I have been good for two weeks since graduation. But now I’ve started spotting really badly again, so I adhered to my doctor’s orders and have been cooped up inside, watching TV and reading. At the moment, I’m reading the article in Culinary Kings, which features the Head Chef Total Domination Winners. I really want to throw up when the writer goes off the grid and says that he thinks Randy and Deanna are still a couple. He even names her as his business partner, which is not the case. I take the magazine and toss it at my dresser drawer. I do it with such vigor that my stomach cramps.

“Sorry, Hayden,” I say, stroking my belly.

Tonight is the first time since my graduation that I’ll be getting out of the house. Sauce will open in four days, plus it’s my birthday. Randy thought it would be a good idea to celebrate both at once with our closest friends.

Despite being in a relationship with Deanna, which he hasn’t confirmed, Randy has been great with me. He comes over every night to make me dinner—good food like egg white, spinach, and quinoa quiche and red lentil soup. His goal is to keep me healthy. When we talk, it’s normally about business. He tells me how great things are going. He’s hired the entire kitchen and floor staff, which consists of some familiar faces like Samantha, Rita, and Sarah. Pete’s still our baker. Randy’s our executive chef, but after I join him, I’ll also assume the position two nights out of the week. I’m surprised he didn’t challenge me about it. He’s been so agreeable lately that it’s starting to worry me. Maybe all the passion and fire he felt for me has dwindled. I’m just a sickly, pregnant woman who’s uncomfortable all the time.

But not tonight! I get out of bed as fast as I can and go to the kitchen. I really only have one goal tonight, and that is to make Naomi take me seriously as a chef. She still thinks I’m going to ride Randy’s coattails all the way to success. She drops by to check on me at least twice a week, and I’ve been too tired to cook for her, so she usually eats whatever Randy cooks and then takes a container to Derek, who has become a fan of Randy’s food. I take it easy as I make my petite goat-cheese soufflés. I won’t let anyone eat them until Naomi has had a taste.

Three hours later, after the thirty miniature soufflés cool, I pack them into a container and walk as fast as I can to my bedroom to shower and get dressed. Carrie will be here soon. I’m spotting a little, but I promise myself that I won’t stay long. Neither will I play the part of the miserable pregnant lady. I plan on being the picture of a perfect hostess and birthday girl. Dr. Reinhart already said one key to getting through this difficult pregnancy is staying positive. Where the mind goes, the body follows.

By the time my ride arrives, I’m ready to go. Carrie lugs everything I’m taking to the car—the soufflés, my purse, and a bunch of white silk tablecloths to go over the temporary tables. Our permanent tables are supposed to arrive tomorrow.

“Are you sure I can’t carry something?” I ask her as she closes my door behind me.

“Nope. I have it,” she says enthusiastically.

From the moment we get into her black sedan, she talks about how setting up for the party went. “She tried to change the whole layout at the last minute. The one that you approved,” Carrie says, referring to Deanna.

I shift in my seat. “Is that so.”

“Yes, and she did!”

My mouth falls open. “She did!”

“Yes, but Randy made us change it back. He said nothing changes without your say-so.”

I sigh in relief.

“Oh, and I forgot to tell you, Lacy Howard got back to us today.”

Now I pipe up. “And what did she say?”

“Did you know that Deanna already contacted her?”

I jerk, taken aback. “What?”

“Yes, she said that she had spoken to Chef Deanna Blume, who already sent her a news release.”

I take a deep breath and try to continue following doctor’s orders and remain calm. As Carrie tells me she insisted that Lacy read her that press release, I try to recall how in the world Deanna could know to contact my school. Then it dawns on me—I mentioned it to Randy last week. He must’ve said something to her.

“Then she reads it and it says, Sauce, owned and operated by executive celebrity chef Randy Caruso, featuring delicious entrées prepared by guest celebrity chef Deanna Blume and others.”

I raise a hand, motioning her to stop talking immediately. “Carrie…”

“So,” she says loudly, “I told Randy, and he called the school and killed the press release. He did it right in front of me. It was so impressive. You should’ve been there. I mean…” She glances at me. “Are you sure he’s not in love with you?”

I’m so shocked she asked that question that saliva goes down the wrong pipe, and I cough like crazy.

“Sorry.” She reaches out to pat me on the back.

I lift a hand. “That’s okay. Please keep both hands on the steering wheel.”

She nods dutifully and clamps both hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry about that.”

I shake my head. Goodness. It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

We arrive thirty minutes early just as I had planned. The bells from Calypso jingle when we walk inside.

“You put them on the door?” I say, grinning.

“Yes, just as you wanted.” Carrie gets closer and lowers her voice. “She tried to stop me from doing it, but once again, Randy to the rescue.”

It finally dawns on me that Carrie is fishing. She thinks since I’m pregnant with Randy’s child, and he’s over often, we must have developed a romantic relationship.

I’m about to tell her that Randy and I are just business partners who finally learned how to be friends when Deanna sweeps in and pretends to not notice us. If I had any fight left in me, I would grab her and give her an earful about that stunt she tried to pull with my culinary school. But already, I can feel that pulling sensation in my vagina, so I have to remind myself that tonight I’m taking it nice and easy, and that means no stress.

First thing, I have Carrie set up my cheese soufflés. She asks if she can try one, and even though I intended for Nom to experience them first, I say yes. I watch Carrie bite into the soufflé and chew as though she’s experiencing a piece of heaven.

“Dear God, Gina. These are so divine.”

“Thanks,” I say, sort of believing she’s trying to stroke my ego. Naomi will be the true critic of my cooking. If my soufflés are as good as Carrie is making them out to be, then Naomi will have the same reaction. If they suck, then Naomi will let me know. It’s one reason why she’s my best friend—she’s always giving it to me straight, but she’s not harsh about it.

“Gina,” Randy says. I quickly turn, and he’s close behind me.

I feel as if I should run into his arms and kiss him or something, but I don’t. “Hey, I made it.”

His eyes travel down to my belly and then back up to my face. “How are you feeling?”

I swear it’s the first question he asks every time he sees me. “I’m fine. Thanks for including my birthday in this little celebration of ours.”

“It’s a big celebration, and that’s only because you’re part of it.

I glance at Carrie, and she’s smiling from ear to ear.

I drop my face bashfully. “Ah… that’s a nice thing to say.”

“It’s true,” he says with a catch in his voice.

When I look up, Randy is staring at me with a blank look on his face. Deanna walks up behind him and hugs his arm.

“Hi, Gina,” she says with a fake smile.

I try to muster my own phony smile, but I can’t. All that’s going through my mind is the name Lacy Howard. “The next time you take it upon on yourself to leave a press release in the name of Sauce, run it by me first. Understand?”

She straightens her posture as though I just slapped her in the face. “I was just helping out where I was asked.”

“You were just blatantly bitch slapping me by leaving out any mention of me as one of the partners in this here restaurant.”

She snarls sarcastically. “Well… you don’t have much experience.”

“But she’s talented,” Randy says. “I handled it, Gina. I also assure you that nothing like that will ever happen again.” His eyes widen with sincerity. “I promise.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. What does it mean when he looks at me that way?

Deanna grunts and rolls her eyes. “We’ll table this discussion for another day. Randy, you’re needed in the kitchen.”

Randy cracks a tiny smile. “See you later?”

I nod. He nods and then lets Deanna walk him to the kitchen.

Carrie grunts. “Goodness, I can’t stand her.”

I paste my fake smile back on. “Well, tonight is about having fun, so that’s your job requirement.”

She presses her lips together in a slight grimace. “I’m going to handle the drinks.” She walks away, still unsmiling.

Hayden and I are hungry, so I go from one chafing dish to the next, tasting the food. One by one, two by two, and in groups guests start to arrive. I hug friends I haven’t seen in months. Presents are left for me on a big table. I keep my eyes on the door, waiting for the one person I’ve been needing to impress.

Finally, Naomi arrives. Thank God. My ankles are on fire, and I’m nearly tired of smiling and avoiding watching Deanna attach herself to Randy. I do hug Naomi and let her know how happy I am to see her. She gives me a birthday present and a bottle of sparkling cider since she and I have been drinking that whenever she’s over at my house. I call Carrie over to take them. Then I lead Nom to my cheese soufflé and give her one.

She bites into it and chews. It looks as if she’s savoring the butter and herb flavors.

“Oh my God.” She opens her eyes and points at the plate. “You made this?”

I grin, satisfied. “So I can cook, can’t I?”

Naomi continues eating. “Yes. You surely can.”

We talk a little while about our plans for the menu and what dishes will be my specialty. Soon, she has to leave to catch an airplane to meet Derek in Aspen. Once she’s gone, I ask Carrie to take me home. I’ve hit my limit for the night. I don’t say good-bye to Randy because the crowd is extremely large and full of faces I don’t even recognize, which must be Deanna’s doing.

Carrie promises to drop my presents off tomorrow, so as soon as I get home, I strip off my clothes and go directly to bed.

* * *

My chiming cell phone, along with a deep sharpness in my stomach, wakes me up. There’s a lot I have to do in this moment—pee, throw up, and answer my phone. I quickly choose number three, hoping it’s Randy.

I hurry up and scoot to the edge of my bed and reach for my phone.

“Hello,” I say before the chiming ends.

“Hi, honey?”

“Hi, Dad.” I’m excited to hear from him, but now I have to pee. I start for the bathroom.

“Go look in your driveway.”

“Huh?”

“Go ahead. Look.”

I sigh and put off releasing my bladder for a minute or two. The only problem is the cramping in my stomach is getting worse. But I make it to my front window and open the curtain. A shiny burgundy SUV with a bow on top sits in my driveway, and my gasp is twofold.

“You see it?” My dad asks cheerily.

“Ah!” I grab my stomach and drop to my knees.

I feel wet, so I look down. Blood and clear fluid have fallen out of me. I scream louder. The pain is so bad that I grab the windowsill.

“Gina, honey, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. I’m…”

I can hear my dad yell for my mother to call 9-1-1 and send them to my place. “Just call!”

I can hear her shout, “What’s going on?”

The pain is too much to bear. I drop my phone and pant. The blood continues to flow. I drop myself to the front door, unlock it, and curl up on my side, clenching my stomach, waiting for help to arrive.