Page 35 of Size Queen

13

Noelle

During my brief break, I’d hoped that my three-day weekend would somehow morph into a four-day weekend or longer. Ever since I discovered I was pregnant, I’ve been feeling worse and worse. Each day would bring morning sickness and a lingering migraine, followed by queasiness and nausea for the entire rest of the day. Sadly, I did not get a reprieve, and today I’m meant to return to work.

When I wake up, I try to convince myself it’s still Monday and that I have another day off. But since it’s actually Tuesday, I get on with it. I move slowly and steadily so that I don’t tempt my stomach to turn on me. It occurs to me that I’ll probably be late—my call time is 10:30—but I don’t give a damn. I don’t care when I get to work, only that I get there at all.

I surprise myself and make it to the photo shoot on time. However, I embarrass myself when I actually start working.

During the shoot, whenever I’m wearing certain swimsuits, I feel like shit. I feel and look bloated, which in turn makes me lose significant confidence, which makes me look sad and pathetic. Our coordinator and photographers notice the lack of pop, but none of the other girls seem to see it (or care).

Whenever the coordinator or director talks to me, my only focus is on trying not to succumb to the sick. I’m aware that the shoot is slowing down because of me, but things would only get much worse if they went any faster. I’m vague, but they know something’s not right.

The only person at the shoot who knows what’s going on with me is Sabrina. When I finally get some off time, she’s there waiting for me with a towel and a cold bottle of water.

“Thank you, babe,” I say weakly. “You’re really the best.”

“No problem,” Sabrina says. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Do I?” I chuckle as I down the bottle of water.

“Yes, and I’m worried about you,” she says. “You need to relax.”

“I’m being as relaxed as I possibly can,” I assure her. “If I go any slower, I won’t be moving at all.”

“Let’s go over to craft services. I’m starving.”

While Sabrina piles a plate with fruits and chocolates over at the craft services table, I take the opportunity to sit down. My forehead is perspiring, sweat now covering my hand as I wipe it away. I mop up all the sweat on my body with the towel, unaware of just how gross I looked. I must have been glistening with sweat brightly enough that it could be seen from yards away.

“Are you getting some food?” Sabrina asks.

“I want to eat, but I know if I tempt it, I’m going to end up throwing it back up,” I say. “I feel so queasy right now it’s not even funny.”

“Then you need to keep drinking the water,” she says before popping a grape in her mouth. “Listen, Noelle, I think you need to tell—”

“I’m not telling Damon I’m pregnant—I made up my mind on that already,” I interrupt. “I still don’t know what to do about him, but I know the answer right now isn’t to tell him. I can’t just let things go. I can’t just pretend he isn’t involved with a gang. He isn’t just involved—he’s running the whole show!”

I sigh and drink another bottle of water.

Sabrina bites her lip and replies, “I wasgoingto say that you should tell the agency that you’re not feeling well and need to go home.”

“Oh.”

“You’re feeling sick right now, but it’ll get better in time,” says Sabrina. “So I hear. We all know you’re not feeling well—”

“Great. I look that bad, huh?” I groan.

“You just need to relax and not work yourself too hard,” she says encouragingly. “You don’t need to tell them you’re knocked up—just say you’re coming down with something.”

I look back to the table and at the spread of food to choose from. I want to indulge, but I simply can’t.

“Although, on the subject of Damon…” Sabrina begins. “Any updates?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you call him back?”

“No, and I don’t know when I will,” I say. “I don’t even know what I would say.”