Sigh.
"Look, Laura, you can't keep doing this." Josie was giving her the hairy eye. "I know you have the day off, but staying in bed and doing the sick thing isn't helping. And the orange diet is just disgusting. What's next? Circus peanuts and Cheetos?"
Her stomach decided to swivel a hula hoop around it. "Oh, God, don't," she begged, holding her hand over her mouth.
The hairy eyeball got hairier. "You never get sick like this."
"Sure I did. in college. Hangovers."
"Yeah, but you didn't get drunk last night."
"Maybe it's the flu." Laura really didn't have it in her to argue. The sunshine felt like little daggers scraping against her eyeballs, and her brain was dulled down. Lately, she couldn't watch real television, her brain only capable of reality TV shows. If she watched another season of The Biggest Loser she was going to start dreaming about Extra Chocolate Mint Ice Cream gum and Subway.
"A month-long flu?"
Laura sat up, propping herself with pillows and holding her breath, wincing as a wave of nausea made her feel like she was puffy and drained at the same time, the sensation so damning she wanted to die. "It can happen."
"Not – well, no." Josie went into Laura's kitchen and she heard her rummaging through the fridge. Please don't bring me food, she thought. A quick glance at the leftovers from her dinner made bile rise up in her throat. Scooching back down, she reclined again, flipping her pillow to let the cool side touch her sickened face.
Carrying a tall glass of water with bubbles, Josie reappeared. "Drink this." Laura didn't want to obey, but she did anyhow. There was a tone in Josie's voice, the professional nurse giving medical aid and taking no shit. Do this because it's good for you.
Because I said so.
With crossed arms, Josie watched guard over her, as if Laura's not drinking the sparkling water would constitute a personal affront. The first sip was almost painful, then the next easier. About halfway through the glass she felt an enormous bubble fill her throat, the resulting belch so unladylike she might have roused a standing ovation from a group of truck drivers in a roadhouse bar.
Josie's polite golf clap didn't quite cut it. "Feel better?"
To her surprise, Laura said, "Yes." And she did. The nausea wasn't gone, the exhaustion was still so all-pervasive she could feel it in her bones, like poured, wet concrete seeking a low point. But the cloud of doom and sickeningly sour stomach was alleviated, even if fleetingly.
The look on Josie's face gave Laura pause. Her friend looked ten years younger, more like when they'd met, hair pulled back and face scrubbed of make-up, though her long fingernails remained, this time designed to look like hot dogs.
"Hot dogs?" she said, pointing to Josie's hands. Even saying the name of the food made her stomach lurch.
"I saw the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile and got inspired."
"Is that a nickname for the guy you're dating?"
Smirk. "She feels better!" Josie announced to Snuggles, who poked his head out from under the bed and popped it right back, terrified.
Sip. Deep breath. Squint. "Yeah. Just barely."
"Some flat ginger ale and saltines might help, too." Wary and watching, the words poured out of Josie's mouth like a string of curses, the words foreign and unreal.
"You think I'm – what? – you're crazy – no way!" Nausea returned in a giant tidal wave, her body twisting to the side to retch into a strategically-placed bowl on the ground. Orange. Everything that came up was orange. It made her vomit more, blood vessels bursting on her face, the rolling contempt of the muscles needed to empty her stomach making this all-the-more difficult.
"How long have you been doing that?" Josie asked dispassionately, stepping closer to pull Laura's hair back as she blew chunks. A box of tissues nearby were within reach; Laura grabbed one and furiously dabbed her lips.
"On and off for the past week. I swear, Josie. Flu."
"You have a fever?"
"No."
"Muscle and joint pain?"
"No."
"When was your last period?"
"I am not your patient!" Fear and dread crept through her, giving her chills. She hadn't let herself go there. It's not that the idea hadn't occurred to her – it most certainly had, especially when the nausea became so middle-grade and pervasive, lifting only late at night. She was on the pill, though, and while she'd stupidly gone bare, not asking the guys to wear condoms, she'd never worried about this. She was on the pill, right?
But there was that one day, Laura, a voice whispered, low and mean. One day.
No! It hadn't even been twenty-four hours! She'd just forgotten. That wasn't enough, right?
"No. You're not. You're my best friend in a shitty situation with those two assholes and now it looks like it's taken a turn no one expected." Kind and restrained, Josie's voice was simultaneously soothing and frightening. The implications of what she was suggesting were appalling. If she were – if this was – should she actually be – then this was like combining a Jerry Springer show with a Maury Povich paternity episode, all written by Dr. Drew and Judd Apatow.
In other words, a clusterfuck of unimaginable proportions. Because who was the father?
"It's not what you think," was all Laura could croak out. Josie handed her the sparkling water and each sip seemed to renew her. "Can we talk about anything else?"
"Oh, like the royal baby?"
"Shut up. Where's Nice Josie? I'd like her back."
"Nice Josie is about five seconds away from running to CVS for a few pregnancy tests."
"NO!" Her harsh tone shocked them both. "NO! I said it's not that."
Nice Josie made an appearance, sitting on the bed and taking Laura's hand in hers, kind eyes measuring her. "OK, OK, I'll respect whatever you want. But maybe I'll just appear and make you pee on a stick."
"You can't make me," Laura laughed. The feeling was foreign. It felt good.
Josie arched one eyebrow. "I am a nurse. Vee haf vays ov maykeen you ooorinate."
Laura laughed again. "I'll bet you do, you kinky bitch." Josie pretended to be offended, playfully hitting Laura's feet with a pillow. Laura kicked back and growled. A cat hissed and sprinted across the room, out into the hallway.
Closing her eyes, Laura leaned back against the pillow. Sip. Exhaustion seeped in again, the room spinning slightly, her eyelids now full of lead weights.
"Go ahead and nap," Josie crooned. "I'll be back later."
"Mmmmkay." Laura was almost asleep and barely heard her door click as Josie left. Snuggles nosed his way up onto the bed and settled next to her hip, his quiet purr singing her to sleep.
Three seconds later, Josie woke her up. The sun was different – not so stabby – and she heard music in the background. Indigo Girls? No. Adele. How could she get the two confused? Dry mouth made her taste cotton and Snuggles practically fell off the bed as she stretched.
"Josie?"
"Yep." Gurgle. Ah – making coffee. Just the thought of having to smell it made her inside turn. It was like vomit in the form of an odor these days.
"You making coffee?"
"Yep – want some?"
"God, no!"
"OK," she answered, her voice a sing song. "I'll drink it out here while you shower."
Shower? Laura pulled her pajama top out and sniffed her skin between her breasts. Eh. A bit oily. Sniffed a pit. Whoa! She was ripe. That cotton taste wouldn't leave, so she finished off the flat sparkling water on her bedside table. Wait. How could she have dozed off for a few seconds if the water was flat?
"How long've I been out?" she hollered.
"Three hours."
Three hours? Damn. She padded into the kitchen and stopped, the wall of java in the air stabbing her sinuses. "How do you drink that shit?" she accused, closing off her nose and breathing through her dried-out mouth.
"This?" Josie said innocently, pointing to her coffee.
"Ugh." Laura turned away and shouted back, "Just get rid of it by the time I'm out." Years ago, her grandma had told her she knew she was pregnant when she woke up in the morning and didn't want coffee or cigarettes. Maybe it ran in the family?
No. Don't think that way. Just...don't. Turning on the shower took so much effort. Moving her arm to take off her shirt felt like a Sisyphean task. Sliding out of her pajamas made her feel like she'd run a marathon. A small cup of water stayed down. Damn flu.
The shower's spray washed away a fair amount of fear and a not inconsiderable amount of nausea, thank God. Wash, wash, wash everything away, all the pain, the exhaustion, the confusion, and the grief. Grief for what she'd wanted with Mike and Dylan, for what they could be doing right now, for losing Mike's shy smile, Dylan's jaunty one, for missing out on the New England fall with them, for what could be.
Tentative, she let her hands move the soap where it needed to go, her hand grazing her belly below her navel. Could she – really? She and Ryan had just started to talk about having a baby when she'd discovered he was a fraud. Both had been pleased to find the other willing. A few more years, they'd agreed. It wasn't time. He had asserted that they needed to bond as husband and wife, first, before bringing in a third.
