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I brush my lips against the top of her head. Her hair is soft and tickles my nose.
“I’ll make an appointment with my doctor,” she says, her voice muffled against my shirt. She steps back, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Thea,” my voice cracks with worry.
She holds her hands out in front of her. “I’m okay.” She forces a smile, her lower lip trembling. “I’m okay,” she says again. “Oh, fuck it, I’m not.” She finally gives in and breaks down.
I wrap my arms around her again, murmuring comforting words under my breath.
“I shouldn’t be crying,” she says against my shirt, the fabric scrunched between her fists. “At least not this kind of crying.”
“This wasn’t planned,” I reason.
“Yeah, but you seem pretty jolly about this whole thing.” She rears her head back to look at me, her face splotchy and red from crying.
I try not to laugh. “Did you seriously just use the word jolly?”
“Fine then, how about joyous?”
“That’s better.” I tap her nose. “And yes, I am happy.”
She frowns. “But that should be me. I’m the girl and you’re the guy, you should be the one freaking the fuck out and wanting to run.”
I chuckle. “Sweetheart, when have we ever done anything the normal way?”
“True.” She sniffles some more and backs away. “I’m gonna go call the doctor now.” She wipes her face with the back of her hands. “Hopefully, I can get in soon.”
She leaves the bathroom in search of her phone. I throw the box away and follow her out.
Last night, we didn’t get much else done the rest of the day. I think we were both in shock, but while mine was happy shock, hers was … well, not.
It’s still early so I head downstairs to make us breakfast.
I’m sure Thea will tell me she’s not hungry, but she’s eating for two now, so I’ll force-feed her if I have to.
She sits at one of the barstools in the kitchen already, on the phone.
I leave her to it and pull out the eggs from the refrigerator.
I figure I’ll make omelets, so I grab one of the mixing bowls we recently bought and set it on the counter.
When Thea finally hangs up the phone, I’ve already started cooking the eggs. She sighs heavily, laying her head in her hands.
“When can they get you in?” I ask, my back to her as I watch the eggs.
“Friday,” she answers, her voice muffled.
Three days from now. It feels like forever, but I know it’s probably sooner than normal.
“What’s that smell?” she cries suddenly. “Oh, God.” I turn in time to see her slap her hand over her nose and run from the room.
“Thea?” I call after her. I turn the stove off and rush after her, finding her heaving over the toilet in the downstairs powder room. “Aw, man, I’m sorry, baby.” I crouch down beside her and hold her hair back. I rub her back with my other hand, trying to offer her as much comfort as I can.
She finally finishes and sits back, looking up at me with watery eyes. “I fucking hate morning sickness.”
“Do you think that’s what you had the day of your graduation?” I ask, remembering back to how she became so suddenly sick.
She nods and stands, going to the sink to rinse her mouth out. When she finishes she says, “Yeah, I think so. It must’ve been the start.” She bites her lip. “I’m sorry, but can you not make the eggs? I don’t think I can stomach the smell.”
