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“Really, thank you for coming, Nat,” he repeats. Pulling back slightly, he plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 21
NATALIE
Monday morning arrives with a vengeance, all the light and bubbly feelings from last night stripped away and replaced by earth-tilting nausea. My eyes snap open, and within seconds I'm rushing to the bathroom, just barely reaching the toilet in time to avoid disaster.
This can't just be stress; it’s a more severe reaction than I’ve ever experienced from situational anxiety. Sitting on the bathroom floor, I go over all the possibilities in my mind—all the fast food I've been eating at the site, a potential virus—but nothing quite seems to fit.
One thing is for sure, though: I definitely won't be making it into work today.
I try to stand, but the world is still spinning. Instead, I crawl, slowly and wobbly, over to my phone on the nightstand. The effort is exhausting, and I slump against the side of my bed as I dial Jack.
“Nat?” Jack answers, his voice still thick with sleep. “It's barely six o'clock. Are you okay?”
“I'm not sure,” I manage to respond, trying to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth.
Jack is suddenly very awake. "You sound like shit. What's wrong?"
I hesitate, then share the morning’s events. "I don’t know, I'm sick. Threw up. Thought maybe... It doesn’t feel like food poisoning."
“That sucks, I'm so sorry, Nat,” he sympathizes. “Do you need me to come over?”
“I don't think so. Just wanted to tell you I won't be at work this morning.” I rest my head on my knees, feeling dizzy.
“Okay…Well, can I bring you anything? I can run by the pharmacy before work,” Jack offers.
“That might be good,” I answer weakly. My mind works slowly, clouded by the nausea, fatigue, and dizziness. I imagine walking through the aisles of the pharmacy, trying to think of anything that might help.
Not Tylenol. Maybe some Pepto or some Dramamine? Probably not Midol, it really doesn’t seem like PMS?—
Oh my God.
My body turns to ice as I realize what it is I really need: a pregnancy test.
The possibility had not even occurred to me before, but now that it has, it seems terrifyingly plausible.
Julian and I didn’t use protection.
Fuck.
“Nat? You still there?” Jack's voice jars me from my thoughts, my adrenaline acting as a momentary anti-nausea drug.
"Yeah," I finally reply, my voice small. “It's okay, I have medicine here.”
“Are you sure?” Jack asks. “I really don't mind getting you something.”
“No, I'm okay. I'm actually feeling a little better now,” I lie, anxious to get off the phone so I can run to the pharmacy myself. There's no way in hell I could ask Jack.
“Alright, well… Just take it easy today, okay? I'll call you when I get off work. I can bring you some dinner later,” Jack suggests, his tone gentle.
“That sounds good. Thanks, Jack," I say, genuinely grateful for his concern, but needing him to stop talking as soon as possible.
After we hang up, I sit there for a moment longer, gathering my courage. Then, with a deep breath, I stand and head out to the pharmacy. The drive is a blur, my mind racing with the implications of what a positive test could mean. Things were just beginning to settle between Julian and me. God knows what will happen now.
I purchase the test, my hands trembling slightly as I take it to the self-check-out. I consider going to the bathroom here, taking the test right now and getting it over with, but ultimately decide I'd rather be safe at home in case I completely fall apart.
Back at home, I follow the instructions on the box mechanically, my heart pounding in my chest. The wait is agonizing, each second stretching out interminably as I watch the timer on my phone. Millions of scenarios flash in my head, and I struggle not to let any take root until I know what I'm dealing with.
