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“I’m all ears,” I say, eager for any insight she has to share.
Naomi takes a deep breath. “You know, we haven’t seen each other in sixteen days, even though we’re in the same town. It’s easy to take our time for granted when we’re so close. If I move, we’ll have to make an effort to see each other. We’ll plan visits and make them count. You’re my best friend, but you’re more my sister, and honestly, I can’t imagine a life without Gina in it.”
Suddenly, a crippling wave of nausea overwhelms me, forcing me to double over and clutch at my knees for support.
“Gina, what’s happening?” Naomi shrieks, her voice thick with worry.
I shut my eyes tight, silently pleading for the discomfort to subside. Please, let this pass, I mentally beg, but the nausea refuses to obey. Gripping my stomach, I desperately scan our surroundings until my gaze locks on a trash can along the track. With sheer determination, I propel myself toward it, fighting to keep everything down until I reach it. When I do, I commence puking my guts out.
Naomi quickly runs to her car and comes back with a bottle of cherry-flavored electrolyte water. “Drink all of this,” she instructs as we settle on the grass, both of us recovering from my ordeal.
“Gina,” she begins, a hint of hesitancy in her voice. “You know I have to ask.”
I frown immediately, anticipating her question. “I’m not pregnant, Naomi. It’s impossible. I had my period after Randy left.”
“And he’s the only person you’ve been with?” she probes further.
“Yes, of course,” I respond, feeling a mix of surprise and annoyance. “If there was anyone else, you’d be the first to know.”
“Not necessarily,” she retorts a bit too swiftly, her voice tinged with a hint of dissatisfaction with me.
“What are you trying to say?” I press.
“I have this feeling that you’re holding back details about you and Randy.”
“What?” I ask, alarmed. Why is she always so spot on?
“You couldn’t stop talking about him before,” she continues. “And now that he’s not around, I’m hearing nothing from you.”
“Maybe now that he’s gone, there’s nothing more to say.”
“Maybe. I just…” She trails off, her expression one of confusion and frustration. “Never mind. Let’s drop it.”
A heavy silence ensues, thick with things left unsaid. Part of me wants to come clean about that last night with Randy, to confirm her suspicions. Yet I find myself hesitating. Why hasn’t he reached out like he promised?
Opting for a safer topic, I say, “I think it’s the tuna tartare puffs I ate too many of while cooking in the kitchen on Friday night.”
Naomi nods, her response brimming with certainty. “That makes sense. Raw fish can be tricky.”
I offer a weak smile in agreement. “I know, right?” But internally, I’m grappling with doubts. The truth is, whatever caused my sickness didn’t taste anything like tuna tartare.
* * *
The Next Day
This morning, I was sick again, leaving me in a state of uncertainty about my health. With my schedule as packed as it is, there’s hardly any time to pause and figure out what’s wrong. One thing I’m sure of, however, is that it can’t possibly be pregnancy—I had my period a few days after that unforgettable night with Randy. It wasn’t as heavy as usual, but it was definitely there.
While driving to class, my health improved, and my focus shifted to the impending cooking exam—a test that was about to start in seconds. My performance on the previous two cooking exams was exceptional. I attribute it to the skills I honed during my brief tenure as a chef at Calypso. Cooking under pressure has become second nature to me. I sweat like crazy trying to get food on the plate in a timely manner. Thankfully, Randy trained his kitchen staff well. Without them, I would’ve given up by now. Also, my love for baking has allowed me to creatively incorporate those elements into my exam entrees, a strategy that I believe has significantly contributed to my high scores.
In the classroom, fifteen of us stand by our stations. Anticipation hangs heavily in the air. Before each of us lies a large bowl filled with green, red, orange, and red bell peppers, which are our focus ingredients for this exam. Our task is to craft a breakfast dish, skillfully weaving these peppers into our creations.
Chef Nelson, our instructor, positions himself near the timer switch that will set us in motion. “You have an hour to prepare your dish. Make it presentable and flavorful,” he announces.
As the moment to begin ticks closer, time seems to suspend, leaving us all in a state of heightened readiness, eager to dive into the task at hand. However, amidst this tension, a sudden scent wafts through the air, striking an uneasy chord within me. My stomach churns in protest, and I fight the overwhelming urge to be sick once more.
I fix my gaze on the culprit—it’s the scent of the green bell pepper. No, no, no, no, races through my mind as the feeling of sickness intensifies, threatening to consume me.
With the competition underway, leaving my station to rush to the bathroom isn’t an option. Nor can I afford to lose focus on crafting a dish that not only uses the peppers but also weaves in an element of fresh baking. Determined, I shut my eyes for a moment, willing away the nausea with sheer force of will.
