“Got it. Anything to drink?”
She usually ordered a gin martini. But she couldn’t drink now. She’d already soaked her little plum in French wine. Maybe she should name it after a wine! “Just club soda and lime, please,” she said, gracing him with a big smile. He didn’t seem to notice.
Bradley ordered a dozen Wellfleet oysters, the lobster bisque, a garden salad and the rib eye steak. “I guess we’re both in the mood for red meat,” he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
She stifled a yawn. Like the gas, they came out of nowhere. “Excuse me one second. I need to powder my nose.” She went to the ladies’ room, because she did have to pee. Good golly, she could pee twice an hour these days! And the fatigue . . . she could probably take a power nap on the toilet right now.
She washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. Still beautiful. Just . . . not as much.
On the way out, she slipped over to the waiter, who was just leaving the kitchen with two plates. “Tanner, would you mind doing me a favor?”
“Uh . . . I have to get these out.”
“It’ll be quick. After you clear our dinners, I’m going to surprise my husband. Would you take a movie?” She took her phone out of her purse.
“Yeah. Um . . . just put it in my apron.”
She did, accidentally brushing her hand against his groin. “Thank you,” she said, looking up at him.
“Yep.” He raced off.
Well, that was odd. She hadn’t meant to feel him up, but dashing away like that was a little bit insulting, Tanner! He was probably gay, she decided. But it had been completely innocent. Innocent, my ass, she could almost hear Kaitlyn saying. You’re cougaring like a she-dog in heat.
Well. Kaitlyn might not use those exact words. Maybe Melissa would call her tomorrow and tell her about the baby.
She walked back to the table and kissed Brad’s cheek. “Missed you,” she said.
“Missed you. Hey. Let’s talk about Ophelia,” Bradley said, and her heart warmed. He wanted so much to have the girl like him. “I was thinking summer camp would be good for her. Six weeks, eight weeks, say. We’d have the place to ourselves. Maybe we could travel some more.”
They’d be changing diapers by then.
“I’m not sure it’s the right time,” she said. She’d thought the same thing before she’d known she was pregnant, but it rubbed her the wrong way when Bradley said it. Ophelia was not his to boss around. “I think she’s made a lot of progress since coming to the Cape. Can you believe we’ve been here nine months? I think she feels at home, finally.”
“I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Brad said. “Than I ever dreamed I could be.”
She forced a smile. They were supposed to be talking about her niece.
Their soups came, and Tanner didn’t make eye contact. “Enjoy,” he said.
She tasted it, closed her eyes, and tasted it some more. Golly, it was good. But a cup wasn’t what it used to be, was it, because suddenly, her chowder was halfway gone. “This is delicious,” she said. “I’m hungrier than I realized.”
Ooh, rolls, still warm from the oven! And the salad was amazing, so garlicky and good! Bradley’s oysters came, and she looked away as he slurped them down. Her stomach gave a twinge, and she put her hand over it protectively.
When the veal came, Melissa took a bite and moaned in bliss.
“I’ve never seen you eat so much in my life,” Bradley said, smiling at her like an idiot.
“Do I ever criticize what you eat, Bradley?” she snapped.
“Um . . . no. I just . . . I didn’t realize you were so hungry, that’s all.”
“Well, I am.” She ate her mashed potatoes defiantly, her mouth rejoicing at the flavors, the creaminess. Yes. She was going to need that pregnancy trainer. She would not be one of those cautionary tales like . . . like Jessica Simpson or Kim Kardashian, who’d looked enormous while pregnant.
But tonight was special, and she deserved it. When did she ever let herself eat like this? Never, that’s when. And oh, the food. It was all she could do not to order crème br?lée.
“All finished with the oysters, sir?” Tanner asked. There were three left on the plate, the ice melted under the shells.
“No, no, leave them. It’s a shame to waste even one,” Brad said.
“Thank you, Tanner,” Melissa said. He finally looked at her and gave a little nod. Good. A thrill of excitement tingled through her. It was time. Nope, not time. Tanner was bringing their dishes to the kitchen. Brad slurped down an oyster, and yuck, that noise. She’d had to force herself to learn to eat them, since she knew it connoted (word of the day!) a certain degree of class. The taste was fine, eventually, but they still felt like great big wads of phlegm.
Her stomach rolled. Think of something else, she told herself. She did. The ocean? No, too much movement. Um . . . brushing Ophelia’s hair? No, again, too springy and unstable. The yoga mat. There. Nice and solid.
She took a breath to make sure she was fine. Breathe in serenity, breathe out nausea. Better. Okay. Tanner was standing behind one of the posts, waiting for her. “Now?” he mouthed. She nodded, and he lifted the phone, turning it horizontally. Good boy.
“Bradley. Sweetheart. I have something very exciting to tell you,” she said, making sure her posture was perfect. She clasped her freshly manicured hands and leaned forward.
“Oh? Great!” he said, and he slurped down another oyster and reached for the final one. She pressed her lips together.
“Honey? I want to have your full attention.”
“Okay. Sure.” Brad put the oyster down. “All done. What’s exciting?”
She smiled. “Well, honey, this wasn’t planned, but I’m—”
Bradley, for some unknown reason, couldn’t resist that last oyster. He lifted it to his mouth, slurped, swallowed, swallowed again, his throat working.
Then Melissa was vomiting. All over the table, all that food, barely chewed, gobs of veal and bits of carrot, and the cream from the chowder . . . another racking convulsion and a stream of garlic-flavored vomit from the Caesar salad.
“Jesus!” Brad yelled, leaping up and away from the table. “Honey! What the hell!” He held his fist to his own mouth and gagged.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” someone was saying. “Do you need an ambulance?” People were grimacing, moving their chairs farther away, holding napkins to faces to ward off the smell. She gagged again.
“Babe!” Bradley barked from ten feet away, fist still at his mouth. “Is it food poisoning? What’s the matter with you? A little warning next time?”
“I’m pregnant, you idiot!” she yelled. “You and your stupid oysters made me barf!”
Suddenly, she was sobbing. Oh, God! She had veal puke on her beautiful dress! And clam chowder? Why? Why had she ordered that?
Brad’s face was a mask of horror. He approached (finally!) and said, “Oh, man, this mess . . .”
Then he caught a whiff of her vomit, and he threw up, too, splattering his shoes and pants. Melissa puked yet again, right into her lap, warm, garlicky spoiled cream instantly soaking through her dress to her skin.
There were people all around her, whisking away the tablecloth and glasses, offering her napkins, asking if she needed an ambulance.
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” she shrieked. “Just give me some air.” They were more than happy to do so. She couldn’t blame them.
Brad looked at her, wary. “Honey? What did you say? Before?”
“I’m pregnant,” she snapped. “Are you happy?”
“Oh, hooray!” said an older couple seated across from them, and they started clapping. For crying out loud! She was covered in vomit! This was not how it was supposed to be.
“This is . . . um . . . wow. Unexpected. But, but . . . you know. Great,” Bradley said, dry heaving. “I’m so . . . happy.” He threw up an oyster, and good golly, she’d never eat them again.
* * *