I wake up to light pouring in through the window and the murmur of people talking outside my door. I sit up and admire the beautiful white snow and sunny sky outside as the smell of vomit and sweat drifts up to my nose. Gagging a little, I become aware of the drool stain on my pillow case and sweat causing my shorts and tank top to stick to me. With my senses, my memory floods back in and I remember waking up early this morning and running into my bathroom and puking. There was barely anything in me to puke up, so most of it was rancid fluid that burned in my throat. I was too groggy from sleep to even consider rinsing my mouth, so I'd just gone right back to bed. I decide that I should probably rejoin my guests and make something for breakfast. The slight nauseous feeling of hunger mixes with my already nauseous feeling and motivates me to get up and make food. I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth before quickly cleaning the toilet as not everything got washed out when I flushed my refuse this morning. Wiping the excess moisture from my hands after washing them, I head out into the living area where I find all my guests laying on the various pullout beds and talking amongst themselves.
"Is French toast alright with everyone for breakfast?" My voice is slightly raspy, but at least my breath isn't making me gag anymore. I'd run a comb through my hair and changed into different shorts and a loose t-shirt so my voice is the only current problem, other than that I'm pregnant. The mumbles of yes in deeper morning voices barely register in my mind, but when they finally do, I head over to the kitchen and start preparing breakfast. The bread sizzles in the pan as I stare at it, in a daze. For whatever reason I can't seem to stay focused this morning. My eyes still see everything, but it's blurry and I don't actually process what I see until minutes later, when my mind becomes unoccupied. I grab the remote and turn on the news after flipping the French toast and preparing another piece. They are currently talking about some airplane crash in Southeast Asia. It goes to commercial. The commercial depicts a man and woman, holding hands in a hospital. Next it goes to the same to people, but the woman is giving birth, and then it shows them strapping the baby in for the ride home in a particular car. That's yet another thing that stresses me out and makes me thing I should give the child up for adoption, or have an abortion. But I'm not heartless enough, and some little part of me, deep down inside, wants this kid. All through my younger childhood days, I was jealous when I saw young couples walking through the mall or grocery store with their smiling little baby. I wanted that. I wanted that perfect life where I would grow up, go to college, get a job, get married, and have children. The heavy feeling returns to my chest and I gulp to attempt to get rid of the bouncy ball-sized lump in my throat. I turn around and remove the piece of French toast-slightly overdone on one side-and replace it. The familiar voices of news anchors returns on my TV and I spin around. They switch over to another camera where a woman points to a cold front moving into New York. Luckily, I don't see any more snow in the forecast, but still, temperatures are way below freezing, meaning that the snow isn't going anywhere. They switch back over and the man anchor makes some kind of remark about the travel ban causing him to have to walk to and from work, and I'm glad I don't work on Fridays at this current job. At my next job, I will be working every day of the week and occasionally might have to come in during evenings, but I suppose I won't be working that for long, since at some point I'll need to go on maternity leave. Then again, I will be in a hospital.
I finish making the French toast and set a few pieces on each plate, sprinkling powdered sugar on them. On a large plate, I put extra pieces and put them in the middle of the dining table with the syrup and powdered sugar. I put the plates, forks, and napkins out and head toward the living room. My stomach starts growling on the way, and absent mindedly, I find myself putting my hand to my stomach. I quickly drop the hand back to my side, but feel exposed and awkward so I latch both of my hands in front of me.
"Breakfast is ready," I say, my voice coming out as a sort of croak. This attempt as speaking makes me realize that my throat is raw and swollen feeling. I must be getting sick. Great, pregnant, sick, and starting a new job next week. My life is going wonderfully.
"Are you ok, Tris?" Shauna asks, following everybody else toward the kitchen. "You sound like you're sick, but you seemed fine last night."
"Yeah, I think I'm getting a cold or something." I thank God that I was more understandable and my voice was just kind of raspy that time. Shauna nods in understanding and moves ahead, taking a seat between Marlene and Zeke at my table. Tobias and Christina sit at either end of the table, everyone else filling the seats between. They fill up the table perfectly with Dr. Eaton added to the group, so I have a seat at the barstool and start on my one piece of French toast. I hope nobody offers to sit next to me since I'm alone, because I made it through last night without them asking about my not drinking wine with them, or eating much, but I have a feeling that this will put it over the edge. I keep my head down as I eat slowly, and take long breaks to sip water. My doctor suggests that I have water before and during every meal to help with digestion. Like I said, my stomach is small, and it can't take much but I still have to eat a lot to keep my energy up and to keep from getting too hungry. If I drink water, I digest faster, and can usually eat a little more so I can go longer without eating. I hope my eating often doesn't interfere with my next job, or with the pregnancy. The eating I know will increase to accommodate for two, but I'm worried that my stomach won't be able to handle all of it, and I already know that my hips and small figure will have trouble making room for a small person as well as my organs. My eyes fill with tears at the thought of my unborn child dying because I couldn't accommodate it. At the same time, it would almost be a relief. I wouldn't have to worry about any of it; finding a babysitter, someone to do my job while I'm on maternity leave, buying a car since I can't carry the child everywhere, explaining to everyone that I conceived the child through rape, that I don't know who the father is. I take a deep breath and imagine myself closing the flood gates under my eyes, willing the tears to dry.
Once I've finally finished my breakfast, I gather my plate as well as everyone else's as anyone who had seconds to their two pieces has already accomplished that within the time of me eating one, and begin rinsing them and putting them in the dishwasher. Tobias, ever the gentleman, gathers all the cups and forks and brings them over, piling them up next to the sink and then taking the wash cloth to scrub the table. I finish rinsing everything and walk over, resting on the back of Marlene's chair. For whatever reason, I become irrationally worried that the chair will collapse under the weight of both of us, and put one arm on Shauna's chair for stability. Everyone falls silent as I look them over. I become immensely uncomfortable, and put my head down. Christina comes to my rescue by asking the very question I was planning on asking until I was bombarded with the eyes of everyone.
"So, what are we going to do today?" I think about things that I might possibly need to do, and conclude that grocery shopping and stopping at the pharmacy for my prescription are a must.
"Would you guys be against going to the grocery store and pharmacy with me? I need to get some more food and my prescription and both places are only a block or two down from here."
"I wouldn't mind going, but I'm not really dressed for walking about in below zero weather," Shauna points out. She has a good point-Manhattan has reached a new record by dipping into the single negatives-but luckily, I keep extra clothes in my hallway closet from when I made my own clothing line for a class in college.
"Hang on," I say to them, a small smile working its way onto my face. I head over to the closet and extract the large woven basket full of clothes. My back aches slightly, but enough to where when heave the basket up and plop it on the table, a small groan escapes me. A few confused stares meet my gaze after that, but luckily, no one questions it.
"I minored in fashion in college for a year, and for the finals in one class I had to group up with a few people and make a whole clothing line for whichever season we chose, and luckily my group went with winter. I have jackets, long underwear, gloves, hats, scarves, thermal jeans, sweaters, and snow boots. Christina, what size shoe do you wear?" The smile on my face grows as she replies with her shoe size, eight. I pull out a pair of purple and black snow boots with fur on the inside, size eight, and hand them over to her. I do the same for everyone, Tobias, Zeke, and Dr. Eaton receiving blue and black boots, Will and Uriah getting green and black. Shauna and Marlene both get pink and black ones. After that I distribute fleece jackets to match each person's boots, and everyone receives the same grey sweatshirt in various sizes that says Columbia University in blue letters, the college I went to. Shauna points out how we went to the same college and never even saw each other, to which I laugh and say "yeah" almost awkwardly. After that I give each girl a pair of plain leggings to wear under their jeans, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The boys also receive a pair of thermal jeans and wool socks, specially created to not be itchy, but just as warm.
I leave all the boys to change in the spare bedroom and take the girls to my room. The ones who hadn't been there earlier-everyone except Christina-are in awe as they look over the room and in my closet. The bed frame is four-posted and white, while the quilted comforter is PINK brand, mint green with the word PINK in white, and the other side grey with white pattern, the sheets and pillow covers matching the mint green side. The sham pillows matched the grey side, and a few were plain white with different witty comments on them like "Queen of Fucking Everything" or "I had a late night". My storage bins filled with college books and CDs matched the grey pattern of my bed and had the word PINK in bold pink letters. Pictures litter the top of my plain white nightstand; cheer and volleyball pictures from high school, a picture of my mom and dad together, of my mom holding me as a baby, and of my favorite college professor and I after graduation. The sudden influx of memories makes the weight in my chest that's there almost all the time grow tremendously, so I head into my closet. It's a walk-in with racks for hanging clothes, a bench to sit, racks for shoes, and clear drawers for bras, underwear, shorts, and other miscellaneous items I don't hang. I pick out a pair of plain leggings and a pair of jeans and slip them both on. The jeans, I find, will button but squeeze me tightly. I let out a deep sigh and reach for a pair of yoga pants with a floral waistband. On top, I wear a white undershirt with a pink sweatshirt to match the waistband of my pants, and a white fleece jacket over. When I reenter my room, Shauna is pulling on boots, as is Christina, and Marlene is fully dressed and back to exploring. I stoop down to grab my gloves from one of the storage bins, and find it slightly difficult. My stomach no longer folds over to let me bend down, so I have to squat. My girth is also surprisingly heavy, but not too hard to manage. I lose my balance for a moment and fall back, but catch myself with my arm just in time. This gets the others' attention and I cringe; they're going to either figure it out soon, or I'll have to tell them. After all, it won't be too long before my stomach is way too large to be blamed on overeating and sudden weight gain. Then again, I might never see them again after this little episode is over. I'm not sure whether that's a relief or not. In my head, I know it's not right for me to be this far into anthrophobia, to where I don't want to be around people at all, but I can't help it. I suppose if I'm going to try to raise a child, I have to start doing what Dr. Eaton says and make friends. Who better than these people?
I scoot over to the bed just in case when I attempt to get up I might lose my balance, but I don't, luckily.
"I'll explain later," I say, seeing their ever confused faces. I slip a pair of fuzzy socks on followed by my North Face snow boots and gloves. Looking around, I find that we're all ready, so I open the door and let them file out in front of me. Before I leave the room, I grab my phone and stuff it into my jacket pocket along with my keys and wallet.