I thought it might have cleared this morning.
“How would you even know that?” I wave a hand. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” I blow out a breath. “I love you, and I’m sorry I snapped, but I’m fine—”What a lie“—I have to get ready for work. There’s so much to do after the event, and I can’t leave Juno to do it alone. It’s not fair.”
“I don’t want you to go to work when you’re like this.”
I roll my eyes. “Grouchy isn’t a reason to take a sick day, babe.” He’s not convinced, but I’m going in. It’s my gallery. My company. I want to be there. I place a hand on his chest. “I promise I’ll come home if I feel worse.”
“Fine,” he mutters. “But I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
Four hours later, I hate myself. Why the hell am I such a stubborn bitch? I could have stayed home, been pampered by Diane, drank peppermint tea in my pajamas, but instead, I forced myself to come into the gallery and now I’m convinced I’m dying.
Every time I move, it’s a battle not to puke.
I can’t stand up without getting a head rush and the smell of Juno’s latte is making me want to throw it across the room.
I’ve never felt so useless.
“You look like shit.” Juno leans her hip against the desk as she studies me with the same intensity she gives new artists.
“That’s just what every girl wants to hear,” I mutter, focused on the paperwork in front of me. I’ve read it three times and I don’t know what the fuck it says.
“You’re green, Mia, and not a good shade. It’s like bile green, not a calming fern or soothing teal.”
The paper blurs, the letters melting together. I blink until it clears. “Teal’s blue.”
“Actually, it’s the perfect match of both blueandgreen, but that doesn’t change the fact you are neither of those. And just so you know, I don’t do well with vomit.”
I lift my gaze to glare at her. I’m suddenly jealous of the fact she looks so perky and put together. Healthy. She’s pulled her hair into two braids either side of her head and she’s wearing Doc Martens with her skater style dress. She looks amazing. I look like a troll. A green, dizzy troll.
“I’m not going to puke,” I say with conviction. It’s a lie. If I breathe wrong, I’m going to redecorate the trash can.
I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. My body feels weird, like it’s not really mine. This is more than tiredness or stress, but if I say that to Juno that she’ll tell Theo and then Theo will tell my husband, and I’ll be ordered home like I’m twelve years old and breaking my curfew.
I’m too busy to go home.
I just need a new stomach—and ten hours in bed.
Juno grins like a deranged cat.
“What?” I ask.
She taps a finger against her chin, like she’s pondering the secrets of the universe. “I’m just wondering how much your husband’s head is going to implode when you tell him you’re pregnant.”
I stare at her. Then I blink. Then I frown. “He’ll be disappointed,” I say slowly, “because I’m not.”
She hums. “Right. But you gagged over coffee this morning. You love coffee, Mia.”
I do. I love every type of coffee. With creamer, without. I’d drink it right from the bean if I had to.
Just… not today.
I keep quiet because I don’t know what to say. I can’t be. It’s not possible. I mean… it’s possible. Jensen’s been trying to get me pregnant for months, but where I am in my cycle means I can’t be.
“Do you want me to get you a test?” Juno asks.
“No.” I return my gaze to the papers. “I had my period last month, and I’m currently ovulating. It’s not possible for me to be pregnant.”
She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s pondering the secrets of the universe, or my uterus. Then she says, “Was it normal?”
