Saliva flooded my mouth as my stomach gave the first shuddering lurch upward. With a squeak, I clapped my hand over my mouth and bolted past Nolan to the women’s bathroom, where thankfully a graffitied stall door hung open.
I didn’t have time to shut it behind me as I dropped to the floor in front of the toilet and began puking, my hands braced on the seat and my hair sliding perilously close to the action.
This was a rough one at first, lasting much longer than it had any right to, and when it finally subsided, I was crying a little, which was ninety percent a physiological reaction to vomitingand ten percent feeling very sorry for myself. I hated throwing upso much, and there wasn’t much that my mother had done well when it came to parenting, but taking care of me when I was sick was one place where she had been truly motherly. And I wished she was here right now, holding back my hair, force-feeding me cola syrup, sitting with me until it was all over. I wouldn’t even care that it was so I’d get well enough to work, which had always been the end goal when I was younger; I was so desperate for comfort that I didn’t care if it came attached to ulterior motives, which my therapist wouldn’t approve of. But she also didn’t have flat knees from hunching over a toilet for an entire trimester.
“Hey there, couldn’t help but notice you’re doing the Technicolor yawn,” chirped a voice from behind me, and I whirled, trying to push the tears off my face at the same time.
A tall goddess stood in the stall’s open doorway, chestnut hair waving over her shoulders. She wore a baby-blue dress with very puffy sleeves and a very short skirt, which revealed thick thighs with a handful of freckles dotting her suntanned skin. She tugged idly on her gold septum ring as she looked down at me.
“You’re Bee Hobbes,” I said. My voice was hoarse from throwing up. “Hi. I’m Winnie Baker. I would shake your hand, but...”
“But it’s been touching the grossest floor this side of I-91?” supplied someone else, popping up beside Bee. I didn’t recognize her—although I was sure if I’d seen her before, I would have remembered, because she was stunning. Black hair, light olive skin, tattoos peeking out from fishnet tights and a sweater that wasfalling down around one shoulder. Giant black boots and bright green gum snapping around her mouth completed the picture. “It’s okay, Winnie Baker,” she added, “if there’s any place where normal etiquette is suspended, it’s on the floor of a bar bathroom.”
“I’m okay,” I said, a lifetime of trying to assure people I was fine taking over. “Totally fine. And I’m sorry I didn’t close the stall door. And that you had to hear me... you know.”
“Doing a visual burp?” the woman offered. “Hakuna matata, baby. We’re here to be your bathroom fairy godmothers.”
“That’s really not necess—” But before I could finish demurring, I was bent over the toilet again, heaving.
Except this time my hair was pulled back for me. And someone flushed the toilet, so I at least had clean water while my pregnancy hormones did their thing. A warm hand rubbed soothingly along my back, and it was so nice that even after I was done throwing up I didn’t move, just kept my head on my arm and my eyes closed while they petted me.
“Did you eat the shrimp quesadillas?” Bee asked kindly. “They really should take those off the menu.”
“No,” I rasped. “It’s the hormones.” And then I wanted to immediately rewind the tape and try again, because I hadn’t meant to say that. I opened my eyes and turned to see two sets of wide blinking eyes, one set bottle green and the other a very dark brown.
“You’re pregnant?” Bee said.
“Yes, and it’s a long story, and not very many people know.” Feeling a little better, I managed to sit all the way upright and turn to face them properly. A sudden worry darted through me. “You won’t tell Nolan, will you?”
“Of course not,” Bee assured me. I saw the question in her eyes, but I wasn’t ready to explain everything right now, not when I was still on the floor of the Dirty Snowball.
A few more minutes passed, during which the other woman left and then returned with a cup of ice from the bar, which I slowly munched on until it became clear that my stomach had taken enough revenge for the night. I made my way to my feet and then offered them both a thin smile. “Thank you,” I told them. My eyes were still watering and I had to sniffle, and they both made crooning noises at the same time. I was pulled into a squeezing hug, and then abruptly released.
“You are our baby now,” Bee announced, and the other woman nodded.
“You can call her Mommy. I’m Daddy, obviously.”
Bee rolled her eyes. “Sunny, you can’t justcallDaddy. That’s not how it works.”
Sunny snapped her gum. “Tell that to Jack Hart’s mom,” she said and then threw me a shameless wink.
Jack Hart’s mom?
I gaped, and Bee shook her head at her friend. “He’s never going to forgive you if you keep bringing it up.”
“I don’t know why he’s still so fussy about it,” Sunny huffed. “Rebecca is hisstepmom, and actually hisex-stepmom if we’re getting specific, and also have you seen how tall she is?! This is not my fault!”
Bee was clearly not impressed by Sunny’s defense, but she dropped the matter to dig invasively through Sunny’s giant purse, which seemed to be something that happened a lot, judging by how unbothered Sunny was by it.
Bee emerged with a paper-wrapped object and handed it to me. It turned out to be a disposable bamboo toothbrush.
“You just had one of these in your purse?” I asked Sunny, but then added a heartfelt, “I’m glad you did. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, and obviously I have an emergency toothbrush in my purse. I have several, along with baby wipes and condoms, because you never know when a content opportunity is going to appear!”
“Sunny is a porn star,” Bee added, seeing my blank look at the wordscontent opportunity.
“Ohhhh.”
