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Carlos moves closer to me, pretending he can’t quite see my computer clearly. And I giggle. “Such a titter from one who holds themselves so seriously.”
“Why do you sound like your writing when you speak? I’m not that serious.”
“Perhaps it’s you who makes me so eloquent.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“No. Stop it.” I shove him back to his side of the table.
“You’re my favorite creador de problemas,” he says.
“Troublemaker. Really?” I squint my eyes at him.
“Si, your Spanish is coming along.”
An assistant appears with a box of food for us. We’re attempting to come up with a loose curriculum for the string of fall dates. I can’t stop yawning. And coffee these days is not sitting well, so I’m relying on Diet Coke.
It was Carlos’s idea to get hometown favorites. The moment he unwraps, what appears to be charred octopus, something I usually love, the smell is so strong it knocks me sideways. And now I’m a little shocked at my next reaction. I puke into the closest garbage can. After I finish, I look at Carlos.
“Are you ok?”
I bolt to the bathroom and continue to puke at the thought of the smell of the octopus. After I get a hold of myself, I’m still nauseous but don’t feel as if I will puke. I need to get to a hotel. There’s no way I can get back to the shore tonight. And I can’t bring this plague on Joan. I clean up.
I exit the bathroom, and Carlos is standing there with a cup of water. I drink it greedily and then realize I’m probably going to puke it up soon.
“So sorry. You might want to back up. It’s probably a twenty-four-hour bug. I’ll go and leave you. We can do the rest on email.”
“We can. But there’s more to tell me.” I head to Joan’s to pick up my bag.
“There is lots to tell you, but I don’t want to get you sick. Carlos, can you please grab my laptop and notebook from the conference room?”
“I can. But why?”
“The smell of that octopus.” I shake with the memory. I sit on Joan’s couch and scratch off a note telling her what happened and that there’s a vomitty garbage can in the bathroom. Joan has a muffin on her desk. It’s blueberry. It looks so good. Without thinking, I grab it and start munching it. Then I shove all of it into my mouth, seriously depressed I don’t have another one. I’m sure it will settle me enough to get to a hotel. Wait. Why am I hungry if I’m sick?
Carlos enters and sits next to me. He places the back of his hand on my forehead and then the back of my neck. It feels nice to be taken care of for a moment.
“No fever, my darling.” He takes my hand as I finish shoving the muffin in my mouth. “Perhaps it’s less of a twenty-four-hour thing as a nine-month situation.”
Talking with a full mouth, “What the fuck are you talking about?” I say, spraying bits of muffin all over him.
“Beautiful woman, it’s fortunate the new little one has no ears to hear its Madre speak in such a manner. The fatigue, your ripe breasts, and, my dear, you glow. I noticed several days ago. I have four sisters. I’ve seen them all this way.”
Holy shit. My boobs are so incredibly sore, and I can only wear my big ugly bras. The fancy ones were bugging my nipples. I get too turned on when the lace touches me. Horny! I’ve been going at myself like a crazy person lately. Is that a pregnancy symptom? This is not real.
“No. NO. NO. This is ridiculous.” Yes. Yes. Yes, is all my mind says.
I used to skip periods during stress. If I had a big match or the entire year I was with my mom. But it hasn’t happened in a decade. June was my last period. Fuck me. How did I not notice? I never really keep track, but you expect something like that to show up faithfully. Oh, fuck the French lingerie and fuck the lack of condoms. How the hell did he have any sperm left? I didn’t even think he ejaculated at all the last time. But apparently, he did. Or we broke a condom and didn’t notice. Damn it.
“This is not joyous?” Carlos looks at me, and I put my hand to my stomach. I smile at him.
“It could be. I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“No one is ever really prepared for joy.” He kisses my forehead and stands up to leave. He turns at the door. “I will tell no one, but let me literally be the first to say, congratulations, Madre Bonita.”
“Thank you so much, Carlos. Talk tomorrow.” I flop onto the couch, completely freaked out I’m not alone in this office. It’s me and the tiny bean inside of me. As much as I want to deny this, be rational and wait for a test, I know it’s true. I feel it.
Mom. Mommy. I’m a Mommy. Can I keep this? Do I want to keep this? Is it too late to abort? Could I do that? I already love it. Can I do this? Shit. I know I have a choice, but the more I wrap my head around this, I don’t.
On my walk to my car, I pick up one pregnancy test from Walgreens. I don’t think I need it. But I don’t want to get my hopes up and get all wound up in the idea of being a mom, and it’s the flu. Oh shit, I guess I just decided. I decided to keep our child.
