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CHARLIE
“Igot in touch with a new landscaping company. I’m sending you their details now, so check it out and let me know what you think before we go ahead and draft a contract,” I tell Ella as I type up an email with the link to their website.
“I hope they’re less of a disappointment than the last one we hired.” Her voice is grumpy, even over the phone.
“I hope so too.” After Dad died and my sister and I took over Square Construction, we mostly just took on contracts for single family home builds. It was really overwhelming trying to take over the contracts for every business and government organization as well as houses. I still believe the overwhelming workload is what gave Dad his heart attack at forty-eight.
We decided to bring Beaufort Construction into the city. They take over the corporate buildings, while we do the houses. We split the government contracts. I owed them after all; Alex sent in reinforcements the year after we had lost Dad. We couldn’t have kept the company up and running if it weren’t for their help.
“How are you feeling now?”
I’ve been working from home this past week. I successfully crossed into the second trimester. ’m so glad that my first trimester took the nausea and morning sickness with it. But in its place is a plethora of other symptoms. My breasts are fucking tender to the touch which makes wearing a bra agonizing. I’m still incredibly tired, not to mention my hips have started to hurt, like what the hell?! No one warned me that being pregnant makes you feel like an old woman, who can barely bend over to tie her shoes or make it up the stairs without gasping for breath. I can’t even begin to image what it will be like when I’m as big as a house.
“Better, thanks. How are things on your end? Are the Walshes pleased with how their house turned out?”
We just finished the construction of a small bungalow at the intervale for Mr. Walsh’s aging parents. It’s one of the smallest structures we’ve taken on, but Ella absolutely enjoyed it, and I hope the clients are satisfied.
“They love it. Hey, by the way, Mom popped into the office about an hour ago. She commented on how strange it is that you haven’t been there in a week. She might come by the house to check on you.”
The words are barely out of her mouth when the distinct ding of the elevator sliding open reaches my ears.
“Oh my God, Daniels! I think she’s here.” I whisper-yell into the phone, my heart jumping to my throat.
“Oh no. Bye!”
“Daniella, don’t you hang up the–” But the call is already disconnected. I gulp as I glance at my bedroom door. I could have easily worked in my home office, but I was so tired a little while ago that I just dragged my laptop next to me on the bed.
“Charlie?” Mom calls out. “Where are you?” I jump off the bed to rush to the door and lock it. Fuck. Her footsteps go pastmy door toward my office, and I give myself two seconds to thoroughly give into my panic. Shit. shit. Shit. shit!
I run back to the bed and slam my laptop closed. I carefully place it on my nightstand, then rush to unlock the door and back to collapse under my covers. Just in time too. My heart is still pounding erratically from my exertion when my bedroom door swings open.
“Charlotte!” Mom’s voice rises up a little. She can’t see me with the way I’m huddled under the covers. She must assume that I have a cold because the next thing she says is, “You always were susceptible to the cold weather. I thought we were home free when you didn’t get sick during the colder months.”
You’d think I’m a ten-year-old kid the way she’s doting over me, not a knocked-up twenty-three year old woman.
I know she’s walking closer to me because her voice is getting louder. Then it hits me. A pungent smell that’s a mix of spices. Like a tsunami, the nausea hits me. I pop up on the bed, my gaze honing in on Mom’s hand where she’s holding a small takeaway bag.
I gag. “W–what is that?” I gag again, and I slap my hand over my mouth as I scramble off the bed. I race to my bathroom, forgetting to lock the door behind me in my rush not to puke on the floor. My knees hit the cool floor with a thud, but the sting hardly registers as I bend over the toilet bowl and lose my breakfast. Damn it, I thought the morning sickness was gone!
I wrap a hand around the toilet bowl to hold myself up, dry heaving when there’s no solids or liquids in my stomach left to come up.
“Charlotte?” Along with Mom’s voice is the aroma of whatever meal she had brought with her.
I glance up at her with wide eyes as she reaches the bathroom door. “Don’t come any closer! Get that thing away from me.” Ishake an accusing finger at the bag in her hand. She glances at it in bewilderment.
“But it’s your favorite. Falafel with baba ghanoush. You love–” She trails off when I start to dry heave. When I glance up, she’s gone. I sigh, giving myself another minute to make sure the nausea is fully gone before I get to my feet.
I sigh again as I brush my teeth. I rinse my face when I’m done. “You’re dead meat, Charles.” I tell my reflection, blowing out a deep breath in defeat. My feet drag on the floor as I leave the bathroom, my shoulders slumped. Time to face the music.
Mom isn’t in my bedroom, and I heave another sigh as I open the door. I find her pacing in the living room. I immediately glance around for the package with the offending smell.
“I got rid of it,” Mom says, and I glance up at her, but her eyes are stuck like glue on my belly. Fuck. Call it mother’s instinct, I guess.
“Thanks,” I whisper and huddle onto the oversized sofa Ella insisted we buy.
“Oh, Charlie, tell me.” She walks over and sits next to me. The sofa depresses, shifting my weight toward her. I rest my head on her shoulder, the tension leaving my body as I inhale her familiar scent.
“I’m pregnant,” I murmur. She doesn’t say anything…just rubs her hand up and down my shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry.”
