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“I’d love that,” I said. My heart swelled at the prospect of a new sister and friend all rolled into one.
The rest of the weekend passed in a contented blur full of brunch and lazy afternoon sex. I felt like I was finally able to relax. My stomach had finally settled. My boobs could stand being in a bra without feeling like they were being stabbed.
But on Monday, a massive wave of nausea hit me the moment I woke up, half an hour before my alarm. I was too uncomfortable to try and go back to sleep. I took some deep breaths, drank a glass of water, and tried to calm my jittery knees that were shaking so hard they shook the mattress. I hated throwing up and did whatever I could to avoid it. I didn’t drink hard liquor until I was twenty-one because I was so scared of the prospect of ingesting something that could make me throw up.
I got up and slipped into a fresh pair of leggings, but then I clamped my hand over my mouth. I could feel the vomit rising in my throat. There was no stopping it. I sprinted to the bathroom and wrenched the toilet lid up, emptying the contents of my stomach in a great wave of bright bile. I puked for a solid ten minutes. Just when I thought I was okay, another wave overtook me. I felt Sebastian come up behind me and gather my hair at the nape of my neck. There was still vomit in a few strands. Finally, my stomach calmed, and I spit into the toilet bowl. I sat on the tiled floor of the bathroom, leaning up against the toilet, completely defeated. Tears were streaming down my face, but I felt much better.
Sebastian looked at me, flustered. He got up and grabbed a washcloth, dampening it with cold water before wiping the vomit out of my hair.
“Thank you,” I mumbled weakly.
“Don’t mention it. Are you okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
I sniffled. “I don’t know,” I said. I wiped the tears from my eyes.
Sebastian sat down next to me. He handed me a glass of tap water, and I took a sip. I sat the glass on the ground and slumped into his chest. He circled his arms around me and pulled me into his lap.
“Don’t try to kiss me,” I said.
“I love you, but that wasn’t my plan at the moment. Do you need breakfast or something? Do you want to call in and take a sick day?” he asked, completely oblivious to what he just said.
“You love me?” I asked.
He grinned. “Yeah. I love you, Becca.” He rubbed my back. I’d always hoped that the first time someone told me they loved me would have been a bit more romantic rather than being crumpled on the bathroom floor, but the statement felt even more impactful, seeing as five minutes ago, he washed vomit out of my hair.
I got up and made a beeline for my toothbrush, brushing vigorously before spitting into the sink and washing my hands. I felt gross, but now that the nausea had finally subsided, I didn’t have any other symptoms that would merit a sick day. I was actually a little hungry. I finished getting ready and walked into the kitchen to find Sebastian popping a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. I was surprised. I’d never seen him touch a kitchen appliance before.
“I figured this would be easy on your stomach,” Sebastian said.
I walked over to the refrigerator and poured myself a cup of coffee.
“What time is it?” I asked. I was scheduled to work at eleven.
“It’s just after nine thirty,” Sebastian said while handing me a slice of toast. I took one bite and then another.
“Perfect, if we leave by ten fifteen, I’ll get there just in time,” I said.
Sebastian raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Are you sure you want to go to work today?”
“I have to go. I made the schedule. It’s a short shift. I only work until three. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, finishing the rest of my toast.
Sebastian sighed and grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. “I feel like I’m enabling your workaholic tendencies.”
“Sebastian, if you want to see a workaholic, look in the mirror!”
He laughed. “True,” and with that, he made no further comment.
The rest of the day flew by. Over half the cookies for the Dover Delights order were ready. I emailed Sebastian’s assistant about making something for the grand opening of the Dover Mall before starting a cookie cake for an order for someone’s sweet sixteen. I kept my nausea at bay by sipping iced ginger tea and eating saltines. By three, I was almost feeling back to normal. Just as I grabbed my purse to leave, I ran into Olivia.
“Hey, Becca! Any chance you could grab me an iced vanilla latte before you go?” She asked.
“Sure thing,” I said. I got to work, and Olivia idled by the counter.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as I passed her the latte.
I frowned, considering my morning recreation ofThe Exorcist.“Not great. Seriously, I am convinced my birth control is trying to kill me. My boobs are sore, I projectile-vomited all over Sebastian’s bathroom this morning, and I’m exhausted no matter how much sleep I get. It’s like I can’t win.”
Olivia regarded me with pursed lips as she stuck her straw into her coffee, “Can I ask you a personal question?”
