Dakota
Two months later.
My stomach wakes me up growling like a bear coming out of hibernation after months of not eating a thing. Grumbling, I climb out of bed and stare blearily at the alarm clock. It’s already 9 a.m. I grab my robe, bundle myself in it, and then open the door to head downstairs to the kitchen.
When I enter the hallway, I glance in the direction of my mom’s bedroom but it’s pointless, really. Not just because the mansion we live in is bigger than two people could possibly need, but also because we’ve both also done an excellent job of avoiding each other for the past few months.
But Denise should be embarrassed! Ever since I confronted her about sleeping with my ex-boyfriend, she’s been avoiding me. Maybe she does have a conscience. Or maybe, she’s out boning Eddie still, and too busy to come home.
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my ex around much either. Granted, we’re no longer together, but I thought I’d see Eddie occasionally around town at least. But nope, he’s disappeared too.
I flip my hair over my shoulder. Well, none of it really matters anymore, anyways. Knowing my mom is okay sleeping with my boyfriend is a wound I will probably never get over, or forgive her for. But in the long run, catching Denise and Eddie together was the best thing that ever happened to me because if that hadn’t happened, I never would have wound up dating Jack. Now, the past two months I’ve spent with the handsome billionaire have been the best of my life, so at least, I have that to thank them for.
I head to the kitchen because if I don’t eat soon, my stomach growls are going to wake up the entire neighborhood, and nobody wants that. I saunter into the huge, tiled space and grab a pan from the cabinet before putting it on the stove. Then, I add oil, turn the heat up, and head to the fridge to take out eggs, bell peppers, an onion, and some sausage. Perfect. This is going to be the most delicious omelet ever.
I throw the sausage in the pan first so that I can brown it while preparing the other ingredients, and it doesn’t take long for the sausage to start sizzling in the pan. The heat and aroma usually make my mouth water because sausage is one of my favorite foods. But today, something’s off and upon sniffing the scent, my stomach twists in the worst way. Grabbing the rest of the uncooked sausage, I check the date on the package to see if perhaps the batch has gone bad, but no. It’s fresh and won’t expire for another week.
Trying to shake off the nausea lurking at the back of my throat, I move back to the pan and stir the sausage before one side has a chance to burn. Then, the smell hits me full in the face, and that’s all it takes. My stomach cramps, and I feel the lump in the back of my throat growing stronger and thicker, until the urge is so overwhelming that I can’t fight it any longer.
As quickly as possible, I turn the burner off on the stove and take off running towards the bathroom. I cannot let Denise come downstairs and find me vomiting in the kitchen trash can. She would probably be really happy because it would be proof that I’ve become bulimic and that I’m serious about losing weight. Ugh.
Gripping my stomach, I rush into the bathroom on the first floor and kick the door shut behind me. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to turn the lock, so I just to pray my mother doesn’t suddenly decide to take an interest in her own daughter’s life and come check on me if she hears me getting sick. I bury my head in the toilet and lose everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours. It’s ugly. It’s a brownish-green stream of vomit, and splatters disgustingly as it lands in the water.
After I’m done, I go to the sink and rinse out my mouth, before grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with cold water. I press it to my neck, seeking relief, and then I let myself slide down the wall and sit on the floor, panting and exhausted.
It takes a few more minutes for my stomach to stop roiling, and for me to cool off a bit. But the strangest part is that as soon as the nausea disappears, the hunger returns and my stomach starts growling like I didn’t just spend ten minutes in the bathroom vomiting my guts out. Groaning, I get myself up from the floor and make my way to the laundry to toss the washcloth into the hamper. I don’t want to leave anything lying around to attract Denise’s unwanted attention.
I head back to the kitchen to clean up my mess. One thing’s for certain: I’m not eating any sausage right now or in the near future. So I toss the sausage I started cooking in the trash, and put the rest of my ingredients away. Then, I rinse out the skillet and then put it in the drying rack. I’m sure I’ll be able to drink juice at least.
But something’s not right because after I pour myself a glass of OJ, as soon as the acidic pulp hits my stomach, it flip-flops again, and I have to rush to the bathroom for a second time. What is going on? Bile comes out, and I’m left panting and exhausted once more. My face looks pale, and my mouth tastes awful.
Still retching a bit, I grab a washcloth and douse my face and neck with cool water to help myself settle down and feel better. At least I have the day off at the Red Bean because there’s no way I could make it through a shift like this. I just need some rest, so I decide to get some sleep in an attempt to rid myself of this weird stomach bug. Because that’s all it is, right? It’s just a virus that’s going around. I’ll be fine after a bit of rest and relaxation.
Unfortunately, when I wake, I’m not feeling much better. I stretch and open one eye to see what time it is, and to my shock, the alarm clock says that it’s one in the afternoon. I jump out of bed hastily, reaching for my clothes. Oh shit, I’ve got a term paper to finish and a project to work on for school.
But I still feel exhausted. Wow, this bug has really done a number on me, and maybe a shower will help me wake up so I can get into a more productive mood. Heading into the bathroom, I blast the water in the stall to let it heat up, and then open the cabinets under my sink to grab a towel. The first thing that catches my eye when I open the cabinet are my tampons, and I stop for a moment, a thought crossing my mind. Wait. This is the same box of tampons I bought more than two months ago, when they were on sale at Quickie Mart. The same unopened box of tampons that I haven’t used for months, ever since I started dating Jack.
A cold chill runs down my spine and when I stand and look at myself in the mirror, my face is ghostly white. This cannot be happening. Not when I’ve finally found a man who seems to truly enjoy being with me. A man who already has a grown child and a bitter divorce under his belt. A man who very likely, does not have any interest in starting a new family as an older parent. No. This can’t happen.
I turn off the shower and rush back into my bedroom to grab my cell off my nightstand. I pull up Libby’s name, and shoot her a text message.
I need to talk to you 9-1-1. I know you’re working today, but it’s an emergency.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I hold my phone in my hands, bouncing my legs up and down while staring at the screen, willing my friend to reach out. When my phone starts to ring, I jump and nearly toss it on the floor. It takes a second for my hands to stop shaking so I can answer Libby’s call.
“What’s wrong?” Libby says as soon as I answer. “I decided to call and not text because talking is faster.”
“I’m not sure, but, oh god, Libby. I think I’ve really screwed up.”
Tears start rolling down my face and I try to take deep breaths to calm myself down, but it isn’t working.
“Dakota, you’re scaring me,” Libby says. “I need you to try to tell me what’s happening. Otherwise, I’m going to assume the worst.”
I blow out a long breath and manage to steady my voice. “I—I’m late.”
“Is that what you’re freaking out about?” Libby laughs. “Girl, you don’t even have a shift today. The Red Bean’s been working you so hard that you’re getting your days mixed up—” Then, she goes silent abruptly, but I can still hear her breathing on the other end of the phone so I know she’s there. My buddy knows that I’ve been dating Jack Straithmore, so realization is hitting just about now. “Oh shit, Dakota. You’re late late. Not for work, but for your period. Are you sure?”
I nod and it takes a second for me to remember she can’t see me, so I say, “Yes.”
“How late?” she asks soothingly. “Because it’s perfectly normal to be a couple days late from time to time. You know, just last month I was almost a week late. I think it’s all the hormones they put in food these days. It really messes with our bodies.”
“Libby,” I say, cutting her off. I know she’s just trying to say whatever she can think of to make me feel better because that’s what we do. We lift each other up when we’re having a bad day, and it’s why Libby’s my best friend, but this is one time where nothing she says can alter my reality.
“Is it more than a few days?” she asks gently.
“Yes.” I cover my face because I’m embarrassed by how dense I’ve been. “I haven’t had a period in two months,” I confess in an agonized whisper.
My bestie’s silent for a couple minutes, and I know what she’s thinking. I’ve been with Jack Straithmore for a few months now, and we make love almost every time we’re together. How could I have gone two months without a period before it occurred to me to be concerned? When I’m dating a virile alpha male too? I’m so stupid!
“I’m leaving work now,” Libby finally says. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Libby, no. You don’t have to do that.”
“No, honey, this is what best friends are for. I’ll see you soon.”
The line clicks, and suddenly, I’m alone. My heart’s racing and my forehead’s clammy but at least my bestie will be here soon, and we can figure out what happens now. It won’t be so bad, will it? After all, this baby was made with love, and with a searing certainty, suddenly I know that I want to keep the child.