“This is my oldest, Brody,” Caroline beams. “He and Natalie are quite close.”
I blink. I don’t think I’m that close to Brody. We hang out these days, but he’s mostly playing video games or on his phone. Close is a bit of an overstatement, unless staring at the back of someone’s head while they demolish zombies counts as bonding.
“I think you two are the same age, right?” She looks between the two of us, and Brody shrugs. “Close enough,” his mother laughs as he pours a cup of coffee for Helen. “The two get along so well, and we’ve always been fond of Natalie.”
Brody gives me a questioning look, and I can only shrug. I’m just as clueless as him. But the tension between the two women is more than palpable now, like static electricity in the air before a storm.
“My husband and I feel the same way.” Mrs. Wilder beams, sipping her coffee, her eyes pinned on the other woman. “I’m glad Ethan snatched her up when he did. She’s such a treasure.”
Are they—Are they arguing over me? Can this even be called arguing? I have no idea what’s going on.
Brody just rolls his eyes and heads back inside. That seems to be the best solution overall. My stomach rumbles, and I pick up the sandwich. But as I’m about to take a bite, the smell of the eggs hit me.
A strange revulsion crawls over me, and I feel sick, setting the sandwich back down on the plate as if it’s suddenly transformed into something vile.
But I can still smell the eggs. I didn’t even know what eggs smelled like till today. Nausea rises within me, and I’m overcome by the desire to empty my stomach’s contents. The two women are still talking when I stumble to my feet.
I’m going to throw up.
Oh crap.
“Natalie?”
I don’t know which one of them speaks because I’m already running inside, one hand covering my mouth. I see Brody’s concerned face as I leap into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and sinking to the ground, clutching the toilet bowl. As soon as I do, I begin retching.
My breakfast comes out and tears cling to my eyes as my body trembles from the force of the vomiting.
A moment later, there’s a knock on the door, and Helen’s concerned voice asks, “Natalie, dear, are you alright?”
I try to say something, but another wave of nausea rears its head, forcing me to throw up once again.
My breathing hard, I hear someone insert a key in the lock, and then the door opens. Both Caroline and Helen are standing there, and when they see me on the ground, they hurry forward. “What happened? Are you sick?”
The washroom is small and with three women, far too crowded, like sardines in a tin can.
“I’m fine,” I say weakly. “Let me clean up, please.”
From the looks of them, they have no plans of leaving me alone. I try to get to my feet, but my legs are trembling toomuch. They help me stand up and support me while I rinse my mouth and wash my face.
“Was it something you ate?” Mrs. Wilder asks once we exit the cramped space, worried.
“Had to be. I’ve been having these mild cramps lately, and when I smelled those eggs in the sandwich, I couldn’t control myself. Sorry, Mrs. Brown. You know how much I love your sandwiches. It was the egg. Maybe it didn’t agree with me.”
When they don’t say anything, I look up at them, and both of them are staring at me. Then Mrs. Brown looks at Helen. “That sounds a lot like?—”
The two women have a silent conversation with their eyes, and then Mrs. Brown is hurrying out of the store. “I’ll be right back. Give her some water, Brody.”
“Where is she going?” I ask. “I have some medicine for food poisoning in my bag.”
As Brody brings me the water, Mrs. Wilder smiles, a glint in her eyes. “I don’t think what you have is food poisoning.”
“It has to be.” I take small sips of the water. “I told you I was having cramps before?—”
“Have you missed your period, Natalie?”
Her blunt question has me blinking. “Of course not?—”
I pause.
