A Place in the Sun(72)

“I’ve gotten myself into real trouble in Italy.”

“How? Have you gambled away all your money? Broken the law? Murdered someone?”

“Worse. I’m in love.”

She laughed. “I…well, that doesn’t sound all that bad, to be honest.”

“He doesn’t love me back, Andie! Keep up!”

“Oh, Georgie. I’m so sorry.”

I groaned. “It’s so bloody complicated, Andie. The worst sort of situation, and I can’t keep anything down. I think I’m lovesick, truly, vomitously so.”

“So you’ve been throwing up?”

“For the last few days.”

“What else is going on? Do you have a fever?”

“I don’t know. On an emotional level, I feel very cold, so probably not.”

“Do you feel flu-ish?”

“Maybe. I’ve had headaches and I feel like I’m always on the brink of tears. I’m tired all the time, even when I get a few decent hours of sleep. Just yesterday I walked into a room to grab something and I couldn’t remember what it was. My brain isn’t working, I swear it. It’s like I’m a zombie.”

“Sounds terrible, Georgie.”

“Oh well, I guess there’s not much to be done now.”

“Do you want to tell me about him?”

I pinched my eyes closed. “Imagine the most gorgeous, thoughtful, lovely man in the world and then multiple that by ten billion. That’s Gianluca.”

She hummed. “Sounds like the type of man you could talk to about this sort of thing. Have you tried explaining to him how you feel?”

“I can’t go near him. You see, we have a very 21st-century relationship, where even though he doesn’t love me back we still frequently…shag. But at the moment I couldn’t bear it because my breasts are bloody tender. Do you think it’s possible my heart ripped in two, and that maybe the pieces have lodged themselves into my boobs?”

“Georgie…”

“I can’t do it. If this is love, it’s too much. I can’t go on like…like some—”

“Georgie!”

“What?!”

“When did you last have your period?”

“I don’t know, but that hardly seems relevant when I’m dying of a broken heart. And anyway—”

“I think you might be more than lovesick. Those sound like pregnancy symptoms.”

WHAT?!

I threw my mobile across the room so fast it collided with the wall and clattered to the ground, screen split in two.

No.

No. Not possible.

CRAP.

I stood and ran for my mobile, trying to turn it back on. It was bloody broken. That’s what I get for swimming so many laps and toning up my arms—I can now throw with the force of Wonder Woman.

I slapped it against my palm a couple times and then held down the power button for a solid minute. Nothing.

R.I.P., you useless piece of shite that is actually quite useful when navigating a foreign country.

I turned on my laptop, something I’d rarely done since arriving in Vernazza, and worded a quick email to Andie. She replied within minutes.



To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Dear Andie,

Thank you for your advice regarding my sickness. You are—sadly—very, very mistaken, possibly delusional. Just because you possess the fertility of ancient Mesopotamia doesn’t mean the rest of us are baby-making machines.

As you are barking mad, please refrain from giving any more advice to others until you seek professional help.



Your Concerned SIL, Georgie

___



To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Georgie,

I know it’s a lot to handle, but you need to think it over. Seriously. Fatigue, morning sickness, tender breasts. I’d be willing to bet you even missed your last period…

Don’t freak out. Call me back.



Your EVEN MORE concerned SIL, Andie

___



To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Dear Andie,

What a rapid reply, have they let you bring your computer into the asylum? What’s concerning is that you think pregnancy is even an option. ARE YOU PREGNANT? I took one semester of psychology, and I remember learning about your condition. It’s called projecting. Is that what this is all about?

I’ve attached a few names of proper therapists in London. Please do give them a call.



Will pray for your speedy recovery, Georgie

___



To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Ha ha. Just take a pregnancy test. Once you know for sure, you can decide what you’ll do. Until then, you’ll drive yourself crazy worrying.

-Andie

___



To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Dear Andie,

Let’s entertain your sick fantasy for a moment. What’ll I do?! If I am in fact pregnant (*massive eye roll*), I’d be so completely lost I would simply pop out of existence and cease to exist. Due to the fact that I do, indeed, exist, it stands to reason that I therefore could not possibly be preggo.