Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,53
manifest earlier. My silent partners are very interested.
—Matthew Icarus, diary entry, undated
Luv?” Lester knocked on the bathroom door, which just made Valerie’s head hurt more. “Luv, what’s the matter?”
Valerie reached up from her hunched position and waved a hand in front of the flush sensor for the toilet. “I’m fine,” she croaked. “I must’ve eaten something bad at that City Hall banquet last night.”
“That, or you took Mayor Fujikawa’s speech to heart.” The door rolled back, revealing Lester in torn jeans and a T-shirt for some obscure twentieth-century band called The Who. “I swear, I’ve never met such a man for banging on about absolutely nothing.”
“That’s your sponsor you’re slagging off.” After a year of living with Lester, Valerie’s American English was peppered with Britishisms, much to the dismay of Corp and her sponsor.
The thought of her sponsor made her stomach buck again and she lunged for the toilet. “Oh, Jehovah …” Her voice cut off as a fresh wave of vomit spewed out.
“My sponsor can take a fast hoverbike to hell,” Lester said quietly, holding her hair out of the way. “Luv, really. Do you need to visit Medical?”
“No,” Valerie insisted. “It’s either food poisoning, or PMS. I get nausea sometimes at this part of the month …”
Though she hadn’t last month … oh.
Oh boy.
“Les?” she said, as he dabbed a cool washcloth on the back of her neck. She found herself incapable of looking anywhere except the white and blue tile floor of her and Lester’s shared quarters. That had been a media coup—the darlings of New Chicago, shacking up.
“What’s wrong, Vals?” His face furrowed with concern. “You going to keel over? Feeling dizzy?”
“I, uh.” Valerie straightened her spine. She’d faced worse situations than this. Though probably not more awkward.
“Les, I don’t think it was something I ate,” she said. “I just realized it’s been two months.”
“You’ve been nauseous for two months? Don’t tell me it’s my company, darling.”
“No, Les. It’s been two months since I last got my period.”
Lester’s eyes went wide, like he’d just spotted a hoverbike about to fall on his head.
Jehovah, why me? Valerie thought. Angelica and Blackout should be the ones about to embrace parenthood. Not her, awkward too-tall Valerie Vincent, who was still Valerie Vincent, for Christo’s sake, and not even Valerie Bradford. Her mother would have dropped dead on the spot.
“You’re pregnant?” Lester’s touch became warm as his power surged from emotional backdraft.
“Well, I’d have to get a test and make sure I counted right and go talk to a doctor in Medical and …” Valerie realized she was babbling and bit her lip. “Yes. I don’t see what else it could be.”
She’d never had to have the bun-in-the-food-unit talk with a man before, so she wasn’t sure what she expected. Maybe yelling, or accusations of cheating, or cold denial. For herself, she felt strangely calm. I’m pregnant. No panic at that. I’m pregnant with Lester’s child. Valerie felt herself smile a bit, hiding her face because she knew Lester was about to explode, get angry, ruin this moment of perfect peace …
Lester grabbed her and held her so tightly her air whistled out. “Valerie,” he whispered against her hair. “Valerie, Valerie. Valentine. You’ve made me the happiest bloke on the bloody earth.”
“Really?” Valerie said. It came out more like “Krumph,” muffled as she was against Lester’s chest.
“We’ll be a real family,” Lester said. “The three of us. And it’ll be a girl, so I can spoil her rotten.”
Valerie put her arms around him—carefully, because her own powers were feeling a little unstable with the swell of emotion in her chest. “Or a boy, who’ll be just as big a pain in my ass as you.”
“Quite.” She felt him smile. “Of course, now I’m going to have to marry you properly. Care to guess what our wedding photos will bring in?”
“Lester Bradford, are you proposing to me? Here? Now?”
“Bloody right.” He helped her up and sat her on the lip of the tub, then knelt down before her. “Valerie Edwina Vincent …”
“You wanker. You know I hate my middle name.”
“Valerie EDWINA Vincent, light of my life, mother of my child. Marry me.”
Valerie had to smile. Lester looked so serious, kneeling on the bath rug with his arm spread theatrically.
“Well?” he said, winking at her.
She nudged him with her toe. “Like you even have to ask.”
Once the initial thrill wore off, pregnancy, Valerie found, was the most boring condition on Jehovah’s scorched earth. At least she’d stopped puking once she’d hit her