She handed it to Farren with shaky hands. “Here, drink this,” she ordered.

Farren took the glass and brought the liquid up for a sniff, crinkling her nose in disgust. “What is it?”

“Pickle juice,” Gramma answered, as though this was the most normal choice of beverages in the world.

Farren gave a skeptical look, but Gramma was insistent. “Go on, then. It will help settle your stomach.”

She was still unsure, but Gramma had never led her astray before and always seemed to know the perfect remedy for every other situation. She brought the juice up to her mouth and took a sip.

It was sour, and her face puckered for a moment while her taste buds acclimated to it, but she drank it down as she was told.

“There, now,” Gramma said, taking the empty glass and heading back toward the kitchen.

Farren followed.

“Thanks, Gramma. I don’t know what came over me. It must be something I ate,” she guessed, but noticed her stomach really was starting to feel a little better.

She went to get dressed, pulled her long, brown hair up in a messy bun, and accompanied Gramma out to the car. They drove to Gramma’s appointment.

It was some routine blood work Gramma needed to check how her medications were doing, but taking her blood for these appointments always made her feel faint afterwards, so Farren didn’t mind accompanying her.

Once they arrived at the doctor’s office, they were called back to one of the rooms to wait first for the nurse and eventually the doctor.

Farren’s nausea decided to make its appearance again, just as the nurse had entered the room. Farren shot across the small space in front of the nurse, nearly knocking the poor woman down, in an effort to get herself to the trashcan in time.

She barely made it and she lurched once more. Her entire body heaved bile into the waste bucket.

“Are you all right?” the nurse asked in a surprised voice.

Farren tried to nod yes, but was interrupted by another wave of vomit sprouting up from within her.

The nurse ran a cup of water and handed it to Farren along with a tissue.

“Thanks. I’m really sorry,” Farren said in a small voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“That’s okay, hon,” the nurse consoled. “We’ve all been there. I had to deal with that for seven months straight when I was pregnant with my son.”

Farren sat back in a chair next to Gramma. “I just hope I’m not contagious. Is there anything you can give my Gramma while she’s here to keep her from catching this?” she suggested.

“We can check with the doctor once he gets in here,” said the nurse.

/> Gramma patted Farren on the leg and Farren sat quietly for the rest of the appointment, trying to remain as still as possible to keep her stomach from sloshing any contents it might have left.

When they left the doctor’s office, they got back into Farren’s car and started to head home. She wondered if she could make it to work now, or if she should call in sick.

She didn’t want to miss work, but she also didn’t want Rogan seeing her in that state, either, if her stomach decided to hold her hostage again.

“Interesting theory the nurse had, wasn’t it?” Gramma said, breaking the silence in the car as they drove.

“What do you mean?” Farren asked, unsure of what Gramma was referring to. She could see Gramma watching her in her peripheral vision.

“Do you think you could be pregnant?” Gramma asked, so calm and direct.

“What? No! No, that’s crazy,” Farren said, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, she wasn’t so sure it was crazy.

She began mentally calculating when her last time-of-the-month had been, and couldn’t really recall. It wasn’t something she had ever been too meticulous about keeping track of because, well, it had never really mattered all that much.

Suddenly, she found herself thinking it mattered – a lot! She raced through her memories, trying like hell to remember having it since she’d returned from the trip to Italy, but… nothing.