Page 43 of Skating the Blue Line
For a solid three hours, I just sat on my bed and told myself that I shouldn’t come to the game. What would coming to the game accomplish? I wasn’t going to be able to tell Liam right away. There sure as hell wasn’t going to be any decisions being made while I sat in the stands.
But no matter how much my brain screamed to not come, I still got up, changed into my good jeans, and came to the game.
At the very least being at the game serve as a distraction from the hurricane that my life has turned into in just a short amount of time.
“My stomach just feels a little queasy, that’s all.” I tell my best friend.
“What did you eat today?” She asks, taking a bite of her hot dog.
Has eating at a sporting event always looked and smelled so gross?
Dr. Long did say that my sense of smell might get heightened but I didn’t think it would happen on day one of me finding out.
“Papas con huevo for breakfast and a chicken wrap for lunch.” I lie.
If I tell her that the only thing I’ve eaten has been some saltines and sucked on a lemon or two, she would question me beyond measure.
But of course my best friend knows me better than anything else.
“Why are you lying?” She looks at me with narrowed eyes.
I have two option here. Tell her the truth or continue to lie which she will properly see right through. I decided on option two.
“I’m not lying.”
Right away, she gives me a look that tells me that she doesn't believe me.
“Fine, don’t tell me, but something is seriously up with you. I thought you would be more excited to be here. Especially since you are getting laid.”
I cringe a little at the getting laid part.
That was definitely something I was looking forward to but now with my situation, it’s the last thing that I want to think about. Sex is what got us here.
“I’m excited to be here.” I say in return.
Betty gives me an uh-huh sound and takes another bite of her hotdog.
God, I wish I can eat one.
Hot dogs are one of my guilty pleasures, but right now all I can think about is how disgusting they are.
Will I get my love for hotdogs back?
“I thought you wanted nachos,” my friends interrupts my hot dog filled thoughts, and nods to the paper plate I have in my hands.
Looking at the staple food, if I wasn't pregnant I would have devoured them the second that they were handed to me. But they look gross and my stomach does not like what it’s seeing.
“They smell funny.” I say, not looking away from the plate. I’m sure my face is contorting in all different ways.
“They smell funny?” Betty asks, a little worried.
She takes the plate from my hand and takes a whiff of them, checking to see if they didn’t give me bad cheese. She sniffs them once and then twice and gives me a weird look.
I give her a nod hopefully not giving anything away.
But Betty is Betty. She can read through every single little thing even if she doesn’t know it.
“Upset stomach and nachos smelling funny. If you asked me I would say you might be pregnant.”
