Where the Stars Fall

39 | Proposals

Six weeks later...

"THAT WAS SO ROMANTIC, Brian Anderson!"  Olivia angles her head at me, on her face a sullen frown.

Oh come on.

"That was everything I've ever dreamed about all of my life... Oh, crap! Here it comes again..." She throws her head back into the toilet bowl and my heart falls into the pit of my stomach. 

I'm on my knees too, half awake, half asleep, already waiting with a bottle of cold sparkling water by my side.

Why the hell people call it morning sickness, I don't know, because it's just past midnight and we're already here, in the land of nausea and vomiting. And it's been like this for almost a month now.

She comes up again, looking as pale as if she was about to pass out.

"Here, sweetheart." I hand her a towel. "Liv, for crying out loud, look at you! It's not easing off. How can you–"

"But it will. We just have to give it some time." Her voice sounds strangled as it passes her lips.

A few instants later another wave hits her.

I come closer to hold back her hair. "Still, that's very stupid. Romantic or not, you're not going anywhere. What kind of crazy idea is that? It doesn't make any sense that you–"

"You're wearing that cologne again? Go away!"

"No, I'm not. I've also made sure no one else in the neighbourhood is wearing it either." God, everything makes her queasy, including me. "Maybe if I get you something to nibble..."

"Oh, Christ no. No food."

And that sets it off again. Crap. Why isn't she like my sister, who could ward off any nausea simply by shoving a cracker down?

A good half hour later everything seems to have calmed down. Leaning her head back against the tiled wall, she looks exhausted and kind of green.

"Here, Fiona. Have a few sips." I hand her a glass of water.

She smiles a little. "Looking like an ogre again, huh?"

"Yeah. A cute ogre, though. A cute and very stubborn ogre. Come here." I pull her gently and sit her between my legs, her back against my chest so that I can soothe her a little.

And get back to the conversation I was trying to have before: I want her to move in with me, but she's reluctant to accept that's the best option for everyone.

"I just hope I don't develop hyperemesis. That'd be terrible."

Hyper–what? My guess is that I should know already what the hell that means. It's probably in that book she gave me, the one I'm still reading. Slowly. Very slowly.

That thing is a drag.

Pregnancy Sucks for Men, that's what I've been secretly checking. I borrowed it from Mark. It was his holy bible and, apparently, served its purpose just fine. And Being a Great Dad for Dummies, too. They're probably not very scientific, but who the fuck cares when they explain to you in plain English what's going on here? It's the crazy pregnancy hormones; it feels as though she's being held upside down while having a hangover and being seasick at the same time.

"Yeah, that'd be awful..." I improvise and go along with the context.

Pregnancy jargon is tough, and experts advice in this situation would be to never tell them you have no bloody idea what they're talking about. They're very sensitive as it is, and there's no need to piss them off when they're so emotional already. Instead, and if you wish to live, you fib. Yes, just a little. At one in the bloody morning, there's no need to make things more difficult than they already are.