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"Still nauseous?"
I nod. "It's the stress," I say, roaming my hands through my hair and placing a hand on my stomach.
"What if it's not the stress, Em?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, God, Em. Really?"
I take a sip of my mint tea. "What, really?" I say, shifting in my seat. "You are talking in riddles, Alisha."
She rolls her eyes. "Ever thought your nausea might have another cause, other than nerves?"
I stare at her as she speaks her mind.
"Emma, I believe you're pregnant."
I cough as I almost choke on the sip of tea. Her words resonate through me with the speed of a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird.
“Pregnant? No, that's not possible. I can't—"
"When you were carrying Charlotte, you were throwing up every day, hon. Just as you're doing now. And you're highly emotional, just as—"
"Okay, stop it. I get what you're saying. But this time, it's the stress that’s generating this nausea. I'm not pregnant! I can't…" I put my mint tea back on the table. "I can't go through another pregnancy alone."
"Have you used contraceptives?"
Images of our intimate moments wash through my brain, and I hold my breath for a moment. I place my hand on my chest as I remember that one day. My breathing pattern increases and I close my eyes. I can't think about that possibility right now.
"We need to go," I whisper. "Are you still walking with me?"
Alisha nods, and as we make our way out of the restaurant, Alisha whispers, "It's okay, Emma. You've got Bella and me. If you—"
"Please, Alisha. Drop it. Please."
She squeezes me. "Fine."
As we step into the elevator and other people join us, Alisha's demeanor changes. Her breathing pattern goes up, and the hand I'm holding becomes clammy again. She isn't even noticing she's restricting blood flow through my hand. The second we leave the lift, she pushes her back against the first wall she sees and lets out a long, shaky breath.
"Alisha Alexandra McQueen, what's going on? And don't give me the bullshit you used earlier."
She closes her eyes for a moment and rests her head against the wall behind her.
"Come on, spill it. I can see you’re hiding something from me."
With closed eyes, she speaks. "I get anxious in public places. It… it happens when people stand behind me." Her voice trembles. "I try to control it, but I goddamn can't."
"Oh, sweetheart. Why didn't you tell me?"
She analyzes me and points to my face. "That's why. I don't want your pity treatment, Emma. I want to forget what happened and move on."
"You should talk to someone. What you've been through isn't—"
"Nope, not going to do that. I'll be fine without chatting with a psychiatrist or counselor. I just need time. Now let's go to Nick."
I let out a huff and nod. We walk in silence, and as we turn the last corner, I see Amanda, Cole, and Brian standing in the hall outside Nick's room, talking with each other.
"Shit," Alisha mumbles.
