Page 1 of Only a Gemini Will Do

Chapter 1

Sawyer

Six weeks after the hurricane.

I lookedaround at my desk, cluttered with yellow and green sticky notes and case files, where I sat across from my fourth client of the day. My green, silk blouse was tucked into my high-waisted gray trousers, which felt unusually tight at the waist. The aroma of the lukewarm coffee inside my ceramic mug, which read “Will give legal advice for coffee,” made my stomach churn in an acidic brew.

My eyes tightened at the corners, trying to focus on the intake form in front of me. My client, a young black mother looking for help with her custody dispute over her two-year-old son, was in the middle of her sentence when I reached out to grip the edge of my worn oak desk. My belly soured as an unexpected wave of nausea rolled through me. I shot to my feet before quickly excusing myself.

Inside the bathroom, I hovered over the sink to rinse out my mouth after throwing up the turkey and cheese sandwich I’d eaten for lunch forty-five minutes earlier. My thoughts immediately traced back to the hurricane.To him. Kareem hadbeen living rent-free in my head ever since he’d spread my thighs from east to west like a bad rumor. Only, I hadn’t heard a peep from him since we parted ways in Tampa.

Shit. I couldn’t be pregnant . . . could I?

I rid the thought from my mind. Or at least I tried to. Only then did my thoughts trickle over to the past couple of weeks, where Butta had refused to leave my side. He’d been whiny and clingy as if he could sense something was off with me.

Pull it together, Sawyer. It’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself.

After a few deep breaths, I reentered my office clutching a Styrofoam cup of water from the water cooler. I flashed my client a pasted-on smile. She was still seated — legs curled beneath her and her arms folded over her chest.

“So sorry about that,” I apologized while easing back behind my desk. “I just needed a drink.”

She dipped her chin, but her eyes lingered on me for a few seconds. “You good?”

I nodded, instinctively ready to get back to work. But it was the concern in her voice that gave me pause.

“Yup. I’m fine,” I confirmed softly, skipping the eye contact. “Just one of those days.”

She flashed me a genuine smile. “I feel that.”

I reopened her folder, my eyes skating over the paperwork with new and improved attention. But I still couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting from the legal strategy I should’ve been focused on to the pregnancy test I knew I needed to purchase as soon as I got off work. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered violently again, and I reached out to take a small sip of water, unable to stay still.

By the end of our appointment, we’d managed to outline an action plan I was comfortable with. She thanked me and told meto take care of myself as she stood to leave. As the door closed behind her, I sat back, my hand drifting absentmindedly to my stomach. I was thankful the nausea had subsided, but the weight of a possible positive pregnancy test still lingered.

I reached for my phone, intending to check my calendar for upcoming hearings. Instead, my thumb hovered over the app that tracked my periods. I rarely opened it, but I tapped it out of curiosity. The screen loaded slowly, then a notification popped up on the screen in bold red text,“Missed period by over thirty days. Consider taking a pregnancy test.”

My heart somersaulted inside my chest.

I sat up in my chair as if straightening my posture might make the words change if I sat up straight enough.Over a month?I was used to my periods being irregular in times of heavy stress, but that couldn’t be right. I scrolled back through the last few weeks, confirming what I already suspected. The sensitivity to smells. The excessive fatigue. My nipples feeling raw and tender like fresh pieces of meat. Not to mention the constant race to the bathroom to either vomit or pee, and Butta’s unexplained clinginess. All the pieces began to gel into one undeniable puzzle; one I wouldn’t dare say out loud. Not until I knew for sure.

Half an hourafter I got off from work, I stood in line at the pharmacy with my hands latched around a box with two pregnancy tests inside, like it might detonate in my palms. The drive home was a blur. I barely recalled the topic of the podcast that played in the background. All I could do was think about what the results would be.

At home, I peeled off my heels by the door before switching into my Crocs and taking Butta out for a walk. I was too anxious to be outside too long. The minute Butta and I stepped foot back inside the apartment, my eyes locked on the box sticking out of my purse. Butta stood beside me, tail thumping on repeat.

“Be right back, Butta Bean.”

I took a deep breath before picking up the box and heading into the bathroom. My hands trembled and my heartbeat bucked against its reins as I followed the instructions to the letter.

Then came the dreaded three-minute wait.

I set a timer on my phone, and immediately started pacing the bathroom floor—barefoot with my blouse wrinkled and my trousers unbuttoned. Butta scratched outside the door, seemingly just as anxious as I was. I stopped pacing long enough to look at my reflection in the mirror and shake my head as a million thoughts raced through my mind.

So what if I’m late? Work has been stressful lately. It’s probably just that, not a baby.

How old was the lunch meat in the sandwich I had for lunch? Maybe that was bad.

Then the timer sounded off, and my heart plummeted to my feet.