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While that does sound terrifying, I’m so incredibly glad my best friend has that sort of protector in her life. She existed for fourteen years on her own and refused to lean on anybody, all while raising her daughter, building a stable home, and earning her degree. She deserves someone to lean on who’s competent and capable of sharing the load.
“I both love and hate you,” I mutter as I roll onto my hands and knees, then reach up to grab the basin for leverage.
“Hate is so close to love. They’re practically the same emotion.”
My feet finally beneath me, Cami slings her arm under mine and assists me to my bed. Once settled, she drags my comforter over my stomach.
Fear-induced thoughts plague my brain now that I’m out of the bathroom. “When do you think I should tell Nathan? I know I shouldn’t wait, but like, do I call him right now? Or wait until I see a doctor first? I don’t know what to do here, but I don’t want to be one of those people who keeps it a secret for weeks. I can’t do that to him.”
“It’s up to you, babe. I definitely wouldn’t wait, but you can postpone until you feel a little bit better so you aren’t puking all over him.” She grimaces.
“I guess I’ll wait to see how I’m feeling tomorrow.”
“Good plan. Let me get a small cup of soup and then bed for you. Do you need me to stay, or will you be okay?”
The smile aimed at my best friend is a grateful one. “I’ll be okay.”
By a cup of soup, Cami means broth, and a minuscule cup at that. Once she’s satisfied I’m not going to choke in my sleep, she tucks me in with instructions to text her in the morning. Feeling grateful for having her in my life, I hunker down beneath my blankets and relinquish myself to a queasy sleep.
The next afternoon, I pace my living room in my silk black robe, clutching my cell phone in my hand. My brown microfiber sofa begs me to recuperate beneath the soft fleece throw blanket my mom gave me for Christmas last year, but I’m too anxious to sit.
My hair resembles a bird’s nest, and after brushing my teeth three times, I know my breath still reeks like Satan’s butthole, but I have this violent energy to call Nathan right this minute or I’m going to lose it. Hell, I’m already losing it if the buzzing in my limbs is any indication. A track wears right into my high-pile carpet. I can see the path I’ve taken in front of the TV for the past half hour while I’ve been working up the courage to make the phone call.
The plan is to invite him over. Once he’s here, face-to-face, it’ll be much easier to have a candid conversation. Yet the thought of the initial step of calling him gives me crippling anxiety, which is ironic, considering I’m a 911 operator and make my living answering stressful phone calls.
I chomp down on my cracker, take a big swig of electrolytes, and bring his name back up on my screen.
Just. Hit. Call.
There! I did it. The phone connects. I put it on speaker and place it on the coffee table, continuing my track across the room.
“Hey, are you feeling better? I heard you called in on Friday.”
“Uh, yeah, hey, Nathan. Uh…” I clear my throat awkwardly. “I am. I did. Say, are you free to swing by for a bit sometime today?”
He doesn’t even hesitate, demonstrating once more how good of a man he is. “Of course. Can I bring you anything?”
I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “Nope, just you. Uh…” I laugh awkwardly. He probably thinks this is a booty call. This would be the third week in a row.
I always knew once I broke the Nathan seal, there’d be no going back. There’s no going back all right. Now we have an extra little bean in the room with us! Good god. I need to end the call before I hyperventilate.
“I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Wait, what? “Oh, you don’t have to rush.”
“It’s fine. I wanted to swing by and make sure you were okay anyway. I’ll see you soon.”
He disconnects before I can argue.
There’s no time or energy to clean up before he gets here. If he said he’d come by in a few hours, I would have taken a shower, but fifteen minutes? The man has seen me drunk. He’s about to see me gain weight and push a tiny human out of a secret special place. If he can’t handle me after a few days of puking, well, that’s his problem and not mine.
Rather than continue to wear a hole in my floor, I flop heavily on the couch and rest my head back, staring at my popcorn ceiling. That’s one project I still haven’t finished. My 1950’s rambler has had fresh paint and new carpets installed over the past ten years. Old natural wood trim was exchanged for painted white. I also renovated the kitchen when I first moved in. The sunny walls were replaced with a light gray, and I switched out the beige countertops for white granite. New cabinets were installed to match the aesthetics. I also upgraded from hand washing to a dishwasher.
Now I wonder if I’ll be able to complete the last few projects with a baby on the way. That phrase makes me think of those stupid yellow diamonds new moms hang on their car window that say “Baby on Board.” As if I’d ever want to advertise to total strangers that I’m driving around with my most prized possession in the back seat.
At least I know I have ample space for a child, so I can cross that worry off the list. I could easily turn one of the two extra bedrooms here into a nursery. My career is stable and pays the bills, and I’ve grown a comfortable nest egg over the years of being single and childless.
Now that I think about it, how the hell did Cami manage to do all this at just sixteen years old, and why does it take me being pregnant to truly appreciate how much of a badass my best friend is?
