Page 80 of The Mr. Right Checklist

It’s almost noon when I finish putting my groceries away, and I decide to call her. It goes to voicemail. “Hey, sunshine. I’ve been trying to reach you. Give me a call when you get a chance. I’m getting worried.” I pocket my phone, trying not to think about how she always returns my texts and calls. But that’s like trying not to breathe. This isn’t right. She doesn’t avoid situations. This is how we got into a mess last time. I grab Molly’s leash. “Come on, girl. Let’s go see what’s up.”

A few minutes later I’m knocking on Destiny’s door for the third time. Her car is out front, and I’m getting seriously worried. I lift my hand to knock one last time before breaking the damn thing down, when the door opens, and my heart sinks. Destiny’s holding a blanket around her shoulders. Her hair is a tangled mess, she’s pale, her cheeks are drawn, her eyes are watery and red, and she looks like a fraction of herself. One of my T-shirts hangs nearly to her knees over gray sweatpants, and she’s wearing blue-and-yellow fuzzy socks.

“Baby, what happened?” I step forward, but she holds her hand up.

“Don’t come any closer. I have puke on me.”

“I don’t care. Why didn’t you call me? Or answer my texts?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, and I think my phone is still in my bag from last ni—” Her hand flies to her mouth, and she drops the blanket, hurrying toward the bathroom.

I unhook Molly’s leash and go after Destiny. She’s kneeling on the floor, clutching the toilet. I hold her hair back as she throws up what little she has left in her stomach. Molly stands in the doorway, watching over her favorite girl. When Destiny stops puking, I rub her back. “It’s okay, sunshine. I’ve got you.”

She groans and turns away. “Don’t look at me.”

“I like looking at you.” I flush the toilet and wet a washcloth. “I should have checked on you, but I thought you wanted space.”

“I just didn’t feel good.”

Crouching beside her, I gently turn her face toward me and begin wiping it clean. “You’re burning up. How long have you been like this?”

She shrugs. “I went to bed after you dropped me off and woke up a little while later. I’ve been throwing up on and off since then.”

“Have you taken anything for your fever?”

She shakes her head and presses her hand to the side of her face. “Everything hurts. I think I got it from Ruby. She said she felt . . .” Tears spill from her eyes. “Oh no. She’s probably not pregnant after all.” A sob falls from her lips.

I pull her into my arms. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Tears rain down her cheeks. “She’s gonna be heartbroken if she’s not pregnant, and she’s gonna need me.”

“I know, sweetheart, but let’s not worry about something you’re not sure has happened.” I kiss her forehead, keeping her close and rubbing her back, wishing I could put her heart on pause so she wouldn’t be sad on top of being sick. I frame her face between my hands and wipe her tears with the pads of my thumbs. “Let’s get some medicine and fluids in you. Do you think you can handle a tepid bath to bring down your temperature?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Do you have Gatorade or ginger ale? Coke? Crackers?”

“No, but I’m okay.” She tries to stand up, and sways.

I lift her into my arms, carrying her out of the bathroom with Molly on our heels. “You’re not okay. But you will be.”

As I head for the stairs, she says, “Don’t go up there. I puked in both beds.”

“It’s okay. I’ll clean them up.” I turn toward the living room.

“That’s not safe, either. There’s puke in the trash can next to the couch.”

“Thanks for the warning, Mount Vesuvius.” That earns a small smile. “Let’s get you settled, and then I’ll clean up and get you into a bath to see if we can bring down that fever.”

I lay her on the couch, and can’t believe Molly’s not going after Clementine, who’s curled up at the other end. She’s too busy sniffing the puke in the trash can. “No, Molly,” I say in my sternest voice as I cover Destiny with a clean blanket. Thankfully, Molly listens and jumps onto the couch with Destiny, sending Clementine up to the back of it. Molly settles behind Destiny’s legs, and Clementine stretches out on the top of the cushion behind her. “Do you want me to get them down?”

Destiny shakes her head and rests her cheek on the pillow, closing her eyes.

I tuck her hair behind her ear. “Where do you keep your medicine, sweetheart?”

“Kitchen cabinet above the stove.”

“I’ll be right back.” I grab the trash can and take it into the kitchen.