Remember, Everything Will Be Alright

VII

Warnings: Vomiting

16 August 2019

"How do I look?" Dan asked as he stepped out from the bathroom, into the hall where Phil could see him. He strutted further into the living room, voguing with every step to show off all the effort he had put into his look that evening.

The day prior, he had gotten his hair trimmed in preparation for his and Phil's date. He had plucked his eyebrows, and he had moisturized his lips with a balm he knew would render him tender and kissable by the end of the night. He wore the shirt with a printed, kaleidoscope lace that hid skulls among the thread pattern. He tucked the bottom of his button-down into a pair of black, corduroy trousers.

Phil gasped as he stood to meet Dan. "You're as cute as a button."

"You don't think this shirt's a bit tight around... my, uh"—he motioned to his midsection—"my... the baby?" he asked. Even if the baby was barely the size of a blueberry, Dan couldn't exactly take full responsibility for not properly fitting into the garment the way he did when he first bought it.

Phil couldn't help but smile as he focused his attention to where Dan had directed it: the roundness that had been pulling the form-fitting fabric taut. "I mean, your belly's definitely the statement piece of the whole ensemble," Phil said as he took Dan's swollen middle between his hands.

"That's the thing. Is that a statement I need to be making this early on?"

"You asked for my opinion, but I think you've already made up your mind," Phil said. "You could have just let the shirt hang over. Hide the baby away, and not cause a fuss. But no, you've done the extra step of tucking it in; making your tiny bump that much more visible."

"Jesus, Dr. Lecter! It was a yes or no question. No need to psychoanalyze me."

Phil chuckled. "You're ready?"

Dan nodded.

"You've got your mints?"

Dan pulled the tin of breath mints from his back pocket and held them up for Phil to see. "Yup." Less than twenty-four hours before, Dan got his first acidic taste of morning sickness. Dan's mum suggested that he try to eat peppermint to sooth his upset stomach, and so far, it worked like a charm.

"Great. And one more thing," Phil said. "If you get tired or dizzy or whatever, promise me that you'll tell me so we can go home."

"I will," Dan said. "I'm hungry like a motherfucker, though. I doubt any amount of nausea will be enough to make me cancel our dinner plans."

Phil didn't let Dan's confidence assuage his worries that their date would wear Dan out. Dan had been the one to suggest that they splurge on a nice dinner, and Phil had tagged on the condition that they go to the art gallery that Friday night. "It's my coworker's, girlfriend's passion project," Phil explained to Dan as they shared the backseat of a taxi. "I told him that I'd swing by to support her."

"What's her deal?" Dan asked, the bumpiness of the car ride stealing his ability to articulate his questions with specificity. They hadn't left the apartment for more than five minutes, and Dan was already feeling sick.

"Are you okay?" Phil asked, noticing the tenseness in Dan's jaws as he swallowed down his saliva by the mouthful.

Dan nodded. "I'm good," he said.

"Aw! My poor baby!" Phil rested his arm around Dan.

Dan knew he wasn't on the brink of vomiting. Not like he had been the day before when sweat tore through his brow and he could feel his throat closing off. The persistent bouts of nausea and vomiting were eerily similar to the symptoms of sunstroke he got while tanning in Morocco nearly seventeen years before. Only the night before, he was at home, and rather than his mum rubbing his back to comfort him through the lightheadedness and stomach cramps, it was Phil.