27. Olivia

My stomach churns again. I roll over, clutching my knees to my chest as I lie on the bathroom floor, desperately trying not to vomit again. The entire world is spinning and trying to take the contents of my stomach with it. I don't think I have anything left to throw up in me, but my stomach heaves again and proves me wrong.

The last time I felt this sick, I swore off eating shrimps for the rest of my life. I somehow don't think this was shrimp, though.

Once the worst of the next wave passes, I reach out blindly for my phone, which is on the floor somewhere. As my hands creep across the cold tiles, the thought hits me that it's quite nice to lie on the floor like this. It's warm outside, so this is kind of soothing. I just wish I wasn't vomiting as well.

I text Tim, to tell him I categorically will not be coming into work today, and hope that autocorrect fixes whatever sloppy spellings I give him. Maybe that adds authenticity to the sickness, though, to send a nonsense message.

Ugh! I never get sick. I have the healthiest immune system of anyone I know. What is wrong with me?

And worst of all are thoughts in the back of my mind trying to tell me something about the timing of this. But I don't want to believe it. I'm on birth control, after all. That does mean I probably wouldn't notice if I skipped a period because I don't really get noticeable ones anymore anyway. But it's birth control for a reason. Plus, Miles and I used a condom every time.

As I retch into the toilet again, the horrible memory of the one time we didn't comes back to me. God, that sex was amazing. But surely one time can't have been enough to…

I shake my head to myself.

"This can"t be happening," I croak out loud to nobody. I rack my brain to think of what else could be making me feel like this. But I haven"t eaten anything weird, and I haven"t gone out lately, so it can"t be a hangover. It could just be the flu. I'm very willing to accept that it's just the flu.

But I don't think I can be at peace until I check for certain. Elena and her husband are trying to get pregnant, and a few weeks ago, she brought over some tests so that she could take them with me. She wanted the moral support of a hand to hold. Even though it was negative for her, she said she couldn't have done it without me.

She's going to be the first person I text regardless of what the outcome of this is.

I feel like she left a test here, so I drag my way over to the cupboard under the sink. I pull it open and pull out handfuls of toilet tissue and shampoo and some weird face masks that I bought years ago and never used. I think for a second that I must be wrong, that I must be entering some weird delusional state, but then, buried underneath a stack of artisanal soap, I find the small box that has what I need.

I open it and my hands are shaking so hard that I can barely read the instructions. What the hell am I going to do if this is positive? It's not that I wouldn"t love a baby, but I wanted to have one when I was ready. Now is so not the time. I"ve just had my promotion. I"m busy. I"m alone. It"s hard enough to look after a baby with two people and a network.

I'd be alone. A single mother with a full-time job.

Slowly I make my way over to the toilet and flush it again before I position myself to take the test. This is worse than any college exam I ever sat. At least those I was prepared for.

I spend the next five minutes pacing the bathroom, waiting for the test to give me a result, checking my phone every three seconds to see how much time has passed. But when it's ready, I hardly dare look. I wish Elena was here to hold my hand. I understand more than ever why she wanted me here with her.

Carefully, I look down at the stick. It's one of those modern ones that can tell you how many weeks along you are and gives a completely unambiguous answer. I know you're supposed to take a couple, but the second my eyes land on it, my head starts swimming. Two lines. The word positive.

Shit.

I immediately lean over the toilet and throw up again. The next thing I do is pick up my phone and text Elena that I'm having an emergency. Three seconds later, she calls.

"Olivia, what's the matter? Are you okay? Tell me everything. Do you need me to come over? Do you need me to fight someone? What is it?"

The barrage of questions is too much to handle. "I"m pregnant," I whisper.

"You what?"

I take a shaky breath and say with more certainty, "I"m pregnant."

"You what?!"

"Can you stop saying that?"

"Sorry. I just… How did this happen?" There's a long silence, and then she answers her own question. "Miles."

I bite my lip and nod, and then remember she can't see me. "Yeah."

"God, Olivia. Didn"t you use protection?"

"We did! There was just this one time we didn't. And I didn't think anything about it because we were careful and I'm on the pill and we're both clean and it was one time. Shit, Elena, what am I going to do?" My words turn into frantic sobs, my breaths shallow and fast as reality closes in around me.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"God, no!" My reply is instant, and Elena doesn't say anything else.

A weight sinks inside me as I realize that I'll have to tell Miles eventually. I should. But I don't want to. Not right now, anyway. What's he going to do now? He's thousands of miles away, probably already off banging half a dozen other women. He doesn"t need or want me. He certainly doesn't need or want a baby that's halfway around the world.

"I"ll be there in twenty-two minutes," says Elena, and I hear the door of her car slam shut. "Maybe twenty if I go fast."

"Thank you," I whisper. "Be safe."

She hangs up, and I sink back to the floor. When she arrives, I'm still there. Elena pulls me into her arms, cradling me close, letting me cry everything out until I'm empty and numb. Until I can't think of anything except my best friend and the baby growing inside me.