hot sauce and bean detritus.
Suddenly I seriously need to toss
what little is in my stomach. I run
to the bathroom. Heave until I hit
empty. Get up, rinse my mouth.
Wash my face. When I exit the room,
Trey is awake, sitting up in bed,
looking more curious than worried.
“Sorry,” I say. “I think I might have
caught Grandfather’s flu bug.”
Hope that’s all you caught,
he says, half smiling. Puking,
first thing when you wake up?
Sounds like morning sickness to me.
Morning sickness? Oh my God.
Is that why I’ve felt so lousy lately?
He could be right. Pregnant?
Why does the idea shock me?
Can’t admit it, though. Not to him.
Righteous indignation swells. Who
the hell is he to even suggest it?
Trey Shepherd has never been
anything but the sperm donor
whose semen maybe jump-started
me. I shake my head. “Can’t be that.
What? You don’t believe me?”
The tone of my voice warns him
off. He shrugs. Goes to pee. I fall
back into bed. What have I done?
And what will Bryce do when he knows?