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“Trista, are you in here?” I call out a bit more forcefully. I hear a groan come from the bathroom door, which is wide open, so I chargeover, and my chest contracts when I find her hunched over the toilet. “Fuck, are you okay?”
I drop down on my knees beside her, and my hands hover around her body, wanting to touch her but also wanting to respect her space.
“No,” she whines, resting her forehead on her arms surrounding the toilet bowl. “Morning sickness isn’t just something they made up for the movies. Can you believe that shit?”
“Are you sure you don’t have the flu or something?” I ask, still feeling useless as I sit beside her on the wood floor, my hands balled into tight fists.
“Yeah.” She sniffs loudly and lifts her head. Makeup is smeared across her face, and her eyes and cheeks are sunken. “I talked to the nurse a few days ago after I threw up in my car.”
“You threw up in your car?” I repeat, my head tilting as immediate frustration hits me hard and fast. Why is this the first I’m hearing of that?
She nods sadly. “Literally just vommed in my Dunkin’ Donuts bag. An egg sandwich was a bad life choice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I hiss through clenched teeth, my hands itching to touch her because she looks so weak and pathetic, and it makes me feel weak and pathetic to sit here and do nothing.
“They can give me meds if it gets bad enough, but they said it’s better for the baby not to take anything. I’ve been trying to make these ginger smoothies, but they taste like ass.”
“If you need the meds, you need the meds. Being this miserable can’t be good for you or the baby.” My chest swells when I say the word “baby.” It still doesn’t feel real sometimes, but seeing this woman pregnant with my child and sick as a dog feels painfully real.
“I know, I know. I’ll call Earl to let him know I’m not coming in and—”
Her voice cuts off as she sits up and begins dry heaving, her whole body tensing and contracting with the act. I reach out and grab her hair, holding it at the nape of her neck as she retches over the toilet, unable to vomit up even liquid at this point. Her stomach must be empty.
“You could be dehydrated. We’re calling the nurse,” I state firmly,using one hand to hold her hair back. “I’m getting you some fucking drugs.”
“Let me just go lie down in my bed for a minute, and I bet I’ll be fine,” she groans and moves to stand.
As soon as she’s on her feet, I bend over and scoop her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she squeals, her arm wrapping around my neck as she attempts to wiggle her way out.
“I’m carrying you to your bed.”
“No, you are not!” she bellows, and I feel a moment of relief that she still has enough energy to argue with me.
“This isn’t up for debate, Lucky,” I grumble, my boots loud on the floor as I stomp toward the bed under the recycled windows I installed.
“Lucky.” She grumbles back the nickname I’ve just given her and moves her hand to pinch my ribs. “Put me down before your luck changes and you throw your back out.”
I hiss at the sharp bite of pain that shoots up my side. “If you keep pinching me, I’m going to drop you.”
“Then put me down!”
“You are so maddening. Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?” I growl.
“Because I’m plus-sized. Difficult is my way of life,” she bites back and makes a squeaky noise as I drop her on the bed.
I exhale heavily as I prop my hands on my hips and glare at her.
She points at my chest. “You wouldn’t be out of breath if you had let me walk.”
I lean over and press my hands onto the mattress to glower at her. “I’m only out of breath because you fought me the whole damn way.”
“Oh, please.” She scoffs and tucks her feet under the covers. “I’m sure you’re used to tiny women you can throw over your shoulder. It must have been quite a shock hefting up all of me…pregnant or not.”
I tilt my head and eye her with wicked challenge. Even sick and depleted, she still has a good amount of fight in her. It’s alarming how much I like that. My voice is deep and promising when I reply, “Trust me, I can handle each bit of you every day of the week and twice onSundays.” Her lush lips part as she stares up at me, stunned into a rare silence, so I take the opportunity to add, “I’m calling the nurse.”
An hour later, I return to the mountain from Boulder with a pharmacy bag of meds the doctor called in for us, a sack full of Gatorades, ginger ale, and Pedialyte, and some fresh croissants I picked up from the Mercantile.
