Happily Ever Ninja(20)

Still, the end doesn’t justify the means; hacking into cell phones isn’t funny. And yet . . . Greg made it funny. He made people both wince and laugh, feel guilty and good at the same time. As Sandra might say, it was his superpower.

“What’s the current crisis?” I changed the subject, unzipping my coat and allowing Sandra to help me remove it.

“Janie is hiding in the bathroom.” Elizabeth turned me toward a hallway.

I frowned at this news. “Again? Why?”

“She isn’t precisely hiding, but she won’t come out. And she sounds . . . not well,” Sandra clarified.

“Not well?” I spotted Marie and Kat directly ahead of me, standing on either side of the closed bathroom door, and gave them both a quick hug.

“I think she’s throwing up again.” Marie’s forehead creased.

Elizabeth shook her head at this news. “If she’d told me she was sick we could have moved the party to my apartment.”

“She keeps insisting everything is fine,” Kat whispered to our circle. “But she’s been in there since I arrived twenty minutes ago to help set things up.”

“What does Quinn say?” I lowered my voice to match Kat’s pitch.

“He’s not home yet.”

“Did you try calling him?” I asked, glancing at the closed door.

“I called him.” Elizabeth showed me her cell as though to prove her efforts. “So did Sandra.”

“He said he was on his way home and told us to mind our own business.” Sandra did her best Quinn Sullivan impression, which would have made me smile if the situation had been different.

“What do we do? Ashley and Drew will be here in a few minutes and the rest of the guests will start arriving at five. Do we move the party?” Marie asked, and all eyes were pointed at me to provide the answer.

I surveyed my friends’ worried expressions, then the door where the sound of Janie coughing was just audible. I walked around Kat and Elizabeth, crossed to the door, and knocked gently.

“Janie, it’s Fiona.”

“Oh, hi Fiona.” She sounded weak, unsteady, and I heard her sniff. “I’ll be right out, I just need to . . .”

When Janie didn’t finish her sentence, but instead made a horrid dry-heaving sound, I retrieved two bobby pins from my pants pocket. “Janie, I’m coming in.”

“You can’t. The door is locked. I need another minute.”

“Elizabeth, can you bring me a glass of juice? Not apple. Lemonade if she has it.” I picked the simple lock while I made this request.

“If she’s got a stomach flu, flat ginger ale would be better,” Elizabeth suggested.

I shook my head. Based on the facts presented, I was fairly certain Janie’s illness wasn’t as transitory as a stomach flu; Quinn’s response and lack of overt concern being the most damning of the evidence. He knew what was up . . .

“No. Lemonade. And Saltines.”

Sandra squinted at me. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

I shushed her, which had the opposite effect I’d intended. Sandra gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes growing impossibly large. “Oh my apple pie! Do you really think—”

I shushed her again and waved her back. “Give me a minute?” Before any of the other ladies could give voice to their questions, I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Janie was lying on the tile floor. Her long body was folded into a ball, her curly red hair in disarray around her head and shoulders. Her eyes opened and met mine. She wasn’t in pain, she was nauseous. Tremendously nauseous.

Yep. She was pregnant.

I tried not to smile, and failed. For better or for worse, parenthood is a club. It’s based on shared experiences, usually having to do with either indescribable joy and/or unspeakable suffering. I’d been the solo member of the parent club amongst my good friends for the last eight years. Therefore, I couldn’t help but feel a deep camaraderie with—and maybe also gratitude for—Janie now.

“We’ll move the party,” I said simply, and continued before Janie could protest. “We’ll move it to Elizabeth’s place. You stay here and rest. When it winds down, we’ll all come back to see if you’re feeling better.”

“I’m not sick, though most insurance companies and the AMA consider it a disease state.”

“I know.” I nodded once, then moved to the sink, wetting a clean washcloth with cool water and grabbing a dry fluffy towel. I knelt beside Janie, helped her lift her head so I could fit the fluffy towel beneath it, then dabbed at her forehead with the washcloth. “But apparently you also can’t host a party when you’re in your first trimester.”