me right now.
My conversation, maybe? I wasn’t sure about that, nor was I totally certain they would know if I missed a meal, but after the secondhand smoke incident, I wasn’t willing to risk it.
“I’ll order a salad.” I scanned the menu. “With chicken so I get some protein. If I can’t eat it all tonight, I can take it to work tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Trevor replied just as the waitress approached our table.
I only managed to get down three bites of the salad, but like the good little government impregnated girl I was, I took it home with the intention of eating the rest the next day.
It didn’t happen. Not because my intentions changed, but because I woke twenty minutes before my alarm went off and had to rush to the bathroom.
After a good fifteen minutes of heaving – half of which produced nothing – I dragged myself into the living room and curled up on the couch.
My stomach was still roiling, and my head was pounding, and I felt like death.
Or like I’d partied way too hard the night before.
Since I didn’t want to miss work, I forced myself to sip some water and munch on some crackers, but when I once again had to rush to the bathroom, I gave up and shot Teresa a text. From the bathroom floor.
BEEN THROWING UP. WILL BE LATE. SORRY.
Her response came a few minutes later as I was brushing my teeth.
NO RUSH. IF YOU CAN’T COME IN, WE’LL MAKE DO.
I appreciated how understanding she was, but the thought of sitting at home all day with my thoughts as my only company wasn’t appealing, so even though my stomach was still uneasy, I made myself get ready for work.
I sipped water as I showered, closing my eyes and breathing slowly when my mouth filled with saliva and my stomach tried to claw its way up my throat.
The feeling passed, allowing me to dry off and dress, but I had to repeat the process when the nausea once again hit as I was blow drying my hair.
Thankfully, I made it out of my apartment without hurling again – although the stink of frying food in the stairwell nearly did me in.
I chose to leave my salad at home because the thought of eating it was more repulsive than the idea of assisting a doctor in amputating a limb.
At this point, I was pretty sure I would never be able to order the same thing again.
I inhaled and exhaled slowly on my walk to work, concentrating on calming my uneasy stomach.
Whether it was the effort, or because the morning sickness had passed, I wasn’t sure, but either way, I was grateful that by the time I arrived at work, I was feeling relatively okay.
And I was only a little more than an hour late.
The first person I saw when I stepped into the building was Bruce, a fortyish guy who looked like the stereotypical former jock who hadn’t yet accepted that high school was way in his past.
“You’re late.”
“And you can tell time.” I shrugged, hoping my nonchalance would prevent him from asking questions. Even under normal circumstances, I didn’t savor talking to this guy, but I definitely didn’t want to now.
Not deterred by my indifference, he frowned. “Did Teresa know you were going to be late?”
He’d always given off the impression that not only did he think women should never be in charge, but also that we couldn’t be trusted to stay on top of things and needed constant monitoring. Usually from men such as himself. Seriously, it was like he thought it was 1955, not 2067.
I gave an irritated sigh. “Yes, Bruce. I can text, and so can she.”
He frowned. “I never said you couldn’t.”
“But for some reason you think you need to be involved in things that are none of your business.”
“I think whatever happens here is my business,” he replied in a superior tone. “We all have to work together, after all.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that,” I muttered as I moved past him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I waved over my shoulder, not bothering to look at him. “Nothing.”
He grumbled something I couldn’t hear, and I didn’t care to know what it was. Honestly, there was no point in even trying to have a conversation when it came to men like him.
I stopped by Teresa’s office on my way to my desk. “Hey.”
She smiled up at me. “Feeling okay?”
“Better than I was, which isn’t saying much.”
My boss gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” I glanced over my shoulder, found Bruce watching me, and turned back to Teresa. “The Hulk wanted to know why I was late.”
Teresa rolled her eyes. “Looks like I’m going to have to have yet another conversation with him about how he isn’t a manager and has no right to ask the other employees what they’re doing or to assign them work. Honestly, it’s getting ridiculous.”
“We should have an office pool for next month. Everyone puts in a buck and picks which day you’ll have to do the same thing in July.”
“I get the first of the month,” Teresa said.
I snorted out a laugh, but quickly sobered as I thought about how much work I had to do and that I was now behind thanks to my bout of morning sickness. “I should get to work for real, though. I have a lot to do, and who knows how often this is going to be an issue.”
My boss’ mouth turned down. “You could work from home. I mean, if you need to.”
“Yeah.” I gave a noncommittal shrug. “Honestly, I don’t want to be alone that much. When I am, all I can think about is this huge thing hanging over me, and it sucks.”
“I get that.” Teresa’s head bobbed. “Well, whatever works for you. Just let me know.”
“Thanks,” I said and even managed a grateful smile.
She returned the gesture then waved to the door. “Go on. Work.”
“I will,” I said, laughing at her mockingly authoritative tone.
Bruce watched me walk to my desk, causing me to roll my eyes dramatically. I almost stuck out my tongue. Seriously, if he was going to be a chauvinistic pig who thought I needed policing just because I was a woman, I was going to be childish.