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Things are quiet and then Brent asks, “Did you?” Gregory must nod or something because Brent says, “Good. I trust you’ll do as I ask on this trip and I also trust that if you don’t, your sister will let me know. No news is good news and all that mess.”
I decide I’ve been eavesdropping long enough and quietly close the bathroom door and start the shower. I don’t think I could ever get used to this shower. If my elbow isn’t hitting the wall, it’s hitting the curtain. When I lift my leg to shave and bend over, I scramble to grab onto whatever I can grab as a huge wave of dizziness and nausea crashes into me so hard. My legs must be shaved. If we end up having sex today, which is highly likely, I don’t want Brent touching prickly legs.
With slow, deep breaths, I manage to quickly get the job done and hurry to get the hell out. What is wrong with me? This can’t be happening on Brent’s birthday! It’s not until we’re on the top deck, walking to one of the dining rooms for breakfast and I have to grab onto Brent with both hands because I feel like I can’t walk properly with the boat rocking precariously from side to side when I realize that I’m the only one feeling this way. And then it hits me.
Motion sickness.
Whew. That’s all that’s wrong with me.
Except I feel absolutely terrible and we’re nowhere near our room.
“Honey, you okay? You’re pale.” He briefly looks to where I’m grasping onto him.
“I’m fine.” I can survive long enough until we get back to our room where I can tell him and get one those those patches he was telling me he has in case I need it. But I’m pretty sure I can’t walk without holding onto him. Not without feeling worse and wanting to fall over.
We get some hand sanitizer and get in the buffet line. I grab a plate and move my free hand to grab a fistful of Brent’s shirt on his back. He gives me a curious glance, which I return with a smile. We move throughout the area and I’m able to subtly get Brent to fill my plate by asking him, “Hey, will you put some on my plate too, please?”
With our plates full, we shuffle through the tables until we find where everyone else is already seated. Brent realizes we didn’t grab drinks and leaves to get us both something. Thank goodness I don’t have to go. Sitting is slightly better than standing, but not by much. I hope that patch will work quickly once I get it on. In the meantime, I have to figure out how to eat while feeling so nauseated.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so terrible. How do people deal with this? They’re probably smarter than I am and put on a patch instead of waiting to see whether or not they’ll be subjected to seasickness. Brent returns and everyone begins to eat while I push the food around on my plate, struggling with the idea. The smell alone makes me want to run for the bathrooms. I did notice there is a women’s bathroom right outside the entrance to this room.
“Jamie, aren’t you going to eat?” Brent asks.
“Oh, yeah. Of course. I was just lost in my head.”
I cut a piece of French toast and that goes down okay. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought. That’s the jinxing thought I have two seconds before I put eggs in my mouth. My stomach revolts immediately. My reaction is all instinct with no thinking. My chair slides back, my hand clamps over my mouth as vomit pushes up my throat and my stomach clenches, and I rush through and around people to jog toward the bathroom.
Vomit coats my hand as I run into the bathroom and into the first open stall I see. The sound of the vomit falling into the toilet makes me cringe and puke again. I hold onto the walls of the stall for stability, feeling as if I might fall in any direction at a moment’s notice.
“Jamie? Are you okay?” Kayla asks from somewhere behind me.
My response is more vomit. When am I allowed to curl into a ball and cry? I’m over this. OVER IT.
“Is there anything I
can do for you?” Before I can ask for Brent, she gasps. “Oh my god. You aren’t pregnant, are you?” There’s no disgust in her voice, only pure curiosity and fear.
“No,” I answer in a scratchy voice.
“You’re sure? Even though Logan and I are so careful, I don’t think I could be sure without a test if I was in your situation. I mean you ate eggs and threw up. And it’s morning. This could be morning sickness, Jamie. Maybe we should find a doctor.”
“I’m not pregnant!” I yell. “Oh god,” I mutter, feeling like I might puke again.
Kayla doesn’t realize that, though. “What was that for? Did you realize you’ve missed your period or something? Are you sure you don’t want me to ask someone for a doctor?”
Thinking like maybe I only feel like I might vomit and I won’t actually do it right now, I storm out of the stall after flushing. “I’m not fucking pregnant, Kayla!” Being this exhausted and crummy makes me so cranky and irritated.
“But—”
“But nothing! I can’t have kids!” I blurt out while I wash my hands. “I’m not pregnant! It’s motion sickness!”
“Oh my god, Jamie,” she whispers.
I rush out of the bathroom, not wanting to hear anything else she has to say, and bump into Brent.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Get me away from her,” I demand.
