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“Oh, hey now,” Sam says and he rushes to me. He pulls back my hair as I throw up so that I don’t mess all over it.

When I’m done, he hands me a paper towel and I wipe my mouth.

“Honey, you sit down. Let me brew the tea,” Sam says.

I nod. “Thanks.”

“So, the sick day isn’t just an excuse to take some time off, huh?”

I shake my head and hang over the breakfast nook, feeling pasty.

Sam moves around my kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, looking for cups and tea bags and spoons. I direct him, and while he moves around the kitchen, he complains about his parents, telling me how he feels like a reject.

“They loved David. He was always their favorite. I don’t even blame them,” Sam says and takes out a peppermint tea bag. “Where’s your ginger tea?”

“I usually cut fresh slices,” I say and point to the vegetable basket.

“Right,” Sam says. “Fresh is best.” He cuts off a few pieces and pours hot water into the cups.

“I know this sounds terrible, but I hoped that now, after David being gone, Mom and Dad have no one to compare me to. I mean, I would never wish this to be real. I miss David so much it fucking hurts. But sometimes, I just wish they would look at me the way they looked at him, you know?”

“I think they need time,” I finally say. “It’s a lot to deal with. It’s taken me years to get to a point where I accept his death. It’s not so easy to just move forward.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says.

He glances sidelong at me while he squeezes the tea bag with his spoon.

“So, how far along are you?”

I pale and search for words, but Sam isn’t stupid, clearly. I sigh and concede.

“How did you know?”

“Honey, people think I’m strange for a reason. I notice things other people don’t.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. Not long, maybe a couple of weeks, if that. I haven’t gone to the OBGYN yet. It was just a home pregnancy test.” My stomach turns again and I groan. “And the nausea is this bad already.”

Sam picks up both cups of tea after disposing of my ginger and his tea bag.

“Come on, let’s get you comfortable.”

I follow him back to the living room. Kylie’s toys are everywhere.

“Sorry about the mess,” I say.

“What’s a home if it doesn’t look lived in?” Sam says.

I nod and don’t remind him that his apartment looks like it should be featured in some home magazine for stylish living.

I make myself comfortable on the couch and take the tea Sam offers me. When I take a few sips, the ginger settles my stomach and I feel marginally better.

“So, who’s it is?” Sam asks.

I want to give him an answer. I want to discuss this without emotion, like talking about the weather.

Instead, I burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetie,” Sam says softly and puts his hand on my arm.