Without thinking, I kneel beside her and brush the strands back from her face.
She swats at me. “I said go away,” she mumbles, but there’s no force behind it. I think she’s wrecked.
“And miss this glamorous moment? Never,” I tease, keeping my voice light. “Can I get you anyth?—”
I’m cut off as she jerks up faster than a bullet and retches into the toilet. I pull her hair back so it doesn’t fall into her face as her body heaves with very little coming out. When she’s done, she groans and falls back to the position she was in before.
I grab a clean cloth from the cabinet under the sink, wet it with cold water, and hand it to her. She uses one side to wipeher mouth and chin and the other across her cheeks and forehead.
“This is humiliating. And gross.”
“True. How dare your body do exactly what we doctors say it will do? So inconsiderate.”
“God, there’s no limit to your arrogance. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Seeing me at my worst.”
I crouch back down and run my fingers along her cheek. “Skylar, trust me, this isn’t even close to your worst.”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch even as she says, “Fuck you.”
“Not right now. At least not until you brush your teeth.”
She sits up, scooting until she’s pressed against the wall. I flush the toilet, though there’s not much in there other than a few traces of water and bile.
“Thank you,” she concedes grudgingly. “Even if you’re still a jerk.”
“Wouldn’t be me with you if I wasn’t.”
“Fair.” She sighs. “Christ, Aston. What have we gotten ourselves into? Our mothers are planning our wedding party. None of this was supposed to happen. They were going to listen as we told them what was up, and they were supposed to be quietly supportive.”
I close the lid of the toilet and sit on it. “It’s our mothers. We honestly should have anticipated this.”
“What will Zoey think about a wedding party where people talk like we’re in love and together?”
My elbows plant into my thighs, and I stare down at the floor between my feet. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what to say or how to phrase it, and I can’t exactly ask her therapist for help on that, though I do have to tell her I’m married now.”
“We had five days to figure this out between when you asked me and when we said ‘I do,’ and we didn’t.”
“It’s like what Monty Python says. ‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.’”
She snorts a laugh and sits up a little straighter. “Ain’t that the truth?”
She still has the washcloth pressed to the side of her face, and just beneath it is a small freckle I’ve never noticed before. I have a sudden and intense urge to trace it with my finger.
“How are you feeling?” I ask instead.
“Like I got hit by a truck carrying nothing but morning sickness and regret.”
“That’s very poetic.”
“I try.” She tilts her head. “Why are you still in here?”
“I’m a father and a pediatric surgeon. Vomit doesn’t scare me off.”
“Good to know. How about garlic around my neck or a silver bullet?”
I smirk. “Sorry, wifey, you’re stuck with me for a while. In sickness and in health, for better or worse.”
“Right now, it’s only the first and the latter.”
