“You alright in there?”
“Yeah,” I called back. “Just tired.”
She didn’t respond, but I heard her footsteps linger outside the door before she walked away.
I pulled myself up and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
My face looked the same.
But something underneath felt different.
Like my body was already changing in ways I couldn’t see yet.
Day Five
I cried at a Folgers commercial.
Not the sad kind of commercial—the one where the son comes home from college and surprises his parents on Spring Break. The kind that’s supposed to make you smile.
But I sat on Mama’s couch with tears streaming down my face, sobbing like somebody had died.
Mama looked over from her recliner, eyebrows raised.
“You okay, baby?”
“I don’t know,” I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
She didn’t say anything.
Just turned back to the TV.
But I felt her watching me from the corner of her eye for the rest of the night.
Day Six
I was starving.
Not regular hungry—starving.
I ate two bowls of cereal, three pieces of toast, and half a rotisserie chicken from Rouses before noon.
By 2 PM, I was nauseous.
I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up everything I’d eaten.
Mama stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You pregnant already?” she asked.
“No,” I said, wiping my mouth. “It’s the hormones. They mess with your stomach.”
She nodded slowly.
“Mm-hmm.”
She didn’t believe me.
But she didn’t push.
