Page 34 of All Her Broken Pieces

“It’s okay. Try not to talk,” I soothe. The sounds of her groans and retching calm down as I continue rubbing her back, lowering myself to the floor next to her, still holding her hair in my other hand. “I know you like numbers, so let me share some with you, and maybe that will help take your mind off things.

“Thirty. That’s the percentage of people that experience nausea and vomiting after undergoing general anesthesia.”

She groans into the bowl, and I keep lightly trailing my hand along her back as I continue.

“Four. That’s the number of months my youngest sister, Evelyn, experienced projectile vomiting during her infancy. It was likeThe Exorcist. I’d be holding her on my shoulder in the kitchen and hear a random splash of liquid hit the floor three feet behind me while warm liquid dripped down my back. I had no clue how her little body could launch vomit so far. It was impressive, actually. And terrifying. I was seventeen. Taking care of her was the ultimate form of birth control for me.

“Five. That’s how old Evelyn is now. She hasn’t thrown up on me since.

“Twelve. That’s how old my sister Ella was when she had her tonsils removed. I was helping my mom take care of her, and being the budding chef that I was, I offered to make her something she could eat that wouldn’t hurt her throat. I didn’t know then that anesthesia could make some people sick after surgery. I mashed up some fresh peaches in the blender and added some vanilla ice cream. It lasted twenty minutes in her stomach before it came back up. She ran into me on her way to the bathroom and covered me in peach ice cream-flavored barf.

“Sixteen. That’s how old Ella is now. I plan to share that story with her prom date, in case he thinks about trying something.”

I feel Bridget’s back shake with a small laugh, and she stills, still hunched over the toilet.

“Twenty. That’s how old I was when Alyx and I attended culinary school in Italy together. We’d lived there a few months, and I’d saved all my money and splurged on a nice pair of Italian leather loafers. They were the only nice thing I owned. Alyx saved up his money and splurged on a huge bottle of Limoncello, which he downed in its entirety in a single night. I was getting in from a night out with some friends, and I was about to slip my shoes off when Alyx came running toward me. He missed the bathroom mere feet from me and vomited all over my new shoes.

“Three. That’s the number of people that have thrown up on me. Ella, Evelyn, and Alyx. I get that I’m the last person you want to be vulnerable in front of right now. But I promise, you’re safe in my care. Though, if you wanted to keep your aim in the bowl, I wouldn’t object.”

She sits back on her legs, still kneeling on the tiled floor, while swiping the back of her hand along her mouth. “I’m glad you stayed. I shouldn’t have tried to make you leave.” She must feel bad if she’s willing to give up that nugget of truth. Hope springs in my chest at the thought that I might finally be scaling one of her walls.

CHAPTER12

Bridget

The smellof coffee draws me out of my room like a moth to a flame. Ethan’s back is to me at the counter. The sound of a girl giggling comes from his phone.

“Are you watching porn?” I ask as I try to look over his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelps as he fumbles with his phone, nearly dropping it before turning it off and putting it face down on the counter.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“It’s not porn,” he insists but offers nothing else. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. “I made coffee. I take it you like yours black?”

“Black, like my heart.” Ethan’s smile falls as though my words wound him. “Becka always laughs at that one,” I say with an edge to my tone.

He clears his throat as I move past him to reach for a mug from the upper cabinet.

“Let me. You should be taking it easy. I can bring it to you.”

Hands on my hips, I pin him with my best “Are you fucking serious?” look. “I can make my own damn coffee. It’s not exactly heavy lifting.” When it’s clear that he’s not budging, I throw up my hands in defeat and sulk over to the couch. My fuse is always shorter than normal before I’ve had coffee.

I’m momentarily stunned when I notice that he’s neatly folded his blanket and pillow.

It’s no secret that I like neatness and order, and his small gesture isn’t lost on me.Nope, don’t go all soft on him now.We are not keeping him.This is temporary. Just for another day. Or two.

Ethan hands me a mug, and I bring it to my lips, savoring the bitter flavor and aroma. “This is delicious,” I moan into my mug, the words escaping me before I can stop them.

“It’s an Italian coffee we carry at the restaurant. It was my favorite back in culinary school. We import it straight from Italy.” He sips the light brown liquid in his mug from his spot next to me on the couch.

“That’s a lot of cream you have in your coffee,” I point out, twisting my face in disgust.

“I like it sweet,” he says.

“Is that how you drank it in Italy?”

“Actually, I love a good cappuccino. If you had an espresso machine, I’d make you one.”

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