“Yeah, busy.” Puking and sleeping mostly. Gestating. “School and stuff, you know.”
Normally I’d have an interesting story to tell from my psych studies. Today, nada.
“Right.” Her husband slipped an arm around her shoulders and she turned to smile at him, eyes all lovelorn and our conversation forgotten.
Which worked for me.
I rubbed the toe of my boot back and forth against the floor, looking left and right and anywhere but straight ahead. I toyed with the hem of my tunic, winding a loose thread tight around my finger until it turned purple. Then I loosened it. It probably wasn’t good for the bean, somehow. As of tomorrow, I needed to start studying up on this baby stuff. Get the facts, because getting rid of the bean … it just wasn’t for me.
The date tittered at something he said and I felt a stab of pain inside. Probably gas.
“Here.” Anne filled the glass in front of me with white wine.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Try it,” she said with a smile. “It’s sweet and kind of crisp. I think you’ll like it.”
My stomach tipped upside down just at the thought. “Later maybe. I drank some water right before I arrived. So … yeah, I’m not really thirsty just yet.”
“All right.” Her eyes narrowed as she gave me a that-was-weird smile. All too soon it morphed into a flat, unhappy line. “You look a little pale. Are you okay?”
“Absolutely!” I nodded, smiled, and turned to the woman on my other side before Anne could grill me further on the subject. “Hi, Lena.”
“Lizzy. How you been?” The curvy brunette held hands with her partner, Jimmy Ferris, the lead singer of Stage Dive. He sat at the head of the table, resplendent in an undoubtedly handmade suit. When he saw me he gave me one of the chin tips the guys seemed to specialize in. It said it all. Or at least it said it all when all they wanted to say was Hey.
I nodded back at him. And all the while I could feel Anne hovering at my side, bottle of wine still in hand and big-sisterly concern growing by the moment, pawing at the ground and getting ready to pounce. I was so screwed. Anne had pretty much raised me from the age of fourteen, when our dad left and our mom checked out on us—one day just went to bed and didn’t get up again. Now and then Anne’s need to nurture still got a little out of control. What she’d have to say about the bean didn’t bear thinking about. It wouldn’t be pretty.
But one problem at a time.
“All good, Lena,” I said. “You?”
Lena opened her mouth. Whatever she’d been about to say, however, was lost beneath the sudden thrashing of drums and insanely loud wailing of guitars. It basically sounded like hell was spilling forth all around us. Armageddon had come a-knocking.
“Babe,” Anne hollered at her husband. “No death metal during dinner! We talked about this.”
Said “babe,” Malcolm Ericson, paused his head banging at the top of the table. “But, Pumpkin—”
“Please.”
The drummer rolled his eyes and, with the flick of a finger, silenced the storm raging through the sound system.
My ears rang on in the quiet.
“Christ,” muttered Jimmy. “Time and a place for shit like that. Try never when I’m around, yeah?”
Mal looked down the length of his nose at the dapper man. “Don’t be so judgy, Jim. I think Hemorrhaging Otter would make a wonderful warm-up act.”
“Are you fucking serious? That’s their name?” asked David.
“Delightfully inventive, no?”
“One way to put it,” said David, nose wrinkled in distaste. “And Ben already picked a warm-up act.”
“I didn’t even get a vote,” grumped Mal.
“Dude.” Ben shoved an irritated hand through his hair. “You’ll all want to hang with your women. I’ll need some people around after the show I can chill and have a beer with, so I went ahead and chose. Suck it up.”
Bitter grumbling from Mal.
Ev just shook her head. “Wow. Hemorrhaging Otter. That’s certainly unique.”
“What do you think, babe?” Jimmy turned to Lena.
“That’s disgusting. I think I’m going to throw up.” The woman swallowed hard, her face going gray. “I mean, I think I really am.”
Huh. And also, ugh, I knew that feeling.
“Shit.” Jimmy started rubbing her back with frantic motions.
Without a word, I pressed my spare plastic puke bag into her hand. Solidarity among sisters, etcetera.
“Thanks,” she said, happily too preoccupied to ask why I’d had it in my pocket in the first place.
“She had some stomach bug before Christmas.” With his spare hand, Jimmy filled Lena’s glass with water and passed it to her. “Keeps messing with her.”
I froze.
“I thought it had gone,” said Lena.
“You’re going to have to go to the doctor. Enough excuses, we’re not that busy.” Jimmy planted a soft kiss on the side of her face. “Tomorrow, yeah?”
“Okay.”
“Sounds wise,” said Anne, patting my rigid shoulder.
Holy hell.
“You’ve been sick too, Lizzy?” asked Lena.
“You should both try some green tea with ginger in it,” a voice reported from the other side of the table.
Female.
Damn, it was her. His date.
“Ginger creates warmth and helps to settle an upset stomach. What other symptoms did you have?” she asked, causing me to immediately sink down in my seat.
Ben cleared his throat. “Sasha’s a naturopath.”
“I thought you said she was a dancer,” said Anne, her face screwing up ever so slightly.
“A burlesque performer,” the woman corrected. “I do both.”
Yeah, I had nothing.
A chair scraped against the floor, and then Sasha was standing, peering down at me. Any hopes of avoiding and/or ignoring her presence fled the scene. Bettie Page hair done a vibrant blue, very cool. Christ, did she have to look like she actually had a clue? A bimbo I could handle, but not this. The woman was beautiful and smart, and I was just a dumb kid who’d gone and gotten herself knocked up. Cue the violins.
I smiled grimly. “Hi.”
“Any other symptoms?” she repeated, gaze moving between me and Lena.
“She’s been tired a lot too,” said Jimmy. “Passes out in front of the TV all the time.”
“True.” Lena frowned.