She groaned, shaking her head. “I feel like shit.”
“What the—” He joined her on the floor near the toilet, pushing some sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. “You’re not hungover. We hardly drank anything.”
“I think I ate something bad,” she moaned, then turned toward the toilet bowl and gagged.
Nasser grimaced, trying not to look too hard at the contents of the toilet while he rubbed her back. Both of them getting sick wouldn’t be good for anyone. Not with the big curriculum meeting they had with the tribe later.
“What did you have last night?” Nasser asked once she’d stood and washed her face. She paused, looking back at the toilet, and he hurried to add, “Don’t tell me if it’s going to make you sick again.”
She waved him off. “I think it passed. My stomach just feels like a knot.” She sighed into her hands. “I think it was the shrimp. That raw shrimp.”
“It was cooked,” Nasser said. “Plus, I ate it too, but I feel fine.”
“Hm.” Her eyes darted around the bathroom as she thought. “Do you think I’m pregnant?”
The realization hit him like a sack of bricks. The broken condom weeks ago. Their indiscriminate sex life ever since. “Oh, God. I didn’t…I don’t…”
“I really think this is food poisoning,” she said, nodding. Her face looked ashen, green eyes contrasting even more against her abnormally pale skin.
“Are you sure?” Nasser asked, the weight of her question seeping into him. Pressing down on his chest. He hadn’t thought pregnancy was really a possibility. Not with one slip-up. Statistically, there had to be more chance of her not being pregnant.
Right?
“Yes.” Willow wobbled off, disappearing into the closet. A moment later, her muffled voice reached him. “See? I’m feeling better already. If it were morning sickness, I’d still be sick.”
Nasser accepted this logic—for now, at least—since they had to get ready for their meeting with the tribal council about the state of the curriculum plan. Willow had scheduled this meeting as the formal announcement of what Amatbahns could expect from their elite new school. Nasser had promised to go along as moral support. He knew she was ready. He just wasn’t sure what a room full of squinty-eyed tribal veterans might do to Willow’s morale.
Once Willow was dressed, she looked ready to take on the day. No longer ashen and hunched over the toilet bowl, she was decked out in her business-casual best, hair pulled back into a neat braid. She reviewed her notes before they made the walk out to the tents together. Nasser kissed her on the cheek before they entered the meeting space.
The atmosphere inside the tents was chaotic and noisy as usual. Calla and Fatim waved as they approached the huge circular table. Tribal leaders young and old filled the huge meeting area. Highest ranking members sat at the table, but at least fifteen or so additional members milled around along the walls.
Nasser guided Willow to her designated seat and slipped into place beside her. Fatim quickly c
alled the meeting to order. The clamorous voices quieted.
“I think it’s plain to see we’re all quite excited to hear what Willow has to say,” Fatim began, casting a bright smile her way. Willow returned it, but Nasser could see the anxiety eating away at her composure. Even with all the time apart, he still knew her maybe better than anyone else did.
“Well, I am excited to share my plans,” Willow said. Nasser caught her wringing her hands under the table.
Fatim invited her to begin her presentation. Willow cleared her throat, addressed her notes, and then launched into the stiffest speech he’d ever heard from her. She relayed a very dry overview of the school’s curriculum, including a month-by-month approach to the five-year plan. People were mentally checking out. Once she’d wrapped up her portion, council members began firing off questions.
Fast.
“This all sounds fine, but what exactly will the curriculum entail?” one member asked.
“I want my children to be able to get into Stanford with this secondary education. How will you give them the competitive edge?”
“Will there be an opportunity for unstructured play?” asked a woman from the other side of the table.
Willow opened her mouth to respond, but more questions arrived. He could see her shrinking, shrinking, shrinking down.
Alarm bells went off in his head.
Willow needed help.
“Hang on,” Nasser said, holding up a hand. “Hang on. We can’t all ask questions at once and expect her to answer them.”
“Start with the curriculum specifics,” someone piped up. “Are we talking heavy standardized testing? I want my kid to get into the best university possibly, and I think everyone signing up for this school will want the same. We need to compete on the elite international level.”