“To start I can offer you Caesar salad or gazpacho,” the flight attendant said. “Then, would you prefer the crab cakes, the chicken parmesan, or the Thai beef?”
Nate and Becca ordered, but Lauren tried to wave her off. “I’m really not hungry this evening. Thank you.”
“We won’t get to the rink until it’s ten P.M. New York time,” Becca pointed out. She and Nate were staring at her.
“Um, I’d love a roll with butter,” Lauren said slowly. Bread was the only thing that appealed to her at the moment. Even the salad sounded wrong. “And maybe I’ll try the gazpacho.”
“Certainly.”
Becca sat down at the table beside Nate, who put away his computer. The flight attendant offered everyone wine, and nobody accepted. Lauren was glad that she rarely drank at work functions. It would make her pregnancy-induced sobriety seem less peculiar.
Unfortunately, when the food was delivered, Lauren’s queasiness did not improve.
Nate had asked for the Thai beef. It looked beautiful—slices of meat over a bed of noodles, bright green snow peas mixed in. But the scent just hit Lauren all wrong. She broke off a bite of bread and buttered it. She put it in her mouth and chewed.
A moment later, the flight attendant opened the door to the little galley kitchen and all the food smells intensified.
Suddenly there was too much saliva in Lauren’s mouth. With shaking hands she shoved her seatbelt off. Bile began to climb her throat as she slid out of the seat and dove toward the jet’s bathroom.
She made it just in time, slamming the little door and sliding the lock which activated the lights. Miraculously, she hit the toilet dead center, vomiting up what little was in her stomach.
Holy crap. What a wretched time for morning sickness to announce itself.
Lauren wiped her mouth on a paper towel and tried to think. Her pregnancy book had warned that nausea often hit during week six, or four weeks after conception. Standing there over the toilet, trying to decide whether or not she was going to puke again, she did the math.
She was two days into week six.
Jeez.
It took a while until Lauren was ready to venture out of the bathroom. After she was sure the awful moment had passed, she washed up again and used one of the disposable mouthwash packets provided in the fancy medicine cabinet.
She looked herself over in the little mirror. She was a little pale, and her eyes were red from watering, but otherwise she looked no worse for wear. Nevertheless, she felt exposed, as if she wore a label on the lapel of her suit jacket reading: pregnant and freaked out.
Feeling paranoid, Lauren opened the bathroom door just a crack, hoping to find her dinner companions distracted by their work or a movie.
They were distracted all right—Nate held Becca’s face in two hands, and he was whispering softly to her. Lauren held her breath, wondering if he would kiss her. But after a moment, he sat back.
Lauren eased the door shut, counted to thirty and then banged it open before emerging. Wearing her best poker face, she moved slowly back toward the table.
Nate and Becca were sitting side by side, ignoring each other again.
Of course they were.
All their entrees had been cleared away already, praise the Lord, except Lauren’s roll and butter were waiting. Without a word, Lauren sat down and tore the roll in half. Her stomach felt as empty as the Grand Canyon during a drought. And although she had zero experience with morning sickness, she knew without a doubt that bread would steady her.
Hmm. The pregnancy book had annoyed her with the number of times it had said, listen to your body. But her body demanded bread, and it wanted it right this second.
“Are you okay?” Nate asked when it became clear that she wasn’t going to volunteer any information about her violent disappearance.
“Yep.” She took another bite of the roll, and no bread had ever tasted so good.
“Is there a bug going around?”
She lifted her eyes to his and found worry. Nate was quite fastidious. During flu season he always asked her to distribute bottles of Purell all around the office, and he used it liberally. He was probably thirty seconds away from breaking out a hazmat suit and scrubbing his hands. “I’m fine,” Lauren said quietly. “You’re not going to catch a bug.”
He did not look convinced.
Lauren ate the rest of her roll in about two seconds flat. The waitress came back to ask if she’d like the gazpacho that she hadn’t gotten around to serving her before.
“No, thank you,” Lauren said, uncertain about eating something so savory. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love another roll.”
“And, miss?” Becca added before the young woman turned to go. “Do you have any saltines in their packages?”
“Of course. I’ll bring some.”
Lauren leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. She felt much better now, but she didn’t trust it. When would the nausea strike again?
Another roll was delivered, and the flight attendant put a small pile of saltines in front of Becca. “Can I bring anyone a drink?” she inquired. “Mr. Kattenberger, we have several single-malt Scotches on board this evening.”
He shook his head. “Just a Diet Coke, please.”
“I’ll have one, too,” Lauren said suddenly. The bubbles were just what she needed.
Nate leaned forward in his seat. “Excuse me?”
“What?”
“You never drink Diet Coke. You called it vile, and made of chemicals.”
“I ordered it to amuse you,” she said, closing her eyes again. At this rate, her little secret would last two more days, tops. Nate was very observant, even if he did not have a clue what the early stages of pregnancy looked like.
When her diet soda arrived, Lauren took a deep pull. The flavor wasn’t to her liking, but the effervescence was nice. She ate the other roll slowly, and continued to feel better. “Should we finish up our work?” she asked her boss.
He frowned at her. “You should probably go sit in a reclining chair and try to sleep. How else are you going to kick that bug?”
Lauren shook her head. “You seriously can’t stand the thought of passing a file folder back and forth, right? You think I’m toxic. Be honest.”
“No. It’s . . . we just don’t need to finish it right now.”
Becca tried and failed to hide a smile.
“Nate, I’m not sick, okay?” She might as well just spill her secrets now, in relative privacy. “This is a bug you can never catch.”
He squinted at her, confused.
“Omigod,” Becca laughed. “It’s good to know he’s thick about a few things.” She pushed the little pile of saltines toward Lauren. “These are for you. Keep them in your bag for emergencies.”
“Really?” Lauren picked up one of the cracker packets and held it. That did make sense. Prepackaged insta-carbs. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Becca said with a smile. “My sister went through bushels of crackers when she . . .” Becca cleared her throat.
Nate was silent for another split second. But then, because he really was one of the smartest men on the planet, he made a noise of surprise and bumped his head back against the head rest. “Oh, Jesus.” Then he laughed.