Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“Kins, are you okay in there?”
Chelsea knocked on the bathroom door again, impatience making each beat a little louder.
The white porcelain mocked me; it was only a matter of time before my stomach lurched again.
God, what the hell had I eaten yesterday?
I should have skipped the gas station sandwich, but, after driving for hours from the city, I’d been starving.
It seemed like the right option at the time. Note to self—next time, keep driving.
“One more minute,” I croaked out, praying the nausea would subside soon.
There was so much to be done to get my mom’s condo ready to go on the market, and I only had two days.
After my long-term absence from the firm months ago, I was out of vacation days, so I had to be back in the office by Monday.
Two days seemed like enough time to deal with the apartment. At least, it had, before this stupid stomach bug. Yesterday, the nausea had come in waves, and then it faded, leaving me with little energy but still strong enough to continue working. Today, it was so much worse.
Chelsea’s muffled voice broke through the door. “Come on, Kins. I’m getting worried out here.”
I forced myself into a sitting position.
Fucking hell. All I wanted was my bed—to curl up and watch true crime documentaries until this illness worked itself out.
But I needed to deal with the house situation, and I couldn’t keep running to Erie City on my weekends.
With the next round of LSATs in only three weeks, I had no time for anything else to go wrong. Stomach bug be damned.
After washing my face and rinsing my mouth out, I pulled the door open, finding Chelsea’s worried frown on the other side.
“Better?”
“Not really,” I mumbled, walking into her waiting arms. Chelsea wrapped them tightly around me, and I melted into her embrace. But then, my stomach twisted. Pushing her back a little, I shook my head. “You should leave, Chels. I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Not going to happen.” She put her arm around my shoulders, guiding me over to the couch. “Sit for a minute, and I’ll grab you some water.”
Just the idea of putting anything in my stomach turned me green. As she rummaged through the fridge, I grabbed my purse, digging for the tin of peppermints I kept in the pocket. They were the only thing I’d been able to stomach all day, and I wasn’t about to risk anything upsetting it again.
Chelsea came out of the kitchen, handing me a glass of water.
I reached out and took it, tucking it on the side table.
Just the slightest movement was enough to make my vision swim.
Running my hand over my face, I slammed my eyes shut.
Maybe if I closed them tight enough, I could will this bug away. “God, there’s so much to be done.”
Boxes needed to be packed; clothes needed to be donated.
While we’d gotten rid of the perishable stuff right after my mom passed, everything else stayed exactly where she left it.
Even her purse and shoes sat by the front door.
I needed to throw things away, but, with so much to do, I had no idea where to start.
Even if I did, I was in no shape to stand, much less load things into the trash.
“Don’t worry about that,” Chelsea said, resting on the couch at my side. “You need to take care of yourself first. Mark and I can handle some of it while you rest.”
“Not on the schedule for today.” I tried to push myself up, but my head spun, and I sank back down.
Chelsea reached over and grabbed the throw from the back of the couch, draping it over my lap.
Nuzzling into it, I inhaled slowly, taking in the subtle hints of cinnamon and freshly cut grass.
Mom. It seemed impossible, but her scent still clung to the fabric—still held on to her presence.
Chelsea studied me as I ran my fingers along the edge of the quilt, already deciding it was coming back to the city with me. She shifted and toyed with some of the stuff I’d put on the coffee table earlier. "Okay, what?” I snapped, unable to handle the tension radiating from her.
She scrunched her nose. “Don’t hate me for saying this.”
“I could never.”
Chelsea sighed and turned to face me fully. She reached out and took my hands, her thumbs running over my palms. “Your body might be trying to tell you something.”
“Like eating from a sketchy gas station is never a good life choice?”
“Or that you don’t want to sell this place.”
Her words landed like a bomb in my lap, shattering all pretenses I’d hidden my anxieties away.
Tears filled my vision; I tried to blink them away, but they fell anyway.
Chelsea shifted closer, looping her arm over my shoulders, and tugged me closer to her.
“I can’t stay here, Chels. It’s too hard being here without her, like she’s going to walk in the door any minute, and it’s killing me. ”
“I know, Kins. I know.” Her hand stroked my hair, soothing me just like my mom used to. “But I think you’re looking at it the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulled back. “Sure, it's hard being here without her, but think of the good years. How much love she poured into this place. Your mom willed it to you because she wanted you to be comfortable—not sharing a studio apartment with three other girls and constantly stressing about making rent.”
Her words made me freeze. God, how often had my mother uttered those exact words?
I squeezed my eyes tight, replaying so many conversations from the past. Just be happy.
I’d told her a million times that I was, but she never believed me.
Looking back, I wasn’t sure I believed myself.
I’d been so preoccupied with work, with passing the LSAT, that I didn’t visit my mom for over six months, never questioning why her face looked more gaunt on every call.
By the time I came home and found out she was sick, we only had weeks together before she passed.
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m not trying to overstep, but you need to think about if this is the right step.”
My stomach lurched, unable to take the pressure of Chelsea’s questions on top of my nausea. I groaned as I dropped my head back on the couch. “Can we leave the life-altering conversations for another day? When I can keep down solid food?”
“Fine,” Chelsea said, hiding her annoyance behind a tight grin.
While she didn’t want to push me right now, it would come soon enough.
As much as being here made my heart hurt, I had to admit—I missed her.
Chelsea would always be my best friend, but the distance had changed our relationship.
During the months I stayed with my mom, we’d gotten our old bond back, and I didn’t want to go back to strained phone calls once a week.
Stop it. I couldn’t move back to Erie City if I tried.
My life was in New York—my job, my apartment.
Sure, the time I spent here had been horrible and wonderful at the same time, giving me more time with my mother and best friend that I desperately needed, but could I actually live here?
To come back? I’d need a neon blinking sign for the universe to believe that was true.
I groaned as I lifted myself up to stand.
My legs wobbled underneath me, and I almost collapsed in on myself.
Chelsea leapt up and put her arms under me, helping me over to the bench.
She sucked in a sharp breath as she put her hand to my forehead.
“That’s it,” she snapped. “You’re going to bed, Kins. ”
“But—”
“Absolutely not.” Chelsea ducked down and met my eyes. “Mark and I are going to take care of this stuff while you get some rest.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“The words you’re looking for are thank you, Chelsea.”
“Thank you,” I grumbled as she led me into my bed, forcing the covers over my shoulders.
The rest of the night was a blur, nothing more than on and off periods of consciousness and nausea.
When I woke the next morning, my stomach ached for food, so I padded my way to the kitchen.
When I pulled open the fridge door, the options were pretty pitiful—a few slices of bread that had enough mold to count as a petri dish and half a carton of eggs.
Guess scrambled eggs would have to do. But the moment I cracked one open, my stomach rolled again, sending me running back into the bathroom.
What the hell did I catch? The plague? My empty stomach rioted as I leaned over the toilet, refusing to stop cramping.
When the nausea passed, I lifted myself and stared into the mirror.
Dark circles lined my eyes, and my skin looked more pallid than normal.
Step one—get some liquids into my system, and if this bug didn’t pass by the afternoon, then I’d head to one of the local urgent cares.
By the time I came out of the bathroom, the smell of cooking food pulled me back into the kitchen.
What the hell? When I turned the corner, Mark stood at my stove, mixing something in a pan that was not mine, as Chelsea put a month’s worth of groceries in the fridge.
Once she closed the doors, she turned toward me.
“Hey, you. Glad you’re looking a little better than last night. ”
“Doesn’t feel that way,” I muttered as I stepped up to the counter, letting the odor of bacon and some sort of fresh bread pull me forward. As I sat down at my kitchen table, I frowned. “No offense, but what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the bar?”
Mark laughed as he shook his head. “Told you she wouldn’t remember.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes. “You told us to come back, made me swear on our friendship that we’d come see you in the morning. To make sure you were still alive, I believe were your exact words. You had us worried.”
My eyes dipped away from hers; instead, I stared down at my hands.
Chelsea had seen me at my worst, but I’d grown tired of being the needy friend—the one who always seemed to fall apart.
My chest broke out in a fresh batch of red, itchy splotches, and I itched to rush back to my room, but Chelsea wouldn’t let me.
She placed her hands on top of my own. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Kins. We wanted to help. Besides…” She nodded over toward Mark.
“This guy is a great cook, and I’ll take any excuse to have one of his legendary breakfasts. ”
I glanced between the two of them, and my cheeks flushed.
Despite knowing Mark for years, I didn’t know he could cook.
In fact, I knew little about my best friend’s husband other than the fact that they shared a bar, and he had a low tolerance for reality television.
Add it to the list of reasons I’d been a crappy friend over the past few years.
Chelsea smiled at me, some sort of understanding I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but the look disappeared as Mark came over and joined us, dropping delicious-smelling plates in front of us.
While we set the table, Mark and Chelsea talked, regaling me with stories from the previous night at the bar.
I took slow, apprehensive bites of my breakfast, waiting for my stomach to riot again.
Instead, it let out a happy rumble as I chewed on the sausage, so I dared to eat more.
Thank God they’d come over, because after breakfast, I was full for the first time in days.
“Thank you,” I muttered. “I needed this more than I knew.”
“We’ve got your back,” Chelsea said and then glanced over at Mark. “Hey, babe, I left that bag of medicine in the trunk of my car. Mind running out to grab it for me?”
“Sure,” he answered, placing the plates in the sink before hustling out the door.
As soon as it closed behind him, Chelsea reached out and took my hand. “Please don’t be mad, but I also grabbed you some pregnancy tests.”
“What?” I snapped, wrenching my hand away from her. “I-it’s just a stomach bug, Chelsea. I am not pregnant.”
“Are you sure?” she said.
“Yes!”
She stared at me for a long moment and then shook her head.
“Shit, okay. I’m reading too much into things.
But you remember what my sister was like when she was pregnant?
” Faintly. “We were talking this morning, about her rough first trimester, and it made me think of you. She was so sick, she hardly ate, and that zapped the last of her energy.”
“Doesn’t mean that’s happening to me.” Indignation washed over me as I stood, my body much stronger than earlier.
As I turned on the water and began washing the dishes, my hands shook, almost unable to hold the plates.
Pregnant. What a joke. Rule number one of pregnancy?
It was a side effect of having sex, something I hadn’t entertained at all in a long time. Except for—
“Oh, fuck.”