Karma’s Kiss

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

It’s Saturday, close to lunchtime, and I’m crammed into the front seat of Queenie’s car with boxes wedging me in on all sides. We stuffed as many as we could in the back seat and the trunk, but there are still two at my feet and one on my lap, blocking my view out the front windshield. Queenie helped me pack up all the pregnancy stuff from Sawyer. I told her about the tests when I got home from work on Monday night, and she’s been my rock these last few days, letting me cry, rubbing my back, even skipping book club on Wednesday to stay with me and veg out while we binged a murder documentary.

Now, she turns down the volume on the country song blasting on the radio and frowns over at me.

“It’s been a few days now, hun…”

I offer a noncommittal hum.

“I just…I’m trying to wrap my head around it. You didn’t even seem this shaken up when you and Matthew ended things.”

I wasn’t.

“I really wanted a baby.” I say it as I stare out at the cornfields whipping past us. I don’t want to look at Queenie now. I haven’t cried at all today, and it feels like a real accomplishment.

“I know that. I just wish you weren’t taking this so hard. Babies will be in your future. You and Sawyer tried once, and not really—what’s stopping you from trying again?”

It’s not that simple. I’ve tried to explain it to her.

“Can’t you see? It’s one thing to get pregnant accidentally…”

“No, actually I can’t see. I don’t have my glasses—lost them two days ago. I think they’re somewhere at the office.”

I whip my head in her direction. “ Then why are you driving?! ”

“I can mostly make out the road fine. You just tell me when I’m supposed to turn off.”

We’re heading to drop some boxes with Marge’s niece. She’s pregnant and living on her own in a small trailer on the outskirts of town. When we get there—after a few wrong turns thanks to Queenie’s near-blindness—I unload everything onto her doorstep while my mom waits in the car. I feel like I’m making quick work of it, but I’m not fast enough because when I’m on the last one, Marge’s niece—blonde hair, big eyes, wide smile—swings open the screen door and starts bawling when she sees the amount of stuff we brought her.

“You have no idea how nice this is!”

She comes over, and her cute pregnant belly presses into me as she hugs me.

I pat her shoulder tepidly. It’s all I can manage. “No problem. Marge kept the compression socks. You’ll have to beg her for them. She’s pretty attached.” I sound pretty matter-of-fact about it all.

She laughs and wipes under her eyes as she pulls away from me. “Marge can keep them. Look at all this stuff. ”

She’s right. It’s a lot. I hadn’t realized how much Sawyer was buying since it was trickling in day by day, package by package. “Root through it and let me know if there are still things you’re missing.”

“ Are you kidding? This is more than enough! Thank you!”

Once I make it back to the car, Queenie’s waiting for me with a smile. “Now didn’t that feel good? Bet it lifted your spirits to help someone like that.”

“Eh, not really.”

She snorts at my depressed reply and throws the car into reverse. “Well you just need to get outta your funk. You know what you need? Fried okra. A whole plate of it with a side of ranch. How ’bout it?”

I sigh, tired of doing this song and dance with her. “Sure. Sounds good.”

It’s just easier to give in than to keep fighting her, and to be honest, fried okra does sound pretty good right now.

We head toward a barbecue joint named PJ’s, another institution in our small town. I grew up on their jalape?o cornbread and potato salad, but it’s the brisket they’re really known for. The moment I tug open the heavy wooden door, I’m greeted by the delicious scent of smoked meat. Maybe Queenie was right. Maybe I do just need a good meal.

I’m looking over the menu posted behind the counter, trying to decide if I want pork ribs or brisket, when Queenie jabs me with her elbow.

“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that Sawyer Garnett sitting over there in that booth with flowers!? Handsome as ever if you ask me.”

At the mention of his name, my heart plummets in my chest. I follow Queenie’s gaze, and sure enough, there’s Sawyer, sitting in a booth facing me, clutching a bouquet of yellow daisies on top of the table. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt and jeans. His expression is reserved, his eyes earnest and pleading. I can only look for a second before it makes my chest ache.

“You did this,” I accuse, and right away, she confirms my suspicion with her dramatically bad acting skills.

She steps back and flattens her hand over her chest. “ Me? Are you crazy?!”

My pursed lips and eye roll don’t intimidate her.

“I admit nothing. But why don’t you go on and eat with him?” she suggests. “I’m not that hungry anyway. I’ll just go keep myself busy at the library. Got a juicy new book on hold, Firefighter’s Fairy Tale , and the sequel, The Heat is On .”

She’s on her way out the door—whistling in fact—before I agree to this ridiculous plan. I haven’t seen Sawyer since he left our office on Monday, and honestly, I’m a bit embarrassed about how I handled things that night. Even so, there’s no going back and doing it differently. I was emotional—I still am—and I went into self-preservation mode.

Rather than walk over to him, I go back to scanning the menu, narrowing my eyes and studying it like it’s in Russian. I notice Sawyer approach out of the corner of my eye, and then his hand barely touches my back.

“Come sit down,” he says gently. “They’ll bring us food.”

I look up, straight into his warm brown eyes, and the full weight of how much I’ve missed him this week seems to slam down onto me all at once. Regret and embarrassment war inside me. “How’d you know what I want?”

The edge of his mouth tips up in the barest hint of a smile. “Just got one of everything.”

Humph. No way to argue with that.

I let him lead me to the corner booth, and I take the seat across from him.

“For you,” he says, holding out the daisies.

They’re big, and fat, and yellow. There are so many of them they could fill two vases.

“They’re pretty.” I take them and set them aside. “I don’t deserve them.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why’s that?”

“I was pretty mean to you on Monday. I should apologize.” I don’t even have the nerve to look him in the eye as I say it.

He doesn’t seem relieved by my apology. “It was a hard day. Are you doing okay?”

I shrug. “Not really. I’ve been keeping to myself a lot this week, trying to process things.”

“I respect that.” He swallows, pauses, then, “I’m curious though, that stuff you mentioned about Matthew…”

A flush overtakes my cheeks. Oh god. “Nothing’s happening there.”

In the days since he and his parents came to town, Matthew hasn’t tried to reach out to me, and I’m taking it as a sign that he might have followed my advice to go against their wishes.

Sawyer tips his head, studying me. “He did come here though?”

“He and his parents did, yeah. They…” I’m almost embarrassed to admit the cold, hard truth. “Essentially tried to bribe me to get back with Matthew. I don’t think they’re too excited about his new girlfriend or fiancée or whoever she is to him now.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline. “And Matthew went along with it?”

I cringe. “That day, yeah.”

“What did you end up telling them?”

I frown, confused. Then, “No, of course! I’m not getting back with Matthew!”

I can’t blame Sawyer for wanting confirmation of that. Monday I intentionally made the situation sound vague enough that in his mind, the door might have been left open. That was not one of my finest moments.

Sawyer leans over the table. “Listen, I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way we’d hoped, but that doesn’t mean we should throw in the towel.”

“No. I know.” I reach across the table, holding out my hand for his. When his warm palm covers mine, relief washes over me. I smile. “I still like you. Despite all the hurdles.”

Sawyer smiles back, a full-fledged knock-your-socks-off expression with dimples and all. “I like you too.”

“So we’re still together? You’ll forgive me?” I venture cautiously. Lord knows I’ve put this man through the wringer; I don’t deserve for him to still be here, willing to give me a chance.

He squeezes my hand. “More than ever.”

“All right. Whoa. Clear the table!” a waiter calls as he approaches. “I’ve got three heaping trays of food comin’ your way.”

We laugh and break apart as he starts setting out plates of smoked chicken, brisket, and pork ribs slathered in tangy barbecue sauce. Surrounding those are sides of coleslaw, baked beans, a plate piled high with fried okra, freshly baked bread, and two big glasses of iced tea.

The food is so good I could cry. Maybe there’s also a little relief in the fact that Sawyer and I might end up being okay. I tried to push him away earlier this week when I was at my lowest, and I’m glad he didn’t take it personally. When we’re down to the last roll, he tears it in two and gives me half, our eyes lock, and things settle back into place.

So we didn’t end up getting pregnant on accident. It’ll be okay. Queenie’s right; there still might be babies in my future. For now, I have bigger issues.

Namely, nausea so intense I can’t leave my bathroom at Queenie’s house for most of the evening. It actually started when Sawyer was driving me to his place after our lunch. Once the warning signs started, I made up some lame excuse and rerouted us back to my mom’s so I could make a mad dash for the toilet.

It’s horrible. It feels like someone’s punched me in the stomach. Queenie’s been trying to get me to drink fluids, but I can’t keep anything down and the food she brings me smells so disgusting. Eventually, I feel like I have no choice but to check in on Sawyer, either to warn him of what’s to come (sorry, bud) or to see if he’s currently suffering as badly as I am.

Lying down on the cold tile, stripped down to my underwear and bra with sweat-matted hair, I shoot him a text. I’m not sure how to put it delicately .

Hey, are you feeling okay? That lunch isn’t sitting well with me…just wanted to see if you’re sick too?

Then I close my eyes and focus on the feel of the cold tile, breathing through my mouth to try to quell the persistent nausea. Fortunately, he texts back quickly.

Totally fine. You need anything? I can run by the store.

Oh dear god.

NO. Do not come here. I must have had a bad bite of chicken or something. Food poisoning. Blegh.

I groan and let my phone clatter to the ground. It’s better that he isn’t sick too. I’d feel bad. I can do this. I can hug this toilet like it’s a lifeline and make it through the night. If I lie perfectly still, without moving, my stomach almost settles.

I close my eyes and hover in limbo, then sometime later, there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“Madison? Sweetie, Sawyer’s here,” my mom says gently.

I try to sit up, and my stomach protests. “No. God no. Send him away!”

“Too late,” says a masculine voice.

It’s him! He’s right outside the bathroom door.

I groan despairingly, but Queenie just chuckles lightly. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Besides, it’s good he’s here. I need to run to the store and grab you some more Gatorade. Sawyer will keep watch over you just in case.”

I don’t need a minder—I need a swift death.

I hear Queenie walk away down the hall and then the bathroom door creaks open. I can’t imagine what I look like to Sawyer, all splayed out on the ground, and I don’t have the energy to take stock of myself. I’m in survival mode, in the trenches.

I close my eyes as he approaches. I smell his body wash, feel his hands as he smooths my hair off my forehead. Still, I’m too embarrassed to look at him.

“Hey, champ.”

His voice is so soft I melt.

“I stink.”

“Nah.”

He sounds so convincing I almost believe him. Then he bends to scoop me up off the tile.

“I might be sick again,” I warn, but he ignores me, cradling me against his chest as he toes open the door to my childhood bedroom.

“Pink, cute. And are those Harry Potter sheets?”

I peek through my eyelids and venture a quick glance up. He’s looking at me, warm and tender and loving. I wonder what kind of dad he would have been.

The thought strikes me so deeply I could cry. I’m short on liquids at the moment though, so fortunately, I only get choked up a bit.

He tugs back the blankets and lays me down. While I settle, he heads to the kitchen and returns with a cold, damp towel that he lays across my forehead. I shiver at first, but it feels nice. My eyes drift closed again. I’m so tired I’m not sure how long I’ll last now that I’m in my bed.

I’m already starting to slip away when Sawyer asks, “Are you sure this is food poisoning?”

“Hmm,” I ask sleepily. “What else would it be?”

There’s a long pause and then, “I don’t know. Forget it. Sleep. I’ll be here.”