I want to tell her that nothing about this is okay, but another wave of nausea hits, and all I can do is groan.
When the heaving finally subsides, I slump against the cool porcelain, utterly spent.
Rosa releases my hair and hands me a damp washcloth.
I wipe my mouth, feeling utterly disgusting and more than a little embarrassed.
"Here," Rosa says, offering me a small bottle of mouthwash. "This'll help."
I take it gratefully, swishing the minty liquid around my mouth before spitting it into the toilet.
The taste is a blessed relief after the acidity of vomit.
As I flush everything away, I can't help but wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
Food poisoning seems likely, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers other possibilities.
I push those thoughts away, not ready to deal with them just yet.
"Thanks," I croak, looking up at Rosa.
Her face is etched with concern, and I feel a rush of affection for my friend. "Sorry you had to see that. Not exactly my finest moment."
Rosa shakes her head, helping me to my feet. "Don't apologize. That's what friends are for, right? Besides, I've seen worse at the club on a busy Saturday night."
I manage a weak laugh as we make our way back into my office. "Yeah, I guess puke duty is part of the job description around here."
As I settle onto the small couch in the corner, Rosa hands me a bottle of water. "Small sips," she advises. "We don't want a repeat performance."
I nod, taking a cautious drink.
The cool liquid soothes my raw throat, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself.
"You sure you're okay?" Rosa asks, perching on the edge of my desk. "I've never seen you like this before."
I open my eyes, meeting her worried gaze. "I'll be fine," I insist, more out of habit than conviction. "Probably just something I ate. You know me, I've got an iron stomach."
Rosa raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England."
I can't help but smile at her sass. It's one of the things I love about Rosa – she never lets me get away with my bullshit.
Rosa's expression turns serious as she leans forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Iris, honey... do you think you're pregnant?"
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I can't help but laugh, even though it makes my stomach churn.
"God, no," I manage to choke out between giggles. "I probably have food poisoning or something. It came up out of nowhere, and I did eat gas station sushi, so it's probably my payment for that."
Rosa's eyes widen. "Gas station sushi? Girl, are you trying to kill yourself?"
I shrug, still grinning despite the lingering nausea. "What can I say? I like to live dangerously."
"Clearly," Rosa says, shaking her head. "Well, at least we know what caused it. Though I gotta say, I'm a little relieved. The last thing we need around here is baby daddy drama."
I nod, grateful for the lightness in her tone.
The idea of being pregnant is so far from my reality that it's almost comical.
Still, I can't shake the unease that's settled in my gut–and not just from the questionable sushi.