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CHAPTER7
CHELSEA
“Mom, this is all a mess,” I cry as she slides a cup of coffee across the island counter to me. Dad is currently down at the police station, working on bailing Kallen out. Wrapping my hands around the mug, the warmth seeps into me but it does nothing to ease the anxiety coursing through me.
Bringing the mug to my lips, I take a sip and as soon as the liquid hits my tongue, I begin to gag. Placing the mug down, coffee sloshing everywhere, I race down the hallway to the guest bath and barely make it to the toilet before I throw up. Resting my arms on the seat, I continue to heave into the bowl.
A wet washcloth appears on my neck, followed by the rub only a mom can do on my back. “That’s nice,” I murmur just before I throw up again.
Mom continues to rub my back and finally I stop vomiting. Closing my eyes, I rest my head on my arms. Not quite game to move just yet, that is until Mom asks, “How far along are you, honey?”
My head snaps up and I turn to face my mom. My mouth opens and closes a few times before I finally mumble, “I … I … I’m not pregnant.” Wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand, I stare at her and smile. She returns the sentiment and offers me the washcloth for my face. “Thanks.”
Taking the cloth from her, I wipe my face and hide behind the cool, wet cotton in my hand, avoiding Mom’s stare.
“I think you might be pregnant, Chels,” she says, and I know I have no choice but to face this now. She drops to the floor next to me and takes my hand in hers.
Removing the cloth from my face, I lean over and rest my head on her shoulder. She squeezes my hand in that Mom way and it immediately comforts me.
“How did you know?” I whisper.
“That reaction just now to coffee was exactly how I was when I found out I was pregnant with you.”
“I … I haven’t done a test yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because my husband got arrested for brawling in a bar with my ex-boyfriend.”
“That’s a good excuse.”
“Mom,” I plead, “what if I’m pregnant?”
“What if you are?” I nod absentmindedly at her words. “Surely you and Kallen have discussed children?”
“We have. We want three, but not for a few years yet.”
“Well, when you have sex, pregnancy tends to happen.”
“I’m on birth control,” I defend.
“And no birth control is one-hundred-percent effective.”
“Why do people keep reminding me of that?” Mom looks quizzically at me. “Margot said the same thing earlier tonight.”
“Why didn’t you test then?”
“I wasn’t doing a pregnancy test in a bar’s restroom.”
“Fair enough.” We fall silent but Mom breaks that a few moments later. “Okay, I’m going to run down the block to CVS and get you a test, no time like the present to see if I’m going to become a nanny.”
Nodding, I sit here while Mom runs off to grab me a pregnancy test.
Twenty minutes later, Mom gently shakes me awake. “Sorry to wake you, honey, but A. You’re asleep on the floor in the bathroom, and B. My neck hurt looking at you just now, and C. You have a test to take.”
“Is it wrong that right now I’d rather do an algebra test than a pregnancy test?”
Mom laughs. “Chelsea Jones, I never thought I’d see the day you shy away from something.”
