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I sit there a moment, marveling at how one conversation made me feel a thousand times lighter, before I finally drive away and head home.
Morning sickness is the worst, but I refuse to complain. Okay, maybe a little bit.
I stand and wipe my mouth on a damp washcloth before washing my hands and brushing my teeth.
I’m silently thankful that I work from home and don’t have to endure this while at a job.
I pull my hair back in a sloppy bun an
d a few strands fall forward to frame my face. My hair has gotten pretty long, longer than I’ve worn it in a while. I should probably schedule an appointment and get it cut, but I don’t feel like parting with it.
I turn off the bathroom light and step into my closet. I change into a pair of jeans and a loose purple sweater that falls over my shoulder. It’s comfy and one of my favorite outfits.
When I get downstairs, my mom is already waiting with a steaming cup of hot tea. Since I’m not allowed to drink coffee, hot tea has become my go-to drink.
“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek.
“You look nice,” she says, rummaging through the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of eggs.
“Thanks.” I look down at my plain outfit. There’s nothing that nice about it, but I quickly realize this is one of the first mornings I’ve come down dressed in regular clothes and not my pajamas. I’m sure my mom is about ready to burn all of my pajamas so she never has to see them again.
“Morning, Kid,” my dad says from the kitchen table. “Sleep good?” he asks, looking at me over the top of the newspaper he’s reading.
“I did, actually.” It’s one of the first nights I haven’t fretted before falling into a fitful sleep. Talking to Ryder yesterday has really helped.
“Good.” My mom positively beams as she cracks an egg into the pan. “Your dad wants an egg sandwich; do you want one?” she asks.
“Sure.” I shrug and take a seat next to my dad.
Her smile widens in surprise. “You want it the same way you used to like them?”
I nod. “Yeah, cheese, tomato, and mayonnaise,” I tell her. My stomach rolls. “You know what, scratch the tomato.”
She laughs. “Okay, then.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Casey.
Casey: Can u do lunch 2morrow with the girls?
Me: Yes.
Casey: ? Great! You know the place. ;)
I set my phone aside. “I’m having lunch with the girls tomorrow,” I announce. My parents exchange a look from across the kitchen. “What?” I ask.
“Glad to see you acting normal, Kid. You might not need us around much longer.”
Panic seizes me. Not too long ago I would’ve been thrilled for my parents to head back home to Florida, but now I need them here.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I say.
They exchange another look. I don’t want to know what that one means, so I don’t ask.
My mom finishes making our breakfast sandwiches and sets the plates in front of us. She even brings over the carton of orange juice and glasses. I make a mental note to get her something nice like a gift card to her favorite store. She deserves it. She’s kept this house running while I’ve fallen apart.
I thank her and dig into my sandwich. For the first time in weeks I actually have an appetite. I’m not sure if my lack of one has been due to being pregnant or a part of the grieving process. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
I eat every morsel, and my mom grins at my empty plate. “Want another one?” she asks, all too eager to hop up and make it.
