“Without eating anything?” He folds his arms. “You’re eating for two now, sweet pea.”
“I’m also puking for two,” I reply, and he chuckles before his expression snaps back to serious.
“Also, are you sure you should be going out on the boat? It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous how? It’s not like we’re going cliff diving.”
“I know, but you still need to be careful. What if the boat capsizes?”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “You and Wyatt need to get together and discuss your irrational fear of boats capsizing in Tahoe.”
Mom wanders in from the deck, carrying two empty plates. She and Hannah were eating their breakfast outside. “Leave her alone, John,” she chides.
I set down the water bottle when I feel another cramp. Sharper than before. Taking a breath, I press my hand against my lower abdomen.
Mom notices instantly. “Are you okay?”
“I think so. It’s just, I don’t know, it’s this weird feeling. Like a stretching sensation. But I read that’s normal.” I’m kind of embarrassed to admit I’ve been reading up on early pregnancy, but they know me. I’m not going into any situation without a healthy amount of research.
Mom relaxes, but a flicker of concern remains. “Cramping is normal, yes. Do you have any spotting?”
I shake my head.
“You’re a touch pale,” she says, scrutinizing me. “Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?”
“See!” Dad says triumphantly. He glances at Mom. “And she’s going on aboat ride.”
I glare at him. “Don’t look so proud of yourself for snitching. Also, there’s nothing to snitch. Yes, we’re going out on the boat for a while. It’ll be fine.”
Mom shrugs. “All right, have fun. Just try to take it easy. Don’t swim if you have cramps.”
“I won’t.”
The ache doesn’t subside during our lazy cruise of the lake. By afternoon, it’s deepened, radiating to my back and down my thigh. Deciding maybe I do need to take it easier, I lie on the couch afterlunch, scrolling on my phone while Dad watches a movie and Mom and Hannah clean up in the kitchen.
Wyatt is fishing with his dad, which I was quick to encourage. They’ve been hanging out a lot this week, and I can see how happy it makes Wyatt to connect with Garrett over something that isn’t hockey. I wonder if he’ll ever tell his father about all the times he hit up the rink this summer.
My phone buzzes with another message. I’m texting with Little Spencer, who’s back in New York and just sent a picture of his home podcasting studio.
LITTLE SPENCER
See, I can totally get a second chair in here!! And we’ll design a professional backdrop behind the table so it looks like a real studio. OMG I can’t wait for you to move to the city!!!
For the last time, I’m not moving to NYC.
LITTLE SPENCER
Fine, we’ll stick to our weekend plan. FOR NOW!
I grin at my screen, but all of a sudden, the words blur as a wave of nausea hits, forcing me to sit up abruptly.
“You okay?” Dad glances over.
“I’m fine. Just feeling queasy again.”
“Grace, get the bucket,” he calls.
“I don’t need a bucket. There’s a bathroom, like, fifteen feet away.”
