The next day saw her experience her worst case of morning sickness since the commencement of her pregnancy. She retched and retched, spilling all the contents of her stomach in the toilet until she felt as if her intestines would come out next. At some point, someone entered the bathroom and she felt warm soft hands in her hair, pushing it back from her face and tying it up messily at the back of her head. One hand remained comfortingly on her back, rubbing circles while the other hand ministered to her hair, pushing the loose strands back, while her face remained glued to the toilet seat. Even after the retching had stopped she remained at the toilet seat, taking comfort in the coolness of the material against her burning flesh and the hands remained in place.
After what may have been hours, the hands withdrew and she felt the cool touch of a wet piece of cloth at her neck. She reached for it and used it to wipe away the vomit clinging to the corners of her mouth before attempting to stand up. She almost fell backwards but firm hands held her upright.
"Easy there," a voice whispered softly in her ear.
Fallon regretted wearing her old baggy pajamas to bed the previous night immediately. Why couldn't she have worn the sexy nightdress Berin got her for Christmas? She felt her face burning up in shame. Baggy pajamas and a face full of vomit, really classy Fallon, really classy.
"Doctor Cahill?"
"Taylor. Just Taylor," he whispered softly in her ear and guided her to the sink. "I am going to let go of you now just for a bit, can you stand on your own?"
"Am fine," Fallon said holding onto the sink for support.
She heard him flash the toilet behind her. Fallon opened her eyes and stared at her image in the mirror,her face had lost its usual rich colour, the skin on her cheeks was waxen and flushed, her eyes were red rimmed and swollen, her lips cracking and her hair a tangled mess. It was safe to say this was the worst she has ever looked, and she was counting the day she wore mud on her face for a talent show in fifth grade too.
Her counterpart in the mirror on the other hand looked perfect as he washed his hands in the next sink. Perfectly styled curls flowing down his shoulders and back, well pressed light blue shirt, slim fitting slacks that made an art out of those damn legs and not a single flying vomit had caught him anywhere.
Fallon ran some water threw some water on her face and rinsed her mouth. She turned back to grab a toothbrush but found him already holding it to her with some toothpaste on it too.
"Thanks," she said. "What's the time?"
"A quarter past six," he glanced at his watch which must have been waterproof, "you are up early."
Fallon used the brushing of her tongue as an excuse to stick it out at him.
He chuckled softly at her.
"What would you have for breakfast?"
That was it, if he knew how to cook too, Fallon was going to lay herself prostate before him ask him to marry her and have twenty of is babies.
"You cook?"
"No."
Fallon sighed in relief, he was human after all.
"So?"
"So what?"
He smiled patiently at her, "Breakfast, what will you have?"
"I can have anything I want?"
"Within reason."
"Cornflakes without milk, sausages, slightly burnt toast, tea and chocolate chip ice cream."
Fallon had meant it as a joke, her requests were all out of reason of course, the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile, "Anything else?"
"Well, some apple juice will be nice too," Fallon said as she returned her toothbrush in its place on the rack.
"What time is your class today?"
"Two?"
He nodded, "Go back to bed and lie in a little okay? I will let you know when breakfast is ready."
"But..."
"Trust your OB, the best treatment for morning sickness is a little lie in and some spoiling," he said with a wink.
Fallon went back the bed and crawled under the cool satin covers. It wasn't a bad idea after all and he slipped out of the room.
She was just about to drifted off to a light slumber for an hour or saw before the creaking of the door pulled her awake.
Taylor walked into the room, pushing a whole trolley of food in front of him. Fallon blinked and sat up. She watched him as he began taking arranging a tray of everything she had told him she wanted for breakfast.
"Cornflakes, sausages,toast hopefully I got that right, tea, ice cream and apple juice," he said. As if there was nothing wrong with him bringing each food and drink in huge proportions, he handed her a plate.
"Who did you think you were going to feed? A soccer team?"
"You are eating for three now, so I prepared enough for four people and an extra fifth just in case we get a visitor."
"You said you don't cook!"
"I don't."
"Then who prepared all these?"
He handed her a bowl of conflakes mixed with hot water and lots of sugar, just like she liked it.
"I said I don't cook. Doesn't mean I don't know how to."
The bastard!
He served a plate and sat down at the foot of the bed casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world and began to eat. Fallon was flustered but pushed it to the back of her mind. She finished up with her conflakes and picked up a slice of toast. It was crunchy with a slight hint of burning smell, just like she had been craving.
She closed her eyes in satisfaction, ,"Marry me please," the words slid out of her mouth without permission from her brain.
She only realized their implication when she noticed that he was no longer chewing, his hand had gone slack on his plate and he was staring at her as if she had suddenly grown thirteen extra heads.
She blushed profusely, "Sorry, I meant to say this is so good," she said as she stuffed more toast into her mouth.
Thankfully he did not milk her embarrassment. She had never been able to stand men who exploited an embarrassing moment to make fun of her.
"Tell me something about you. Something that I cannot find out by googling you," said Fallon feeling bold.
He seemed to give it a bit of thought before replying, "I believe in God and heaven but not hell."
"You are religious?" Somehow she could not imagine him going to church.
"I did not grow up with structured religion although I believe all religions have a point. You?"
"Catholic mom, Muslim dad, neutral daughters."
"So you don't believe in a higher power?"
She shrugged, "I don't although I would like to. I always envy religious people, they seem to live in such a bubble."
"Someday you would too. May I ask how your parents passed away?"
"Cancer," she replied, her voice a neutral tone she had been perfecting for five years.
"Both of them?"
"Yep. Mom pancreatic dad prostrate. Same year, same month," somehow, she did not find it so hard telling it to him as she often did telling other people.
His hand snaked to her wrist and gripped it gently, rubbing the pulse point and automatically hardening her nipples, "I am sorry."
She liked that he did not offer the usual useless condolences of: 'I understand how you feel' or 'I am sure they were wonderful people' or 'they are watching you from above'. No. He just gave a simple honest solid 'I am sorry.'
Fallon smiled at him and instinctively, they moved closer to each other, "Tell me something else," she demanded.
She was surprised by how much more food she consumed by just eating with him. She asked him how he maintained his slim body and he told her it was very simple, genetics. He worked out, but only sometimes,more for his health than for his strength. Fallon also learned he had a second degree in history and his support of gender confirmation surgery was due to a transgender friend who had taken his own life in childhood. In return, she told him about growing up in Miami, about her mother who had owned a small hair salon and who had always encouraged her children into sports as a way of encouraging self-discipline.
"So while Berin stuck with gymnastics, I learned a little of everything and just concluded that I was not talented enough for any of them."
He smiled, "Yeah. Sometimes that happens."
"What about you? Any sports? Surfing perhaps?"
"There is one I excelled at I even had a chance to go professional but declined to pursue my pre-med degree. Guess."
Fallon's face scrunched up in thought, "Soccer."
"No."
"Football, no not football you would have been crushed alive. Badminton? Tennis? Field hockey? Figure skating?"
Everything she tried to guess was met with a no. He laughed at some, told her she was close when she said figure skating and scoffed at others such as boxing.
"I give up," Fallon said polishing up her ice cream and reaching for a glass of apple juice to wash it down. "Tell me," she begged.
"Dance."
"No way...." She started to say, then looked at his slim tonned legs that crisscrossed perfectly on top of the covers. She had only seen those type of legs on a particular breed of dancers, "Let me guess, ballet?"
He grinned.
"Now that I think about it, all ballet dancers always have this type of legs."
"It is caused by the way they exercise their calf muscles."
Fallon thought of his intense way of doing things and enigmatic personality and guessed he would have excelled at ballet.
"Why didn't you pursue it?"
"Show business has never appealed to me like it did to Gina. Privacy is a heavy price to pay in exchange for fame and money, especially if you are already born into money."
Fallon was amazed when she stretched out a hand to reach for another sausage and found the tray empty.
"I can't believe we finished up all that food," she said as he gathered the trays and put them on the trolley.
"Told you we would."
"This was nice," Fallon said feeling shy, she looked down and fidgeted with the bedspread.
He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her eyes up to meet his, "This is an apology. I am sorry Fallon. I know I made a lot hasty choices yesterday that have affected you but I promise you, I would not leave Miami until you are comfortably settled."
Fallon leaned into him and he leaned too, until they were just separated by an inch, a second before their lips could touch, his phone vibrated in his shirt pocket and the connection broke. He groaned.
"This had better be fucking good," he said angrily into the phone. He listened briefly, gave her an unreadable look before mouthing the words 'Gotta go. Bye.' and slowly backed out of the room.
Fallon sighed and rubbed her thighs together, trying to create some friction to ease the pleasant ache that had been slowly building there, causing some moisture to sip slowly into the fabric of her underwear. What was wrong with her? He had barely even touched her and her feelings for Tom were still unresolved. If she was this horny, no wonder she was now knocked up.
She forced herself out of bed and headed to the shower to resolve some of her frustration there.