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I take my spoon and swirl the heart right out of the froth from my oversized mug of café mocha. No need for that! Again! It's like my life is on repeat.

"You sure it was him?" Penelope asks, sipping on her caramel flan latte.

"Yeah, it was him." I don't have the strength to take my eyes away from my frothy drink.

"Sounds like he was drunk out of his mind, girl." Mia adds honey to her tea.

"He was . . . ."

"Remember how he was when you first met him? Drunk out of his mind?" Mia asks.

"I do."

"People show you who they are the first few times you're around them. It's up to you to acknowledge it and decide if you want that in your life or not."

"You're right, Mia." Even breathing hurts.

"He was just too perfect, if you ask me. Sooner or later you would've found out he was either gay or married," Penelope's tone is short and snippy.

"Thank God none of that is true. He's just a whore."

"I hate to see you like this. Look at you, you're hunched over like an old lady or something. Shake him off, girl! He is not worth it." Penelope gently caresses my hand.

The smell of my café mocha combined with thoughts of Phoenix and that sloppy, disheveled woman turn my stomach.

I jump up and run to the restroom. And just in time.

The bathroom sink saves me from embarrassment.

What little food I did eat, ends up in chunks on the white porcelain.

I rinse the icky taste out of my mouth. The cold water on my face is life giving, so I linger a little longer.

Under the sound of running water, I hear footsteps behind me.

"Girl! You alright?" Penelope looks concerned.

"You scared the shit out of me, Ari. What's going on?" Mia hands me some paper towels to dry off my face.

I glance at them through the mirror. "All this stress, I guess . . . ." The queasy feeling returns, and I rush to the bathroom stall, vomiting the last of what's left in my stomach into the porcelain bowl. I glance behind me to see Mia and Penelope exchange troubled looks.

The clinic's waiting room is the last place I want to be right now. Uneasiness hangs over me like a gray cloud as I wait for my test results. A storm could come at any moment and I can't stop fidgeting.

This waiting room has that effect on people.

"You know that's a bad habit?" someone says to me.

I look up to see Sheila, of all people, standing over me in a nurse's uniform. "Here, take this. Hot chocolate is food for the soul."

I reluctantly accept the hot chocolate.

"You know, biting your nails is never a good idea. Especially for a beautiful young lady, such as yourself." She grips the manila folder to her chest.

What's her angle? She's never been this nice to me before. "Thanks . . . for the hot chocolate."

"No problem."

"You work here?" I point towards the receptionist area before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. She's right. It's good.

She nods as she takes a seat next to me.

Now, I'm uncomfortable. "Is there something you need to tell me?" I ask, looking at her suspiciously.

"I've seen your results. Take a walk with me." She stands up to lead the way.

Anxiety joins uneasiness and the cloud thickens, growing darker. "Is this how your clinic deals with all its clients?"

"No. It's just that, I know you and I feel you deserve a more personal touch."

Now, I'm super nervous.

A more personal touch? What is she trying to say? "Is this even ethical? You know the whole personalization thing. Shouldn't someone who's impersonal give me my results?" I look over to catch her expression.

She looks relaxed. "We'll just keep this between us.

Listen, I won't hold you in suspense, scaring you with the whole safe sex spiel we're told to go over with clients.

I'll be straight up. All your STD tests came back negative.

You're in the clear there. Here's your paperwork," she says in a lighthearted, carefree tone as she passes me the test results. "But!" she sings.

It feels so inappropriate and unprofessional to hear her speak in such a cavalier way as she gives me my results. "But what?" I ask as I quickly scan the paperwork.

"Well, my dear. You know I was quite surprised when I saw it, myself.

I mean — I didn't believe it at first. You know, I never imagined you'd be here at my job, standing here, waiting for me to tell you anything.

I mean, who would've thought, right? But here we are!

And here you are, hanging on my every word.

Not a position a lot of people would enjoy being in. Well, without further ado —"

"— Listen, Sheila, can you please stop toying with me?" I ask, impatiently as we continue to walk.

Suddenly she stops and turns to face me full on. "Well, since you asked . . . I might as well tell you — you are expecting. You're pregnant!" Her eyes gleam as she probes me, searching my face for a reaction.

She stuns me with those words. Now it makes sense why she was being so nice to me. She wanted to get my guard down and get close enough to read my reaction. I mask my emotion. "Wow! That's great." I reply, pasting a smile on my face.

How in the world could this have happened? I'm on the pill!

Those few days after Miami, remember? You were so upset, you forgot to take a few days' worth.

Oh God!

"There's something else I need to tell you. I'm not sure if you already know, but woman to woman, you deserve the truth." She looks around as if what she's about to say next is confidential.

Whoa! 'Woman to woman?' When a person like that suddenly starts to respect you, you better watch out. This can't be good!

My eyebrows raise as I brace for whatever comes next.

"Phoenix is married!" she happily blurts out. Her eyes are wide and filled with glee.

This time my heart crashes from the weight of the horrifying news.

"No, that's not true. He doesn't wear a ring."

"Aria, come on." She laughs. "Men take their rings off all the time."

"He doesn't even have tan lines where a ring used to be. Besides, he's never mentioned a wife." Outwardly, I stare back with defiance in my eyes. Inwardly I'm like a candle, melting on all sides from the heat of an unbearable flame. I'm coming undone, little by little.

"Why would he, with a pretty, young thang like you?" She pulls then releases a springy curl of my hair.

"Don't touch my hair." My nostrils flare. "How do you know?"

"I went to school with his wife, Nora. They're high school sweethearts," she says it with such a joy-filled smile.

Nora! She knows who Nora is!

Hurt that she's enjoying this so much, I ask, "And why are you just now telling me this, Sheila?"

"Because, now, you seem like a really nice girl. You don't deserve to be in this position," her tone is condescending.

"You could've told me this in Miami, if you cared. I'm no different now than I was then."

"In Miami, I don't know . . . you seemed like a shiny, young, slutty whore. Now, you just look — I don't know — sad and broken," she says triumphantly.

"You nosy, no-life-having bitch! You think you're in a better position than me?

I know things about your husband you don't." I tell her, getting in her face.

"That night in Miami when you were too sick?

That fancy party we went to? Why don't you ask Nixon what really happened that night?

He had a lot of time to himself and we were surrounded by beautiful, available women everywhere.

I'm sure he could paint some colorful pictures for you and once you find out, you'll be — what's that?

Oh yeah — sad and broken." It's a mic drop moment and gives me a tinge of pleasure to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Her jaw drops to the floor. Now, she looks stunned, as if I just plunged a stiletto into her heart. Something she never saw coming.

So, she's human after all.

The victory is short-lived. I need to get to the bottom of this Phoenix being married thing. What a conniving asshole! I hate him for making me love him so much. Could Sheila be telling the truth? Is Nora really Phoenix's wife?

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