ELEVEN WEEKSPREGNANT
What nobody warnsyou about morning sickness is that it doesn’t disappear when a.m. turns to p.m.
In my case, it’s an all-day sickness, striking whenever and wherever it pleases. Some days, it doesn’t show, giving me a false sense of security, thenbam!,a too strong smell or weird taste humbles me.
I’d woken feeling slightly nauseous, adamant it wouldn’t disrupt the wedding I was scheduled to perform at. I’d sucked on five ginger candies on the way here, and thankfully, by the time I’d set up for the ceremony, it had passed.
Until I locked eyes with a startlingly familiar pair.
I was stock still, yet my insides felt like I was riding a roller coaster, every dramatic turn and sharp twist making my head spin and stomach clench.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up,I repeated until I had it under control.
I’d come to the tough conclusion me and Button were inthis alone. After weeks of hunting for Warren, I’d all but given up. He was a shadow. A myth. Completely oblivious to the child I’m carrying.
It’s a good thing I spotted him after the song ended, or I would’ve snapped a guitar string. Instead, my heart tumbled and stuttered in my chest at his indecipherable expression. Does he remember me? Is he surprised? Is he aware I’ve been searching for him? He can’t know—I’m not showing yet, just constipated and bloated. Maybe that’s why he’s staring at me the way he is.
The chances of us running into each other weren’t impossible, though today of all days is far from ideal. A wedding he’s a part of is not the prime location to drop the bombshell on him.Congrats on your nuptials. Now, if you’ll excuse me, your groomsman impregnated me,and I’m about to ruin his life.
At least he’s not the groom—that would’ve been awkward.
I release a shaky breath when he follows the rest of the wedding party out of the room, eyes on me the entire time. Okay, he definitely remembers me. I have another set to perform during the reception, so escaping isn’t an option. It does give me time to mentally prepare what I’m going to say and do.
Once the ceremony hall is empty, I pluck my silenced phone from my guitar case and fire off a round of panicked texts. I’m so thrown off kilter, my spelling is a hot mess.
Harriet: He’s hear.
Harriet: Here***
Harriet: At the wedging.
Harriet: Fuck. This is not real.
Harriet: HELpP!!
Talia: Warren?!
Parker: WTF! Have you spoken to him?
Margot: It’s fate!!!
Parker: Omg, is he the groom?
Harriet: He is not. Fate has nothing to do with this. It’s horrible luck. What do I say?
Talia: I’d start with “Hey, I’m carrying your spawn, are you in or out?”
Parker: Obviously he’s been in and out…
Harriet: Not helpful!!!
“Hey, hon,” Nina, the wedding coordinator, says from the doorway. “You don’t look so fresh.”
No shit, Nina. I’m about to spew my guts, and my baby daddy materialized at the worst possible moment.
I press the back of my hand to my flushed cheeks. The room is less stifling now he’s left, but the warm air blowing from the heaters doesn’t help. “Pregnancy problems.” I laugh and then freeze.
Baby brain is real and needs to be studied because this kid is sucking the brain cells out of me.
