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My phone starts ringing again. I normally don’t answer the phone if I don’t know who’s calling. It could be one of those annoying telemarketers. Something in my gut tells me I’m wrong, though, so I pick up the call.
“Hello?”
“Nate?” comes an older woman’s voice.
My heart stops. My eyes widen. Were my palms always capable of being this clammy?
“Mrs. Lee. Is something wrong? Where’s Eve?”
“Ah, Eve sleeping now. Only time I can sneak call.”
Panic grips at my lungs. “Is she all right? Is everything okay?”
“Ah…” Mrs. Lee hesitates.
“What’s going on?” I demand, sounding much more forceful than I intended.
“She kill me when she find out.”
“Mrs. Lee, please. Just—” I want to scream at her to hurry the fuck up because the suspense might actually kill me. I’m a doctor. I’d know stress can wreak all kinds of havoc on the immune system. “Just tell me what’s happening.”
“Come back here. To apartment. I give address.”
“May I ask why?”
Mrs. Lee takes a deep breath before answering. “Eve carrying baby. She say you the father. Asked me not to say anything, but I don’t think is right.”
My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop my phone. Confusion wipes my vernacular clear from my brain. The airport around me swirls and warps, cardinal direction no longer a thing. The floor tilts beneath me, leaves me struggling for balance. The headache I’m nursing only worsens as my heart continuously tries to jump out of my chest.
Am I having a stroke?
“What?” I swallow. Lick my lips. I need a drink. “What did you just say?”
“Aiyah, you supposed to be smart. She pregnant, okay? With child. Bun in oven. I don’t know other saying.”
The counter attendant finally decides to make use of her intercom microphone. She taps on it, two passive-aggressive pops sounding over the gate speakers.
“Sir? Are you getting on the plane or not? I need to give the pilot confirmation, or he’ll leave without you.”
I don’t give an answer to either woman. Not right away. I’m still reeling from the fact that Eve’s with child. My child.
A million questions race through me. I don’t know how to feel. Am I ready to be a father? Was Eve seriously intending on not telling me? Why would she do that? How could she keep our baby a secret from me?
Calm down. Don’t blame her.
I’m sure she’s as stressed out as you are.
“Sir?” the attendant tries again, looking peeved up the fucking wall. She crosses her arms and all but huffs at me.
If ever there’s a time to act gracefully under pressure, it’d be now. I glance over my shoulder at the airport exit doors, then back over to the gate.
This is so fucking stupid.
A smile stretches across my lips, worry and pain and all things awful melting away. Futures are never certain. I don’t know if Eve and I are going to work out. There are so many things that can go wrong. She may not want to see me. She might not want to keep the baby. It all comes down to Eve, and there’s no way I’m going to pressure her into making a decision.
But the least I can do is be there for her when she does.
This is so fucking stupid.
I know what I’m going to choose.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eve
I always knew morning sickness was rough.
I just didn’t expect it to be this rough.
A-Ma placed a cool towel on my forehead and gave me a plastic trash bin lined with an old Walmart shopping bag in case I need to hurl again. I’m fairly certain my stomach’s entirely empty at this point, but the annoying sensation of nausea lingers. My tongue’s all fuzzy. The bitter taste of bile coats my mouth.
A-Ma’s in the kitchen while I stretch out in the living room. It’s Sunday, her only day off out of the entire week. The tea kettle on the stove starts to whistle weakly, but A-Ma removes it from the heat before it can full-on scream. I hear the gentle pouring of water into a mug, followed by some muted chopping on the cutting board. A-Ma rounds the corner and gives me a steaming mug of ginseng hot water.
“Will help,” she says. “Work for me.”
I sit up and take the drink, blowing at the surface to cool it before venturing a few sips. The earthy spiciness does a great job of clearing up my sinuses, and the warmth of the drink soothes as it trickles down my throat to settle in my stomach.
I let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”
“Do you want more blanket? Have to stay covered or you get sick.”
I shake my head. “No, thank you, A-Ma. I’m okay. There’s no need to worry.”
She pats me on the cheek. Her fingers are cool against my skin, an oddly nice relief when paired with the drink she’s prepared for me. A-Ma scoots off down the hall, humming an old tune as she gets on with the rest of her tasks.
