Page 126 of Stay With Me

“Never! It was a strict diet of alcohol and greasy foods.”

At the mention ofgreasyfood, my stomach rolls, and I swallow down whatever just threatened to come up. Either I suddenly have an aversion to food or somethingis making me nauseous all the damn time.

“Hey, my dad’s calling, and I wanna make sure everything’s okay,” I say.

“No problem. I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

“K, love you.”

“Love you, bye!”

I quickly click over to the other line. “Hey, Dad. You alright?”

“I was callin’ to ask you the same thing.”

I sit up straighter on the couch. “What’d ya mean?”

“I just heard on the scanner that a bunch of cars got broken into this afternoon off Second and Sheboygan.”

That’s only a few blocks from me.

What the fuck is happening around here?

“No, I haven’t heard anything. But I can see my car from my front window...” I walk over and peek through the blinds to double-check. “Yeah, looks fine from here. Not that they’d find anything except some empty coffee cups and like twenty-three cents in change.”

“Good. Don’t leave anything valuable inside. You might wanna consider getting extra locks for your trailer.”

My heart drops at the thought of someone breaking into it. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll grab a couple from the hardware store after work tomorrow.”

I hate that I can’t park it in my apartment complex lot, so I have to trust leaving it parked downtown for now.

“So anyway, how’re you and Mama doing? I was thinkin’ of visiting on Sunday. Would that be okay?”

Even though Thanksgiving is this Thursday, we haven’t celebrated together in years. I always go with Noah to The Lodge with her family, where they host a feast for the staff and guests.

“That’d be great, sweetie. I can make us lunch. Fried catfish, extra crispy how ya like it, and a side of asparagus and slaw.”

Oh no.

Rushing to my kitchen, I dry heave in the sink until I finally get it out of my system and empty my stomach. I really need people to stop talking about food. If I’m pregnant, there’s no way I’m going to survive nine months of this.

“Magnolia? Sweetheart?” I hear my dad’s voice echoing from my phone.

I put him on speaker. “Sorry! Dropped ya.”

“You okay? It sounded like you were at death’s door.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Totally fine.”

The line’s silent for a beat as if he’s contemplating asking again, but when he doesn’t speak up, I make up an excuse to get off the phone.

“I gotta finish up my laundry, Dad. I’ll see you Sunday?”

“You got it, kiddo. See ya then.”

After we say goodbye, I down a glass of cold water and swish out the bad taste in my mouth.

The boxes of pregnancy tests stare at me, and I can’t take it anymore. I bought three different brands but grab the digital one first since it’ll tell me a simple yes or no instead of trying to decipher one or two faint lines. Although it suggests waiting to test first thing in the morning, I’m doing it now because at this point, I just want confirmation.