“Oh, God! I feel like I might…” The faucet was back on, and I couldn't swallow fast enough to avoid the inevitable.
“Are you sure you’re not knocked up?” Robert leaned forward, looking concerned, the teasing tone gone now. “Sounds like you might be. Is it possible? I mean, have you…you know, been with anyone?"
Thomas nodded, also not joking anymore “Yeah…I mean, you’ve had this nausea for a while…”
“I…fuck you both. It's just a virus.” I had to cover my mouth to keep from embarrassing myself in front of every one of my colleagues. I yelled as I ran for the door, “I gotta go."
I heard laughter behind me, but I didn't care. The guys and I had talked several times about my diagnosis. They didn't think it was all so doom and gloom as I did. Robert especially thought I needed to accept the fact that it was possible I could still conceive.
I ran out the doors of the ballroom and turned left, away from the crowd, to make it to a bathroom I knew of out of the way and hardly ever used. If I had to heave, I didn't want to do it where everyone I worked with could hear me.
I tried to breath and keep the inevitable at bay, but as I got to the door of the bathroom, I was running. The heaves started, and then I felt it coming. I slammed a hand over my mouth and then barreled open the door and found myself face to chest with a brick wall.
As I bounced back from the impact, I saw it wasn't a brick wall but a solid chest that had blocked my way. A solid chest that belonged to the man who had been haunting me for the last few weeks. I wanted to run away, but it was too late.
Biological functions did not care about your pride.
Joe reached out to hold my shoulders firmly, steading me before I fell. "Preston, I was hoping I'd run into you."
That was when my hand wouldn't hold back the deluge. My diaphragm contracted, my mouth opened, and I threw up all over my crush, his white dress shirt, jeans, and his vintage sneakers.
Bet he wasn't happy he ran into me now.
After the shock and mortification settled in, I tried to wrench myself away from him before I died from embarrassment and humiliation. But Joe wouldn't let me go.
"Preston, what's wrong? What happened?"
I struggled harder to get away, but my foot slipped in my mess, and I lurched backward. Joe didn't let go of my shoulders in time, so a split second later, we were both on the bathroom floor, making a complete mess of each other and the floor.
That was when my emotional rollercoaster of the last few weeks reached its highest peak, then went over the top and barreled down into the depths of the feels I'd been avoiding since we'd had our encounter, well, since we'd hooked up. No, that wasn't right either.
Since we'd banged in an alley like a screen door in a hurricane—that summed it up pretty succinctly.
I felt my emotions well up, spill over, and flood my eyes with tears I'd been holding back for too long. I couldn't even apologize because my sobs took my breath, and wave after wave of humiliation, sorrow, and stress poured out of me onto poor Joe.
As much as I tried to pull away from him throughout my breakdown, he wouldn't let me go. He sat with me on the bathroom floor, covered in my bile, tears, and snot, never letting me pull away. After a while, I stopped trying to run and finally clutched him tighter.
Joe was my anchor in a sea of chaos and emotional turmoil. I hadn't had support like this since my life went to hell fifteen years ago. I didn't acknowledge it, never talked about it, but the loss of family and comfort had been missing in my life for so long that I'd forgotten what it felt like.
And now that I knew this feeling, I didn't want to let it go. But all good things had to come to an end. I finally stopped crying, loosened my death grip on Joe's neck, and sheepishly tried to apologize.
"I'm so sorry, Joe. I…"
Joe got up from the floor and walked away, leaving my heart bleeding from the rejection. But that wasn’t what it was at all. When I followed his movements, I realized that he had gone over to the sink, wet some paper towels, and returned to help me up from the floor. As he gently washed away my tears and cleaned my face with the damp cloths, his words washed away the sadness I'd been holding onto for so long.
"Preston, never apologize for how you feel. Your tears are no burden on me. I want to help you if you'll let me."
I sniffed the last of my snot and tried to give him a small smile. "I want to, Joe. I want to try, but it might take some time. There's something here, I can feel it, but there are things you should know."
"I don't need to know anything right now, but what's making you sick? Did you catch something?"
I stepped around him and went to the sink to get more paper towels to start cleaning up. I couldn't look at him and talk about this. "I thought I had a stomach virus at first, but it's lasted over a week. I think it might be more serious than just a virus. I need to see my doctor."
He reached for the towels, so I handed him some, and we both got down on the floor to wipe up the mess. As we cleaned up, he asked me about my symptoms.
I explained about my nausea, dizziness, brain fog, and fatigue. Then I took a chance to give voice to my secret and worst fear.
"I had an appointment about a month ago, and he told me I'm in early manopause. I probably won't ever be able to have children, Joe. That was tough to hear, but my symptoms are making me think it might be more than that."
