Chapter 38 | Liz

Chapter 38

Liz

G od, I need to clean the bathroom. I haven’t seen this many dust bunnies— or is that hair? —in my life. My stomach roils again, and I turn my head from the sight, but it’s too late. I retch into the toilet for the third time. How is there even anything left in my stomach? All I ate today is that wrap from the cafeteria, the same one I’ve been getting every day since I started back at the office. And this isn’t the first time I’ve been sick this week. It can’t be the cafeteria, but then what?

“Again?”

I glance up at Zoey standing in the doorway. Her face is pinched in concern, but her cheeks are flushed, and there’s an almost fevered glint in her eyes. Please don’t be sick. We can’t both be sick. When I look back at her, the frenzy is gone, and only her usual calm expression remains.

“Hi, sister.” I wave because I’m not sure I can lift my head. This is bad.

Zoey squats down next to me. “Can you stand?”

I attempt to lift my head, and my stomach turns over again. “No, definitely not.”

Okay.” She sits down next to me and rubs my back. “What can I do?”

I glance at my sister. What is she doing here? It’s early on Friday night, and she has a life.

“Can you get my phone?”

She pulls it off the vanity and holds it out. Right, because I was getting ready for my date before this happened. I fumble for a minute before finally getting Spencer’s number on the screen and putting him on speakerphone.

“Hey, babe,” he says after one ring. “I’m just changing my shirt, and then I’m heading to you.”

“I’m sick,” I croak, glad he can’t see me right now with my arm braced against the cold toilet seat. “Stay far away.”

“Again?”

Why do people keep asking me that? Yes, again. Still. Whatever. My consternation must show on my face because Zoey laughs.

“Oh. good, Zoey’s there,” he says. “Is she staying, or do you need me to come?”

I silently plead with my sister. She’s holding a fountain drink from our favorite take-out spot, which usually means she’s intending to sleep here, but I can’t take any chances. No fledging relationship should have to survive vomit.

“I’ll be here,” she says evenly.

“Call me if you need anything, please. Feel better, babe.”

Somehow, Zoey gets me off the floor and into the living room. She forces a giant cup of tea on me and some crackers before curling up in the armchair. I sip the tea, a minty green mixed with chamomile. Magic tea, my mom always called it. I’m surprised our dad remembered such a small thing and passed it on to Zoey.

“Can I ask you something?” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine, but I nod, and she takes the deepest breath, as if she’s about to ask after the mysteries of the universe and isn’t sure she wants to know the answer. “Are you pregnant?”

“What?”

She rings her hands together. “It’s... We’ve lived together for several weeks now, and you haven’t gotten your period.”

“That’s not uncommon for me.”

“But now you’re throwing up, and last night at dinner, you ate your pickle.” Her voice rises, becoming shrill the longer she talks. “You never eat pickles, and when I offered you some of my chicken, you looked at it as if it was rancid milk.” She pauses. “Is it possible that you’re pregnant?”

Holy. Shit. It’s not possible. No way in hell am I pregnant now . “I only slept with Spencer a week ago.”

And we were safe.

Zoey cringes at my words but presses on. “And Julian?”

I put a hand to my stomach. There doesn’t seem to be any extra pounds hiding there, but even if—I can’t even think it. It’s like my brain skips right over the possibility. Except, well, we weren’t safe the night I left or any night before. It can’t be. This is some awful, cruel joke.

“I’ll go get you a test.” She stands, but I hold up a hand to stop her.

“There’s one in the bathroom.”

Isn’t this conversation supposed to go the other way? The nineteen-year-old has the pregnancy scare, not the thirty-four-year-old. I palm my face. My mind swims. A baby. It’s everything I want. But not like this. Not now when everything is completely up in the air. But if I’m puking and having cravings, that means I’ve been pregnant for a while. And if I’ve been pregnant for a while, then Julian is the father. And if Julian is the father, what does that mean?

“Come on.” Zoey holds out her hands, but I don’t move to take them.

The thought of standing, of taking that test, is paralyzing. There’s no going back after that. I bite hard on my bottom lip, tasting the saltiness of fresh tears. There’s already no going back.

“I can’t,” I say through my tears.

“You can.”

Her touch sends relief through me. I’m not alone. Zoey is here. My mom is here. Even my dad. Whatever happens next, I am not alone.

Zoey pulls me to my feet. “Don’t worry, Liz. I got you.”

W e sit with our backs to the bathtub, the test resting out of sight on the vanity. My hands shake, and my stomach threatens to betray me again. Zoey is silent next to me, her hand in mine, her eyes on the timer on her phone. In less than three minutes, that awful digital pee stick will change my life. Pregnant or Not Pregnant.

“Tell me something,” I say quietly.

She glances up, her face scrunched as she considers her options. “E is the most common letter and appears in eleven percent of all English words.”

“Why do you know that?”

She shrugs, her eyes back on the phone. “Dad and I used to do trivia.”

I stare at the ceiling, the only place I can’t see the timer or the test. Of course my dad and sister did trivia. I can one hundred percent see them duking it out and winning. “Tell me something that will make time move again.”

Zoey shifts next to me, and she squeezes my hand. “I kissed someone who wasn’t Andrew today.”

Thank god. Zoey needed that kiss more than anyone else in the entire world. Maybe now she can move on for real. I remember every first after kiss—John the summer after high school graduation, Lucas, and now Spencer. No matter what, Zoey will remember this boy and this kiss.

“It’s about time.”

“ Thanks. ”

“It was Max, right?”

She flushes a deep red, and that’s all the answer I need. It really is about time. She spends more time with Max than anyone. I’m not even sure she realizes it.

The timer dings, and we both straighten, our eyes going to the sink. I will myself to move, but I can’t. The shaking returns to my hands and works its way up my arms. I close my eyes. Never have I wanted to know and not know anything as much as in this moment. It’s like finding Sheila’s emails but a million times worse.

Zoey pulls me into a hug, but I feel her reaching for the test. She must know what it says, but she doesn’t react, only pulls my hands free and places the test in them.

I count to ten and then twenty. Zoey’s hands stay on mine. She breathes calm and steady, and slowly I match her breaths. Whatever the result, I will be fine. Whatever the result, I can do this. I open my eyes to a single word.