Page 18 of Claiming His Wife
I’m so sorry,but I have to cancel our date tonight. Something came up.
I laugh at the text I just sent Scott. ‘Something came up.’ Yeah, like everything I’ve eaten in the last two days. It seems that I finally caught the nasty stomach flu that has made its rounds at the office. It’s miserable.
I cautiously take another sip of my ginger ale and say a silent prayer that it stays down. I settle back onto the couch and press play on the remote. I’ve spent the last two days watching the Harry Potter movies between trips to the bathroom. I jerk awake when someone pounds on the door. It’s obvious by the continuous knocking that whoever it is has been knocking for a while. I glance at the clock; I’ve been out for nearly an hour.
“Ugh, hold your horses, I’m coming,” I mumble as whoever it is knocks again. A quick look through the peephole and I see it’s Scott. Crap crap crap. Why is he here? I look down at myself and cringe. I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt that sports a big assed stain from a wine accident, my oldest, comfiest pajama pants that are nearly threadbare. My hair is a mess, and I know I look like absolute shit. More like shit twice warmed over and ran over.
“Mallory, I know you’re in there, open up!”
I push my over-hot forehead to the cool wood of the door and take a deep breath, then unlock the door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying really hard to sound nonchalant, but I’m silently freaking out because I hate that he’s seeing me like this.
“Are you sick?”
The question seems to trigger an instant response because I can feel the few sips of ginger ale I took before my impromptu nap staging a revolt in my stomach. I cover my mouth with my hand and turn and run to the bathroom, praying I make it.
A warm hand caresses the back of my neck as I lean over the toilet retching. “Oh God, get out of here,” I say between bouts of vomiting.
He ignores me, instead, he wets a rag and runs it over my forehead, then down around my neck. The coolness feels so good I could cry. When I’m fairly certain there is nothing left to puke, I stand on shaky legs. Scott puts a line of toothpaste on my toothbrush and hands it to me. I quickly brush the taste of bile from my mouth, both loving and hating that he’s here taking care of me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“Because… I’m gross. You don’t need to see me like this.”
Scott shakes his head. “It’s my job to take care of you. Besides, this isn’t the first time… remember the hot dog incident?”
“Oh God, don’t remind me.” We’d only been together for six months when we decided to road trip… I learned a rough lesson on that trip. Gas station hot dogs are not my friend. I was sick for the whole trip. I spent half the trip with my head hanging out the window of the car and the other half sprawled on the disgusting floor of a cheap motel bathroom. I’m not sure if this is worse or if that was worse. Probably that. Yeah, definitely that.
“Let’s get you into bed.”
I don’t have it in me to argue. I remember the tender way he’s always taken care of me when I’ve been sick in the past, and I won’t even lie, I need that right now.
“I’m sorry about our date.”
Scott pulls the covers up over me and tells me not to worry about it that we can go out anytime. That my health comes before anything. He sits on the edge of my bed and strokes my hair. It feels so good that I’m asleep within minutes.
* * *
Pregnant.
That one little word flashes on the screen to the seventh pregnancy test I’ve peed on, and I’m frozen in place staring at it. Seven positive tests. Seven. I’m pregnant. All at once I’m swamped with both excitement and trepidation.
Things have been great with Scott. I mean really, really great. It’s been nearly three months since I moved out and if I’m going to be completely honest, I was ready to move back in after the first month… I’m terrified of rushing back into things. We had a long talk over the weekend, he surprised me with a trip to Paradise Cove, and it was magical. Well, minus the little problem of puking after smelling the clam chowder at my favorite little restaurant in the charming small town. Which is what prompted the trip to the corner store and the panic buying of ten pregnancy tests the minute that Scott dropped me back off at home.
I look at the three unopened tests and debate the sanity in taking them. I’m pretty sure the chances of seven tests being wrong are pretty slim.
“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Zack calls from the living room. “Girl you will never believe what happened to me today.”
I quickly shove all the trash from the tests back into the bag and collect all my positives with their two lines, plus signs, and bold declarations of pregnant, and rush across the hall to my bedroom. I’m standing in the middle of the room with an armload of evidence to something I’m positive—ha ha I’m just positive all over the place today—that I don’t want to tell anyone about when Zack pushes my door open.
I’m not exactly sure why I do what I do in that moment, but I toss all the tests in the air and run toward Zack, trying to push him out of my room before he can see. All of this was stupid for multiple reasons. One: the floors are hardwood. Two: I’m a major klutz and I haven’t had a good fall in long while. Which is why when I step on one of the little plastic sticks and go sliding across the floor, I’m not in the least bit surprised.
Zack’s quick reflexes are the only thing that saves me from busting my ass. I am super thankful, don’t get me wrong, but now he’s in my room, standing in the middle of the fallen pregnancy tests looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Uhm, there something you want to talk about, Mal?” he asks. He picks up one of the tests and his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, so, I’m pregnant! Yay! Maybe?” And then I burst into tears. Big ugly cry tears.
Chapter Ten