Drill Me, Sergeant Read online

  Tears well in my eyes and I swipe them away. I am not a crier and I’ll be damned if I’m going to start now. Mom grabs my hand and pulls me off the bed.

  “Come on, Nadine. Let’s go tell your dad the news so he can stop harassing Colt and congratulate him already.”

  Chapter Ten

  While my mom was an easy sell on the whole Colt and me in a relationship deal, my dad wasn’t quite so understanding about the whole thing. Deep down, I can tell that he’s happy for us. That he’s glad his friend is finally getting the baby he’s wanted and that I have a man who takes care of me almost as good as he does. He just can’t quite come to terms with our age difference yet.

  And while I get that to some degree, it’s really time he got over it. Christmas passes in this weird tense limbo where everyone is secretly happy about everything but can’t quite relax enough to be real with each other yet. My parents intended to stay until after New Years, but they pack up and go home the day after Christmas.

  Colt and I spend the rest of the day talking and planning. He’s ready for me to move in with him, but I can’t fathom dropping out of college when I’m this close to graduating. And he’s in a position where he can’t leave his business, at least not until he’s trained someone to run it in his absence. So the only thing we can do right now is go back to living separately and it’s killing me.

  Mom’s words keep coming back to me. She knew Dad was the man for her because it didn’t matter where they were, everything was better with him. In the past, I would have rolled my eyes and chalked it all up to more of her inspirational bullshit, but ever since Colt and I got together, my outlook has changed. I don’t think she’s forcing a positive attitude anymore. I think she’s just genuinely really happy in her life. When I think of Colt and the possibility of a future with him, I kind of think I could be really happy in my life, too.

  December becomes January and my morning sickness gets bad and as January becomes February, it gets worse. I haven’t been to class in three days because I just can’t get out of bed. And while that sounds melodramatic, you’ll have to take my word when I say it’s not. Nothing has stayed down for the last thirty-six hours and now, I’m just throwing up this awful yellow stuff. When I stand, the world spins and tilts and twists and in the rare moments when I’m aware of time passing, I’m scared. I called my OB yesterday and she told me to go to the ER. At the time, that sounded ridiculous. Who goes to the emergency room for morning sickness?

  But now? As the world spins and tilts and I can barely get to my feet? I wish I had gone. There’s no way I can get behind the wheel of a car and drive. Not now. Not with me being this delirious and I keep being afraid I’m dying. Again, I know that sounds so stupid, but it’s that bad.

  My stomach lurches and twists and I stumble into the bathroom, drop to my knees in front of the toilet, and heave and wretch until I’m afraid I’ll never get a full breath ever again. Tears run down my cheeks from the strain of it and when I finally spit a glob of that nasty yellow bile into the toilet, I haul myself to my feet to rinse my mouth. Clutching the edge of the sink, I stare at my face in the mirror. Red spots stand out in the sallow skin under my eyes, little nests of burst blood vessels from all the heaving and retching. I sag onto the sink, a sob coming from deep primal place inside me.

  I need Colt. I haven’t told him how bad I’ve been because I didn’t want to worry him, but I need him to hold me up and make me better. I need him to hold my hand and tell me what to do because things are spiraling out of control. Running a hand along the wall for balance, I stagger back into my bedroom and swipe my phone off its place on the nightstand. With trembling hands, I pull up his contact information and initiate the call.

  “Hey, sweetness!” His voice is warm and wonderful and I start crying the second I hear it.

  “Something’s wrong,” I manage.

  He rapid fires questions in my direction and I try to answer them the best I can but my tongue has gotten all thick and the world is upside down and the next thing I know is nothing.

  I wake once, in the ambulance, jostling and tilting. I’m awake long enough to throw up some more of that icky yellow stuff. The medic leans down, his face swimming in and out of focus.

  “Your blood pressure is really low.” His voice comes to me through a long tunnel. Distorted by miles of earth and water. “I need you to stay conscious, Nadine.”

  I have a second to wonder how he knew my name and then it’s all gone again. I am weightless, draped in darkness, and then I am nothing.

  The steady beep of a heart monitor wakes me to the worst rolling waves of nausea I have ever felt. I moan and roll my eyes closed, begging to fall back to sleep so I don’t have to feel like this anymore. Someone takes my hand. I know it’s Colt by the way he rubs my knuckle with his thumb.

  “Nadine?” he asks, his voice pinched with worry.

  I drag my eyes open and the heavy florescent lighting glares down at me. I swallow hard, squinting. “I need to sit up,” I manage, struggling to push my hands into the bed and get into a sitting position. I pause when I see there’s a needle in my hand, attached to an IV.

  “Hold on, sweetness. You just relax. I’m gonna take care of you now.” As Colt pushes the button on my hospital bed and the gears whir, helping me up into a sitting position, relief floods through me. I may be miserable, but he’s right. I can relax because I know he’s got me now.

  Even with Colt here, the next two days are hell. After I lost consciousness, they gave me a medication to help me keep food down. It’s designed for cancer patients and hasn’t even really been cleared for pregnant women yet, so the fact that they gave it to me without my consent is a bridge we’ll cross when I can get out of bed. The thing with the medicine is that while it has stopped me from throwing up, it hasn’t done anything to abate the nausea. I can’t remember a time I’ve been this miserable and I literally writhe and moan in discomfort.

  When I tell my nurse, she looks perplexed and not at all understanding. My doctor puts in an order for something called Phenergan and soon, the nausea is gone and I’m drowsy enough to sleep. The next time I wake up, Colt’s arguing with an orderly, his anger carrying through his hushed whispers.

  “What do you mean she can’t have anything to eat?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. She’s getting fluids through the IV but until the doctor is sure she’s going to keep things down…”

  “Have you seen her? A pregnant woman is supposed to glow. I swear she’s lost ten pounds since I saw her last week.”

  The orderly mumbles something else and I clear my throat and shift in my bed, hoping to catch Colt’s attention before he kills the guy. It works because he’s at my side in an instant, dragging a chair over to sit next to me.

  “Hey, baby,” he says as he takes my hand.

  “It’s okay about the food thing.” My voice grates through my raw throat and a wave of dizziness has me closing my eyes. “I couldn’t eat anything if they wanted me to.”

  Colt shakes his head. “How long were you this bad?”

  I twine my fingers with his. “I mean, every day is hard. Like, I’m never not nauseas and I throw up an average of fifteen times a day.” That’s right. I started tracking my trips to the bathroom. “But it got really bad a couple days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t think I’d end up here.” I swallow and close my eyes. “How many women have had morning sickness in the history of the world? I didn’t know it was dangerous.”

  “Listen to me, Nadine. I don’t care if it’s a bug bite or a broken leg, if something’s wrong with you, I want to know.”

  I smile and close my eyes and before I know it, I’m asleep again.

  When I finally talk to a doctor and answer all his questions, he tells me that I have something called Hyperemesis Gravidarum, which is basically morning sickness on steroids. It’s genetic and no one knows why it happens or how to stop it, but it sounds like I’ll be on Phenergan
for the rest of my pregnancy. He tells me to stay hydrated above all else, but that I’ll probably spend more than my fair share of time in the hospital getting fluids pumped into my arm. He jots down a few online support groups, tells me I can start trying to eat what he calls a ‘clear liquid diet’ and leaves.

  Mom and Dad show up, brows pursed in worry. Mom can’t get over how skinny I am and Dad thanks Colt for being here with me. They exchange a look that tells me all is right between them and then I succumb to the constant dreary weariness that is Phenergan and drift off to sleep.

  I spend another few days in the hospital, enduring the bullion broth and Jello hell that is a clear liquid diet, before they release me out into the wild with nothing more than a prescription and a pat on the shoulder. Colt makes a few calls and gets things covered at the security agency as best he can and moves in without even pausing to ask if I was okay with it.

  I am, by the way. Okay with it. The thought of going back to being alone and struggling through my days without him is sad and cold and all the things I’m not strong enough to handle right now. The first few days out of the hospital are great. I go back to class, only throw up a handful of times, and say about a hundred silent prayers, grateful to be through the worst of it.

  Turns out the worst is yet to come.

  Despite my ever-constant supply of Pedialyte pops and Gatorade, I lose control of things time and time again. Before I know it, the vomiting is back to thermonuclear levels and Colt’s holding my elbow as he helps lower me into his car for another visit to the ER. The online support groups help. It’s nothing more than women sharing their stories and offering kind words and the bits and pieces of advice that helped them.

  Throughout it all Colt is by my side. He picks up all my slack and anticipates all my needs. When I just can’t manage to get to classes anymore, he moves me into his house in Boulder and promises me we’ll figure out how I can finish my degree when I’m better. Things improve almost immediately once I move in and all I can think of are my mom’s words all those months ago. It doesn’t matter what’s going on in the background, things are just better with Colt.

  Finally, our baby arrives. Compared to my pregnancy, labor is a breeze and before I know what happened, I’m holding a tiny bundle of love in my arms. Our daughter. Within hours of her birth, the nausea dissipates. As if she didn’t already feel like a blessing, her arrival took all that was hard in my life and cast it aside. Now it’s just me and Colt and her, and happiness will forever have a new meaning for me. Mom was right. The best parts of life aren’t in all the noise. It’s not the hustle and bustle of a fast-paced job, coffee in one hand, cellphone in the other. It’s in these tiny moments, blips of the time where I’m surrounded by the people I love.

  Mom and Dad filter into the room, arms overflowing with gifts and flowers and balloons. Colt excuses himself and disappears out the door while my parents take turns staring at the miracle that is their granddaughter, Elena Jayne Barrett. When Colt comes back, he’s balancing a pizza in one hand and a thin plastic grocery bag dangles from the other. I recognize a pint of Ben & Jerry’s swinging in that bag and my mouth starts watering instantly. After months of not having an appetite, I finally have one. Leave it to Colt to anticipate that.

  “I thought we should celebrate,” he says, putting the pizza on my lap and unveiling the ice cream. “Which do you want first?”

  “First?” I ask. “I can’t have them both?”

  I eat without a single trace of nausea for the first time in months and maybe I was wrong. Maybe the best parts of life aren’t just the times when you’re surrounded by people you love, but it’s when you get to eat pizza and ice cream with them, too. As I grab my second slice out of the box, I catch Colt staring at me, a strange look on his face.

  “What?” I ask, suddenly terrified that I’ve got pizza sauce on my face and I’m chewing with my mouth open or some other idiotic thing I didn’t know I was doing because I can’t think around how good it all tastes. I swipe at the corner of my mouth the back of my hand and Colt smiles.

  “I wanted to do this month’s ago but I couldn’t. Not when you were so sick.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a black velvet box and drops to one knee beside the bed. “I was going to wait until I knew you were all better. Figure out a way to make it really count. Take you up in a hot air balloon and have a plane write the words in the sky. But I’m too damn impatient. I can’t wait any longer and I guess I figure what better way to do it than with all of us in here together. Nadine? Will you marry me?”

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I see my mom’s hand fly to her mouth and a smile stretch across my dad’s face as he rocks my daughter in his arms. I feel like I should say something witty. Make fun of him for proposing while I’ve got dirty hair and pizza sauce on my mouth or tell him I’d rather wait for the balloon ride. But I don’t. Because the only word that wants out of my mouth is yes.

  “I’ve only wanted this for my entire life,” I say. “You should have asked sooner, you jerk.”

  Turns out my yes comes with a heavy side of sarcasm.

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  Cock Me, Pilot

  I’ve had my eyes on my best friend’s dad for years. Brett’s a pilot, but beyond that, he’s all man.

  I’m saving myself for him … even though my fantasies may never be realized. I get off to the idea of us so many times — I’m literally aching for his touch.

  But then I need a ride home for Thanksgiving break … and Brett’s in town with his plane.

  I finally have a chance to see his cockpit … and damn if I’m not hoping to join the mile high club with this pilot.

  I’ll let him fly me anywhere … I just hope he wants to take me away.

  Mentor Me, Professor

  Frisk Me, Officer