I sit at JFK airport waiting for my Denver flight to be announced. It’s a last-minute flight, but I didn’t pay for it. All those months taking short haul flights upstate on Dad’s campaign trail are paying off now. I used all my points to buy a first-class ticket to see my sister, Bethany.

I’m so done with this concrete jungle. Dreams aren’t made here, they’re broken.

They shouldn’t call this city the Big Apple.

They should call it the Poison Apple.

I’m getting the hell away from this place.

Last night, I saw Knox fight. It was stupid going there, but because he blocked me out after our argument, I wanted to see him face to face and give him a piece of my mind. But the place was a crowded mess, and after Knox won, I ended up waiting beside the wrong car, thinking I’d see him. But he left with Foster and didn’t see me.

I went home angry and didn’t sleep for the entire night. My bed was cold and felt hollow after just one night with Knox’s warm body beside me. That thought made me so upset, I spent the rest of the night rolling around on the damn couch in my living room.

Then, today, after waking up feeling like shit and still dragging my ass into work, I had the worst argument with my mother about all their meddling and interference. When I grabbed my purse to walk out for some fresh air, she had the nerve to tell me that as her boss, she forbade me from leaving. That’s when I quit.

But I made the worst mistake leaving through the front doors of this office building. The paps were waiting for me. It was only two of them, from some unknown online political paper. Those vultures had the nerve to ask about me and Knox, hurtling questions my way as they snapped their cameras in my face.

---

When’s the big wedding?

Who’ll be at the engagement party?

Where will you live together?

Does Senator Harrison approve of Knox Steele?

What is Knox Steele’s real political affiliation?

Are you thinking of starting a family soon?

---

I ducked into another office building with a bunch of security guards in the entrance, and they left me alone.

So yeah. I’m friendless, unemployed, and about to be the subject of more media attention. I figure I may as well take a vacation out west.

A couple of hours later, on the plane, I lean back in my seat in first class, stuffed after eating every bit of food they offered me. Chicken l’orange, two dinner rolls, a decadent-tasting chocolate éclair, and three packs of those little mixed nuts. I have drinks too, but not alcohol. With the mood I’m in, I would get shit-faced, but I got a whiff of the alcohol on the breath of this guy in the seat across the aisle, and the smell caused my stomach to turn. Like a double flip. So, I’m playing it safe with alcohol-free virgin cocktails. Virgin daiquiris, virgin Pina coladas, even a virgin sex on the beach, which I honestly didn’t know existed. Every drink is so sugary and sweet they feel like another helping of dessert. There’s two hours left of the flight. Pushing my seat back all the way, I pull the blanket over my face and close my eyes.

I open my eyes to the sound of my own voice, groaning as though I’m in pain. I don’t think I was dreaming. But then I feel the fingers taping on my shoulder and look up to see the middle-aged blonde flight attendant who served me all that food and virgin cocktails.

“Yes?” I groan out the question.

“Ma’am, are you all right? You sound like you’re in a lot of pain.”

“I’m… I think I’m fine,” I tell her, still groggy.

But the loud roar from my stomach seems to disagree. A second later, the severe pain I must have been experiencing during my sleep hits me hard, and I double over.

“Ma’am?” she calls to me.

“I don’t think I’m fine,” I say, wincing in pain. I wrap my arms over my belly, hoping it will subside, but I hear a deep rumble.

Moving in a panic, I unbuckle my seat belt. “Bathroom!” I shout, and she steps aside, pointing toward the front of the plane.

I slip past her and hurry to the front. I’m so weak from the debilitating pain, that I have to hold onto each and every seat along the way. I finally get to the front. Thank goodness the restroom is empty. Closing the door behind me, I hustle to put down one of those seat protector paper towels. I sit, thinking I’m about to have the worst case of diarrhea in my life.

But I’m oh so very wrong.

It’s much, much worse.

I unlock the door from my seat and push it open so I can see a sliver of the hallway. This flight attendant must be a mind reader. She’s standing there with a stack of three or four vomit bags in her hand, just inches from the restroom door.

“Thanks,” I say, grabbing it and shutting the door just as fast.

I want to feel embarrassed but I can’t. I’m too sick to feel remorse as everything I’ve eaten is hurled into the bag at the exact same time that my bowels violently empty themselves.

Oh God. Please kill me now.

The flight attendant knocks feverishly on the restroom door a minute after the pilot came onto the intercom to announce that he and the copilot are preparing for landing.

“Ma’am?” she calls, her voice laced with urgency.

“Yes,” I groan. I’m not just weak. I’m exhausted and I feel like if I stand up, I’ll faint.

“Ma’am, I’ll need you to finish up in there and return to your seat for the landing.”

“I can’t,” I say, pleading for an exception to that rule.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am, but you’ll have to try.”

“I swear to God, I feel so faint, and my bum is so raw, but there’s more coming out from...everywhere. Please let me stay in here. I promise I’ll hold on really tight. I’ll sign a waiver or whatever you need me to. I just can’t.”

“Open the door, Ma’am. I can give you something for that.” I unlock the door and open it a crack. She shows me an adult diaper. “It’s for our first-class passengers,” she informs me.

“Out of curiosity, what do you give the passengers in economy?” I ask with the last bit of energy I have. But I need to know.

“They have to go in their pants...or skirts,” she says flatly.

Grabbing the diaper, I slam the door shut and do my best to neaten up. I also slip the diaper on, because going in my pants is not an option. I wash my hands with loads of soap a few times, then my face, and try not to seem too embarrassed for hogging the restroom for so long. All the passengers in first class avert their eyes as I walk by, but I’m grateful I don’t have to make eye contact with anyone. I take my seat, snap on my seatbelt, and sit as still as possible to avoid an accident.

The plane lands, but not soon enough. I do manage to avoid soiling myself, and rush off the plane, sending a text to my sister to let her know I landed.

---

---

I lock my phone screen and look for the exit closest to the short-term parking garage. On my way out, I stop in the ladies’ restroom and get rid of the diaper. I feel like a winner because it’s clean. As soon as Bethany texts me the parking spot number, I drag my suitcase along, feeling so weak.

The first thing I notice is her naturally bright red hair. Her hair is like Mom’s, and mine is dark like Dad’s. She has the trunk open when I arrive, and puts my suitcase inside before pulling me into her arms.

“Oh my gosh, I missed you so much, little sis! Jeez, have you lost weight? All I feel is bone on your back and ribs on your chest. Please don’t tell me you’re dieting.” She pulls back and studies my face. “Damn girl, you look like shit!”

I nod. “Nice to see you too, Beth. Can we go home now?”

“Of course. I have a few bottles of water in case you haven’t had anything to drink.”

“Great. It’s probably best if I have it when we get to your place,” I say, refusing to risk having to stop on a Colorado freeway to take a dump and throw up at the same time.

After I give her the run down on how horribly wrong my flight went, she has a puzzled look on her face.

“Sounds like the twenty-four-hour flu bug,” she says. “Either that, or you’re pregnant.”

All the air leaves my lungs.

“Don’t joke around like that, Beth. The way I’ve been feeling for the last two weeks. It’s been awful. Please don’t jinx me.”

She glances over at me. “Okay, but when was your last period?”

“Oh that’s easy. It was on...” I grab my phone, unlocking the screen, then open up my electronic notepad. I log the start and end date in here every month like clockwork. “It was on...”

“Go on,” she presses. “When was it?”

I look at the note and scratch my head.

“Hmmm. Today is July seventh, so that means...”

Oh God. The last entry in my notepad is May fifteenth to eighteenth.

“I don’t know how this happened.” I look over at her, already weak, and now, in a fit of panic. “I’m over three weeks late.”

“Oh. Wow.” Bethany check her mirrors and flicks on her right indicator lights. She makes a couple of lane changes, getting off the next exit ramp. A few minutes after, she parks at a big retail superstore. “Give me a few minutes.”

She goes inside and returns within minutes. “Here you go,” she says, then thrusts a plastic bag onto my lap and starts her car.

I don’t need to look inside the thin, flimsy white bag. There are seven or eight pregnancy tests in there, each one a different brand.

“Oh God,” I moan, my body weak.

“The birth control clinic in town is open today, but as you don’t feel well, I’ll set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. You’re going to need some rest after all these tests come back positive.”

“Gee, I’m so glad you have such faith in me, sis.”

“I’m going on instinct. My gut tells me you’re carrying that asshole’s baby. Let’s just get the results and we’ll go from there. Everything will be fine. I’ll take care of it.”

If I’m pregnant, I also don’t have a job, the father isn’t talking to me, Mom and Dad are going to go nuts when they find out, and I’m nowhere close to being ready to be a single mother.

Somehow, I don’t feel so sure of anything.