Page 45 of A Taste of Vanilla

A dull pull starts low in my pelvis, and I freeze.

No. Not today.

I press my palm to my lower stomach and wait. The ache stays dull. Annoying and present. It’s not the kind of pain that makes me bargain with God, my heating pad, and every woman in my bloodline… yet. But it hurts.

Stress does this.

Stress tends to move into my body with a suitcase and no exit date, making my organs its new home.

“Not. Today.” I tell it again.

My phone buzzes under my hand, and I turn it over.

MARLEY

Alive?

If you died in the shower and your ghost is reading this, knock twice.

I’m coming over at nine with coffee and crimes

I smile despite myself.

Then I open Oliver’s texts.

OLIVER

Oven knobs.

Are you awake or dead?

Of course.

I type back to both of them.

Alive. Shower ghost spared me. Squirrel is judging.

Marley responds immediately.

MARLEY

Sir Nubsworth?

He has seen things.

Haven’t we all?

Oliver replies a second later.

OLIVER

Oven knobs.

I roll my eyes.

Still off.

Door.