A Pregnant Proposal. Elizabeth Harbison

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      “I’m sorry.” Jennifer Martin dabbed at her teary eyes with a tissue and tried to hold back a sob. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

      “You don’t know what’s wrong?” her friend, Susan Bane, repeated incredulously. “Five weeks ago your fiancé died during a tête-à-tête in the Caribbean—with a married woman, no less—and you don’t know why you’re upset?”

      Jen blew her nose and tried to get comfortable on the stiff leather couch Philip had insisted was more “elegant” than the cozy down one she’d preferred. It was one more thing to be irritated with him about, and that irritation with a dead man was one more thing to feel guilty about. Lately that was the way her emotions chased each other around; first anger, then sadness, then guilt.

      “Okay,” Jen said, taking a bottle of antacids off the side table and popping one of them into her mouth. It tasted chalky and disgusting, but she forced it down. “Obviously I have things to be upset about, but lately I’ve been just sobbing at the drop of a hat and it’s never for one clear reason. It seems to be getting worse, not better.”

      Susan leaned over from her chair and patted Jen’s forearm, concern etched in her features. “Honey, I had no idea it was still so bad. Do you want me to stay here with you for a few days?”

      Jen managed a smile. “Thanks, but I don’t think it would make much difference. Besides, the kids need you at home.” She blew her nose. “I’ll just wait it out and hope it gets better.”

      “Have you thought about getting professional help?”

      Jen waved the idea away with her hand.

      Susan persisted. “All right, then, maybe just some straight talk from a friend. I don’t want to sound disrespectful, but Philip isn’t worth a nervous breakdown. It’s awful that he died, of course, but for Pete’s sake, it happened because his lover tossed her silk robe on one of the forty candles he had lit in the bridal suite at some St. Thomas No-Tell Hotel when he told you that he was in Boston on business. He was not a nice guy. No matter what the reason, you’re better off not being married to him.”

      Jen pressed her lips together and nodded. “I agree. Knowing what I do now, he wasn’t good husband material.” She didn’t add that she was downright relieved that she wasn’t married to him.

      Susan snorted. “He wasn’t nearly good enough for you. I never thought he was.”

      “That’s funny, his parents never thought I was good enough for him. I guess a working girl from Michigan wasn’t what they had in mind for an up-and-coming Chicago uberlawyer. His father’s firm is all about image, and I didn’t fit it. They all drive the same kind of car. The same color even.” She shook her head. “I didn’t fit in with the blue, luxury station wagon wives.”

      “See? So you’re better off without them, too.” Susan gave a sympathetic smile and added gently, “You have to put it all behind you and move on.”

      “That’s just it,” Jen said, as tears burned her eyes again. She impatiently whipped a tissue out of the box next to her and held it against her eyes for a moment. “I don’t even think it’s Philip or what would have been our marriage that’s got me so upset. I don’t know what it is.” She reached for the antacids again and shook two more into her hand.

      Susan watched her closely, then asked, “What’s with you and the Tums?”

      Jen sniffed and shrugged. “I’ve had the worst heartburn lately.”

      “Hmm.”

      “It’s probably from being upset all the time.”

      Susan appeared to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “That makes sense. More proof that you need to get this under control. How about a glass of wine?”

      Jen made a face. “I’m not particularly in the mood, but maybe it would help me sleep tonight.”

      “Like you need help sleeping,” Susan said with a laugh as she got up. She went to the kitchen and took two wineglasses off the rack. “Matt said he saw you slumped over a pile of papers at your desk yesterday.”

      “Oh, no, he saw me?” She imagined herself sleeping, mouth agape, perhaps even drooling, and cringed. “Why didn’t he wake me up?”

      Susan popped the cork out of a bottle of merlot. “He said you looked so peaceful he couldn’t bear to wake you. Figured you needed sleep, so he closed the blinds and left you alone.”

      “So that’s who closed the blinds! Good lord, I thought I was going nuts.” It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d done something and forgotten about it lately. In the past couple of weeks, she’d even had momentary lapses where she got lost halfway to work.

      “Stress can certainly make you feel like you’re going nuts.”

      “You can say that again.” She sighed, and pushed her thick auburn hair out of her eyes. “I can’t believe Matt saw me like that. Did he say anything else? Was I snoring?”

      Susan handed her a glass and took a sip from her own. “Yeah. And drooling. It sounded hideous.” She laughed. “Come on, you know Matt wouldn’t say if you were.”

      “I guess not.” Truth was, she barely knew Matt Holder. As the Director of Human Resources at Kane Haley, Incorporated, his path rarely crossed that of Jen, who was the Benefits Manager. His office was on the 16th floor, hers was on the 14th. Until a few months ago, he was only a face she’d seen from afar. An attractive face, to be sure—with short, wavy dark hair, warm hazel eyes and a crooked smile that transformed his whole face—but not someone she dealt with much. “But still, he went around telling people I fell asleep on the job.”

      “He didn’t tell ‘people,”’ Susan said. “He told me, and that was only because he was worried about you. In fact, he was quite worried about you.”

      What little indignation Jen had been able to work up deflated instantly. Matt was a great guy and she knew it. When one of Susan’s kids had broken a leg, Matt had come to her rescue, covering a huge chunk of her work and making sure she was able to spend as much time at home with little Margaret as she needed to without penalty. He’d never mentioned to anyone that Susan was missing work. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would go spreading ugly talk about anyone. “No one needs to worry about me.”

      “Well, we’re going to anyway. Face it, Jen, you’re cursed with friends who care.”

      Jen’s chest began to ache, and a now-familiar burn touched her eyes. “Thanks.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “See what I mean? Everything makes me cry these days.” She picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. It tasted bitter, and burned her throat. She set the glass down as a wave of cold washed over her.

      “You’re clearly on an emotional roller coaster,” she heard Susan say, but before she could respond, her stomach lurched.

      “I’m going to be sick,” Jen said.

      “You’re going to be fine, Jen, it’s just going to take some time to—”

      “No, I’m going to be sick. Now!” She leapt from her seat and ran to the bathroom, making it just in time.

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