The Experiment

Okay, go. Go, now. Come on feet, move! Right now. I know I should be, you know, moving towards the door, but my mother and boyfriend are on the other side and I don't see any good coming from that encounter.

        I turn back to my father and smile innocently. He looks at me over his glasses.

        "Shoo! Shoo! Go on, now." He makes the little accompanying motion. What am I, a dog?

        "Mom and Charlie are probably out there. I'm really tired and I don't really want to talk to them, right now." He gives me that 'and this is my problem how' look. I pull the puppy dog eyes out and add a pout and a whimper for dramatic effect.

        He takes a deep breath. "Fine, fine, go through the portico. Tell the agents where you want to go and they'll show you the way." I move to my dad's side and kiss him on the cheek, jumping up and down a bit. " Oh, and FYI: pregnant women don't jump, at least not smart ones. Neither do tired ones. Remember that. Now go." I amble out the portico doors and turn my attention to the nearest agent.

        "Excuse me. Can you show how to get from here to the residence? I don't think I've ever gone this way." He looks down to me before nodding, curtly and talking into his earpiece. Another agent comes out of some obscure shadow to take his place.

        "Miss Bartlet, if you'll follow me…" I nod and start after him. At least someone can say 'miss' correctly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

        December21: I faced my mother, my boyfriend, and will face the rest of the world very soon. Maybe even tomorrow. Oh, joy. That's going to go well.

        My mother is using that look on me, again. That 'doctor' look that says I know you have some kind of illness, but I'm in denial here and will be watching you like a hawk. Again, great.

        My boyfriend, Charlie…Yep, my boyfriend. He hugged me again. He didn't say anything, because we were in front of my mother. When we got to eventually be alone together…He asked, I choked, he understood. He's so sweet that way. He said that when I was ready to talk, he'd be waiting with pickles and cotton candy. For some reason that sounds really good to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Next Morning

        "Zoey, sweetheart, where have you been? I've been looking all over for you." Great, I avoided her for a whole day and here she is…right outside my bedroom door. Why am I not surprised?

        "Mom…Hi! What are you doing here?" Hey, genius, she lives here. Now, she's outside my room. There is no escape.

        "I just came to get you up. It's almost noon. I thought you'd probably be hungry." I'm really not hungry or…No, I'm definitely not hungry. I'm leaning towards nauseous and very near to puking, but hungry, no.

        Smile, Zoey. "Sure, just give me a second to get my robe." I really have to learn to say no to my mother. I snatch up my robe and pop it on over my head. Another one of my father's habits that I've picked up.

        We walk down the hall leisurely and I resist the urge to run back to my room and lock the door. As we near the entrance to the kitchen I feel my stomach clinch at the smell of whatever is cooking in there. I bet to the normal, not mock-pregnant twenty-one year old who's experiencing psychosomatic symptoms of BITOS (Bun In The Oven Syndrome), that smells really good. Hell, even mom seems to think so. I, on the other hand…think I'm going to hurl. I swallow it back at the last second.

        Deep breath, deep breath…It's okay, Zo, dad's here. He'll cover for you. He'd so better be here.

        The agents at the doors nod at us and open the double-doors to the kitchen. As we enter, it's like I was hit by an egg truck. An egg truck that smells like, well, eggs. I've never been too fond of eggs, but as of now, I detest them; scrambled, poached, hard-boiled, or sunny-side up.

        There's dad. Shouldn't he be in the Oval? He looks up over his newspaper at us greets us with a vague "good morning." So much for him covering for me. He isn't eating either. Maybe it's not just me after all. Mom is talking to me. I turn my attention back to her with a 'hmmm?'

        "Zoey, sweetheart, are you hungry? What do you want?" I blink at her for what must be a full fifteen seconds before I answer.

        "Oh, anything is fine." Anything, but whatever they're cooking in here. I try desperately not to breathe for fear of making a mess. Dad must notice my carefully controlled breathing, because he looks up at me with a concerned expression. He mouths, 'are you okay?' I would nod, but I think you're sensing the ongoing pattern, so I give a small smile instead. All teeth and gums. It's more of a grimace, I think. The way he flinches confirms the internalization.

        Mom sits a plate in front of me. Oh, God, eggs, ham, and something else I refuse to identify. I close my eyes as my stomach screams at me in protest of this cruel and unusual punishment. I start as I feel a cool hand on my forehead. My eyes slide open to see my mother's concerned expression.

        "Zoey, you don't look so good. How do you feel right now?" I just wanna shake my head and say, "Not so good." Then, I wanna cuddle up with my momma under Grandma Rutledge's quilt and listen to her old records from when I was little. But I can't, so here's my answer.

        "Mom, I feel fine. Just a little--" I can't finish that sentence as I've already taken off for the kitchen sink. It's the closest thing to the toilet I can make it to. I obviously couldn't stomach another lie. Pardon the pun.

        My parents are behind me in seconds. My father holds my hair back and mom rubs my back. I feel crappy. No, scratch that. I feel shitty. I hate my life…and my college professors. Barnes and Noble are so on my shit list now.

        Soon there's nothing left for me to throw up and I'm just dry-heaving. It's official. I hate food. I push myself up from my leaned position over the sink. Yeah, that's a mess. I shudder a bit and look away. As I try to take a step back, my knees buckle and my parents catch me between them. They have to half-carry me back to the table. My mother pushes my upper-half down so that my head rests between my knees. Someone should note that this is not an easy position to breathe in, much less breathe deeply. I would also like to point out that it feels as though I've just lost every bit of weight I've gained since this started yet it feels like that weight is doubled. I really should get this checked out. But not right now. No, I think I'm gonna go to sleep now. After all, pregnant women don't jump. At least not smart ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey There, Charlie, My Man

*The title makes sense way at the end of the scene.

Later This Afternoon

        I open my eyes at the feel of the sunlight on my face. My parents are asleep on the chaise by the window. At least my mother is. Dad's eyes are open and he's watching me. One eyebrow rises as he sees that I'm awake.

        "Good morning? How do you feel?" I do a mental check list. Head? Not stuffy or achy. Stomach? Stable, not queasy. Overall condition? Momentarily healthy, but I wouldn't recommend taking any two-mile runs for a while. Recommendation: take two aspirin and consult me after lunch. Damn, no aspirin. How do mommies-to-be do it?

        "I feel better than I did at breakfast."

        "You don't say. You've been out since noon yesterday. Your mother was worried sick."

        "You weren't?" He sighs.

        " No. I assumed this was either a part of the plan or there was really something wrong here. As you've probably figured, I was hoping for the former." Yeah, he was looking a little too unconcerned. "So, which was it?" I really don't know.

        "I'm not sure. I think my body's gotten more into my role than my head has. I don't think this is going to be the last time this happens."

        "I don't either. What are you going to tell your mother? What am I supposed to tell her?"

        "Tell me about what?" Damn, I didn't know she'd woken up yet. How long has she been awake? What did she hear? Jeez, this thing's already coming undone and I just got here. Now it's time to suck it up and prepare to tell some serious half-truths.

        "What do you mean, mom?" I paint an innocent, confused expression on my face. She, of course, does not fall for it.

        "Don't try that with me, Zoey Patricia. I made that look. You inherited it from me. Now, tell me about what?" She's looking at both of us now. Dad's not looking at either of us. He's already said he refuses to lie, so that leaves me to calm the waters.

        "Well, it's just a thing, you know. No big deal, really." She blinks her cat-like eyes at me and raises a terribly unimpressed eyebrow.

        "Just a thing, huh?" I nod, carefully. "So, what thing is that?" I fumble for words, but to tell you the truth I've never flat out lied to my mother before and the first time's always the worst.

        "It's just a thing dad and I talked about when I got here. " She sits up from her reclined position against dad to get a better look at me or you know, to just make herself more intimidating, if that's at all possible.

        "You mean when he whisked you away to the Oval office and I didn't see you until the next morning?"

        "Um, yeah, I guess. Sorry for that, by the way."

        "Um huh. Yeah, I bet you are." I'm too old for that look to still bother me. At least I should be. What is it about those eyes? Damn.

        "I am, really. I was just really tired. I'd had a really long week. All I'd really wanted to do was cuddle up under some clean sheets and sleep for a while. I've been a bit under the weather lately." Wow, I really like to state the obvious, don't I? And I think I've used up my quota of 'reallys' for this conversation.

        "You don't say, sweetheart? How long have you been sick, exactly?" I answer instinctively before realizing I should have thought it through.

        "A little over a week, now." Didn't she ask me how I was a quite a few times this past week? Yeah, I thought so.

        "Um huh. And didn't I ask you numerous times this past week how you were feeling?" I look away from those eyes. Oh, damn. I'm not made for this type of thing.

        "Uh, yeah. I'm recalling you doing that a few times."

        "Yeah, I bet you are. And why didn't you tell me how you were feeling then?"

        " Because I thought it would go away before I got here and I didn't want to worry you, unnecessarily."

        "Well, Zoey, I'm touched truly." Hey, dad, feel free to step in any time.

        He sighs a long-suffering sigh before stepping in. "Abbey, leave the girl alone. She obviously still doesn't feel too well. Let her rest a bit more for now. Yell at her when she can take it like an adult or at the very least, yell back at you." Phew! A temporary reprieve. Dad's gonna get it, but I'm safe. Poor, daddy.

        "Don't you start with me. You're a party to this, this, whatever it is, too. You just wait, you're next. And, I'm not done with you, young lady." Of course she isn't. Is it ever that easy with my mother? In a word: No.

        I sigh. Oh, hell, I'm nauseous now. I fall back onto the bed with my arm covering my eyes. I have to hold my breath and wait for the nausea to pass.

        Are they still talking? There can't possibly be anything left to say. We're done. Me and dad both have appointments to be yelled at…I don't see the point in this conversation anymore. This is really starting to piss me off now.

        "Would you two please take it outside? And no that wasn't a request. Get. Out. Now…Please." Please and thank you are the magic words, well most of the time anyway.

        There is complete silence. Finally.

        "Zoey?" That would be mom." Are you okay?" And that would be a stupid question.

        No, I'm not okay. I really want Charlie. Somebody, get my boyfriend!

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