Page 28 of Wrapped Around My Heart
Arianna
Me: I’m never forgiving Mom after this.
Dean: Still down for the count?
Me: I’m one hurl away from begging to be drowned in a decontamination shower.
Dean: Please just let me bring you some medicine or something…
Me: Sorry, Viv already said she’s on the way to help.
Dean: *gasp* How dare you let someone else take care of you!
Me: You’re only upset cause she got here first.
Dean: Well yeah, my offer even came with puppy cuddles. Bet she can’t give you that.
The doorbell ringsbefore I can think of a response. With a sigh, I set my phone down on the end table, slide my laptop to the side, and start detangling myself from the blankets. I move slowly, taking stock of how my body feels. It has been hours since I last threw up so I’d been hoping that meant I was finally on the mend.
However, just swinging my feet off the couch and standing up tells me I might be wrong.
By the time I make it to the small foyer, Vivian has her face pressed against one of the small windowpanes that frame the door. She grins when she spots me, and any other time, I’d laugh with her. But right now, I just want to get back to the couch.
After unlocking the deadbolt and knob, I heave open the door for her before turning to retreat to the spot I’d been rotting in for the past two days. I don’t have to turn back to know that Vivian is letting herself in and locking the door behind her.
“All right, I come armed with supplies for my sick little nugget,” she says as she follows me.
Since I make it to the living room first, I pause at my coffee table long enough to close my laptop and tidy up my mess a bit. Satisfied that there’s enough space for Vivian’s things, I turn to face her just as my stomach drops.
“Please tell me there are more drugs in that bag,” I groan, dropping back onto the couch, and pick up my “just in case” bowl from the floor and clutch it to my chest.
I’m suddenly grateful that I managed to get my Monday workload done over the past couple hours because something tells me that my day is about to take another gross turn.
“I have everything you could possibly need,” Viv says, her tone much too cheerful, considering I’m hanging onto whatever remains in my stomach by a thread.
“You’re my hero,” I grumble, trying to sound grateful but completely failing.
I lower the bowl to my lap, only slightly confident that I won’t hurl.
Vivian starts removing the contents of the bag onto my coffee table, lining them all up next to each other.
My favorite mint tea. Soup. Cough drops. Cold and flu medicine. And…
“Um, Viv, what the fuck is that for?”
My best friend huffs and picks up the box that makes my already weak stomach lurch.
“Our periods have been synced up since freshman year of college when we moved into our dorm room together.” She reminds me while coming to sit beside me with that damn box still in her hand.
“Yes, and?” I snap. She tries to hand it to me, but I shrink away. Which is a horrible reaction based on the way my stomach twists.
“And you’re late.” She points to the bowl in my lap. “And you’re puking.”
“Yeah, ’cause Mom got me sick.” I manage to shake my head twice before covering my mouth. Staring at Vivian with wide eyes as I wait for the wave of nausea to pass, I count back the days once. Then twice.
Then a third time because there’s no way what she’s implying is true.
“No,” I whisper, finally looking down at the pregnancy tests.
