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“I’m sure it’s nothing. The flu maybe.” But in my mind, I’m running through everything it could be. When I’ve seen her, which hasn’t been often, she hasn’t looked physically ill. But now that I think of it, something is most definitely off. I’ve been attributing it to anxiety over all the upcoming events in her life. Or depression over being stuck with me for the week. But could there be more to it? I sigh. I’m totally failing at this stepmom thing—or whatever it may be.
Christian finishes his cookie, drains his glass, then stands. “Thank you for the snack, Miss Allie.”
“My pleasure. I’m sure Bug will feel better soon.” I follow him to the front door. “Christian?”
He looks back at me with a questioning stare.
“Is she any good at soccer? She never wants us to go to practices, and she’s pretty much forbidden us from attending tryouts.”
“Honestly? She’s not great, but she doesn’t totally suck either. I’d say there’s a good chance she’ll make the team, because there are a lot more girls who suck way worse than her.” His face reddens. “I didn’t mean… I probably shouldn’t have said suck, because she doesn’t, and those other girls don’t really either… I just meant…” He shakes his head, clearly flustered. “I think I’ll just go now if that’s okay.”
I hold in my laughter. “Yes. It’s okay. And yes, I know what you meant. Bye, Christian.”
As soon as he leaves, I’m slogging back up the stairs again. Dang, it’s getting harder to do this.
I knock on her door. There’s no answer.
“Darla? Do you need to see a doctor?”
“I didn’t say Iamsick, I saidtellhim I’m sick.”
I lean against the door. “Did something happen between you and Christian?”
“No.”
“If something did, you can tell me.”
“Nothing happened!”
“Then why have you been hiding up here for days?”
“I like my private space.”
“But you’ve missed going to soccer practice.”
“Are you checking up on me?”
“Christian was worried. He asked why you haven’t been showing up.”
She doesn’t answer, she just turns on music.
I pound on her door. “Darla, can we please talk about this like adults?”
The volume increases even more.
I pound harder then press my palms against the door and raise my voice. “I’m worried about you. Is it tryouts? School? Have you changed your mind? Sweetie, you should talk to someone about it.”
Stomping feet cross the floor. “Donotcall me sweetie!”
The door flies open unexpectedly, and with all my weight against it, I fall into the room. At the last second, just before I hit the floor, I stretch out my arms hoping to break my fall. But my stomach protrudes too much and it hits first, maybe not as hard as if I hadn’t used my hands, but hard enough. I immediately roll to the side and cradle my belly.
Darla looks down at me in horror. “Oh my god. I didn’t know you were against the door. Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”
Still stunned, I crawl over and lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I put a hand over my stomach where each twin should be and pray to feel something… anything. I pressdown. When I feel movement from up top, I breathe a small sigh of relief. But I don’t feel anything below, despite poking her a few times.
“No. No ambulance. But can you get my phone? I think it’s in the kitchen.”
Looking as guilty as sin, she rushes down. When she’s back and handing it to me, she says, “You’re calling my dad, aren’t you?” She sinks to the floor a few feet away. “I’m going to get into so much trouble for this.”