Page 7 of This Means War

On the plus side I’ve found that drinking orange juice at a near constant rate seems to help with the nausea. Unfortunately, Delia won’t let me bring a water bottle of the stuff up onto the church stage with me. So I’m standing here, holding my bouquet of roses as low as possible so that I don’t have to smell them, doing deep breathing exercises in an attempt to curb the nausea sneaking back up on me.

I’m so engrossed in my inhalations that I almost miss the pastor pronouncing Josh and Delia husband and wife. They kiss and the organ starts up with the wedding march. Josh and Delia face the guests with beaming faces and start heading down the aisle. My stomach lurches for an entirely different reason as the bridesmaids in front of meconverge towards the aisle to join arms with their groomsmen. There he is. Enemy Number 1. Smiling over at me like he’s just so happy to be here celebrating Josh and Delia. Doesn’t even care that he may have fathered a child.

He holds his arm out to me, and I steel myself for touching him again. My heel slips, and I stumble slightly. Cole catches me, offering me a sly smile. “Just lean on me and match my pace,” he says. Annoyance flares up inside me, and I instantly straighten. The couples in front of us are walking in perfect time to the music. I wait a beat then join them, feeling Cole next to me do the same. Quite suddenly I stop, and he jerks back, looking curiously down at me, but I don’t make eye contact. I just smile around at all of the guests before picking up my pace, this time walking faster than the music. “Lydia,” he hisses, “what’re you doing? You’re walking too fast.”

I look up at him. “Match my pace,” I say with a smirk, then slow down to a crawl. I see a muscle in his jaw tick, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. I bite back a satisfied smile and resume my pace changes. Stopping again, then speeding up, abruptly slowing back down. We’re basically engaged in a game of red light, green light, and I’m totally winning.

We reach the end of the aisle and head through the doors to where the rest of the wedding party is congratulating Josh and Delia. Josh spots us and grins.

“Sis, can you believe it? I’m a married man.” Idrop Cole’s arm and close the distance between me and Josh.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” I tell him, hugging first him, then Delia.

“Thanks!” Delia beams. “You look like you’re feeling better,” she adds, giving me a once over. “Got some color back in your cheeks.”

I don’t tell her that along with orange juice, I have also now discovered that annoying Cole helps with the nausea. Go figure.

“Were you sick?” Josh looks down at me in concern.

“Oh no,” I assure him, suddenly aware of Cole having joined us. “Just a touch of food poisoning.”

“A touch?” Delia laughs, “You should have heard her throwing up in the bathroom at the salon. I was worried her kidneys were going to come up.”

I flush bright red, not daring to look at Cole. Will he realize what this could mean? Now I wish Ihadjust gone and gotten the pregnancy test. I can’t stand the thought of having to tell him that I might be pregnant, of not knowing for sure and having to endure him trying to take control of the situation. I imagine him insisting we drive straight to the nearest drugstore, leading me to the nearest bathroom, ripping the plastic off the test, and all but holding it under my stream of urine.

But Cole seems oblivious to the implications of having had sex four weeks ago with someone who is now exhibiting pregnancy symptoms. He just looks at me and says like he’s only just realized, “Oh, foodpoisoning! That’s why you were doing that weird walk down the aisle. Diarrhea got you down?”

He says this last sentence so loud, heads turn in our direction. I grit my teeth, trying to force my rage out through my nose so I don’t start a shouting match at my brother’s wedding.

“You must have me confused with someone else,” I say in the sweetest voice possible. “Someone less refined who thinks it’s appropriate to discuss bodily functions in a group setting.

“Oh please, Lydia,” Josh snorts, “I’ve heard you have conversations with cashiers about your bodily functions. Remember that one time you talked to that older woman at the Meijer by your house about what kind of fiber to add to her diet to make her more regular.”

“Josh!” In my periphery I see Cole laughing. “I’ll have you know Hilda is my friend, and she hadn’t pooped in five days! Five days! I was just trying to help.” My protestations and defense of my honor are cut off as my mother appears, her nose instantly turning up in disapproval.

“Lydia! Are you really talking about bodily functions at your brother’s wedding?”

Now Cole and Josh are both laughing, and even Delia puts her hand up to cover the smile that’s popped onto her face.

“Mom,” I begin, desperate to redeem myself, to be the daughter she was once proud of. But before I can speak, saliva fills my mouth, and I barely squeak out the words, “Excuse me,” before I have to book it tothe bathroom.

Imagine my surprise when I finish vomiting and open the stall door to find Cole standing there holding a glass of water and sporting an apologetic expression.

“Get out. This is the women’s bathroom.” The harsh words escape my mouth before I can stop them, and a squiggle of guilt eats at me. He’s clearly trying to be nice.

Cole doesn’t flinch though, just holds out the water to me. “I know, but it was either I follow you or your mom follow you, and she looked ready to give you an earful for having the audacity to throw up on your brother’s wedding day, so I decided to take one for the team.”

“I am not on your team,” I retort, once again failing to appreciate the kindness behind his gesture; though this is probably because I’m too busy studiously ignoring the fact that if I’m pregnant with his baby, then we’ll be on at least one team together–the parenting team. The thought makes me want to go back in the stall and resume vomiting.

“Right.” Cole nods, and the hand holding the cup of water falls back to his side. He looks so dejected standing there, that–against my better judgment–I decide I’ll throw him a very tiny bone and reach my hand out for the water.

“Thanks for the water.” I take a long sip, wishing it were orange juice.

“Yup.” Cole rocks back on his heels. “So, foodpoisoning, huh?”

I can’t meet his gaze.

“Lydia, you okay? Are you going to throw up again?”

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