"It's just so stupid!" Amanda said. "Every time a woman gets sick on TV, she's pregnant!" She was lying down, her head in her boyfriend's lap. He stroked her blond hair, laughing at her rant brought on by the movie they were watching. The sister of the protagonist, who had vomited on the love interest's shoes just a scene before, was announcing her pregnancy.
"Babe, if I remember correctly, you had morning sickness all the time in your first trimester," Nick said, moving his hand to her swollen belly.
March had just died, and April was filling its place. Easter had been two days ago. Zara was visiting from California, and candy wrappers littered the house. Amanda and Nick were at work collecting the remnants of the chocolate paraphernalia. Although claiming no guilt, Amanda gave a sly grin when Nick accused her of having eaten a good portion of the chocolate.
Nick's mother was with them. She got along with Amanda excellently, much to Nick's relief. Together, they had made yet another chocolate concoction: a soft, fluffy devil's food cake. The elder of the women doled out the cake to all the guests. Amanda ate only two bites before putting down her fork and pushing it away. Nick's mother eyed her, looking, much to Amanda's surprise, not at all offended, but said nothing.
When everyone had finished inhaling the dessert, Amanda helped Cesaria clean the plates. She gagged as she scraped the mushy chocolate that had been diluted with orange soap and water, and then rushed out of the kitchen into the bathroom. When she emerged, Nick was waiting for her with a wet paper towel. She took it and wiped her face as he led her to the bedroom to lie down.
She insisted he rejoin the party, that she would be fine. Cesaria, moments later, entered and sat down on the bed next to Amanda.
"You know," she began, "Your hair is very shiny." Surprised at the random compliment, Amanda thanked her, wondering if she was just saying it to make her feel better.
"How far along are you?" She asked.
"What?" Amanda said, jolting upright.
"Come on, you're glowing. Your hair, your skin. And the cravings? The morning sickness?"
"But that doesn't mean . . . but that can't mean . . ." Amanda stuttered.
The next morning, three small white and blue boxes from the local pharmacy shoved haphazardly in her purse felt like they weighed fifty pounds apiece. Shoving her purse into her desk drawer, Amanda struggled to avoid eye contact with any of her co-workers. The tests would have to wait until the day drew to a close.
She threw up twice that day, once in the bathroom, which no one noticed, and once in the trashcan under her desk while getting a victim's statement. Feeling the details she had shared with the detective had disgusted her to the point of vomiting, the victim was hurt and offended, and wanted to leave. This was not the case, but Amanda found herself wishing that it had been. There remained two possibilities: Nick's mom was right, or anxiety about the three cardboard box-clad plastic sticks in her bag was causing her ailment.
After the incident at her desk, Liv sent Amanda home. Nick demanded he drive her to ensure she got home safe, but she, wanting to get the results of the test and be done with it, wanted him to be far away. She took the subway.
Six pink lines on three plastic sticks confirmed what Cesaria had already told her.
"Whatever," Amanda responded. "I was not sick all the time. Help me up," she ordered. He shifted his weight and slipped his left hand behind her back to support her.
"Two more weeks," he said, leaning down to kiss her baby bump.
"Unless . . ." Amanda said before allowing a gasp of pain to leave her lips.
"Oh my god, was that a contraction? Do we need to go to the hospital?" Nick said worriedly.
She grinned maliciously. "Gottcha," she teased.
"That was mean," he said.
"I'm sorry, babe. I'll make it up to you," she said, leaning in to kiss him.