He lets out a startled yelp and I have a vague impression of him jumping to his feet while I suck in breaths and my mouth waters with the acidic taste of bile. I squeeze my eyes shut and continue the deep breathing until I think the urge to vomit has passed. When I lift my head I find the office empty. I groan, rolling onto my back on the carpeted floor and expelling a harsh breath through my nose.
Well, that went well.
My eyes water at the thought that I could have so disgusted him that he ran. Chased away by morning sickness.
“Way to go, Luce,” I mumble to myself. “Perfect timing.”
“What was that?”
I wince at the unexpected sound of his voice and my eyes shoot open–but I can’t see him from where I’m laying partially obscured by my desk.
He didn’t leave.
“Oh, nothing,” I mutter. “Just me talking to myself as one does–don’t tell me you don’t.” I raise my arm and point a finger vaguely in his direction.
Noah drops to his knees beside me and clucks his tongue in response. His gaze is soft and concerned and I’m shocked when he reaches over and places a cool damp cloth on my forehead.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Uh– better?” my voice is scratchy and it comes out sounding like a question.
He actually chuckles. “Youarefeeling better? Or you’re not sure?”
“No,” I say, grabbing the cloth from my head as I struggle to sit up, “I’m better. It’s passed … for now.”
Noah reaches an arm around to help me right myself, but I recoil slightly at the unexpected touch. He looks hurt by my knee-jerk reaction and I immediately feel bad about it.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, then reaches back behind himself and retrieves a water bottle, loosening the lid first and then passing it to me. I accept it gratefully, tipping it to my lips and gulping it down greedily while my chest tightens. Something about that simple tiny gesture–the loosening of the lid–warms a spot deep inside of me.
“No,I’msorry,” I respond, re-capping the bottle. “I’m just not used to having anyone take care of me.”
He gives me a slightly sad smile, settling back against the wall of my office.
We’re both seated on the floor now, just a few feet apart, and watching each other. It’s quiet, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable, and the tension from earlier seems to have bled out of the room.
After a moment he asks, “Morning sickness?”
“Yeah. Though it seems like a misnomer. It’s more like all-day sickness,” I joke.
He frowns. “When did that start?”
“Just this week.”
He nods. “So … I guess you’re about 6 weeks along?”
“About that, yeah. I haven’t seen a doctor yet, I’ve been a little bit in denial,” I offer tipping my lips up in a wry smile.
“Understandable. I’m sorry, Lucy,” he says again. “Not just for forgetting … you know … but for getting so drunk that I behaved so irresponsibly. Not using protection …” he shakes his head, “there’s no excuse.”
“We werebothdrunk. Webothbehaved irresponsibly. You’re no more at fault than I am. Or– we both are …” I wave a hand at him dismissively. “Whatever, you know what I mean.”
More nodding.
Silence again.
“Are you … still planning on getting an abortion?”
I let out a weary sigh. My voice cracks when I say, “Yes.”
