“John, finally!” I call out, stepping through the turnstile. “Are you ready? I’m

about to hop on the subway, on my way to your place. I’ll be there in ten

minutes, max.”

“Abby,” he croaks, and instantly, I know something’s not right. I freeze in my

tracks. The life and vibrancy in his voice are gone, replaced by something that

sounds a lot like misery.

“John? You sound awful. Are you okay?”

He coughs. “I… I was up all night, throwing up. I feel terrible, Abby.” His voice

sounds like a poker being raked over hot coals.

Enter title…

Instantly, the scolding mom in me surfaces. “Oh my God, John, did you drink too

this—today

have a couple drinks

get it,” he interrupts, his voice shaky. “I

I swear,

then?” I asked, my heart practically

“I think it’s food poisoning or something.

go to the hospital if this doesn’t let

tightening

“Hospital? Are you

Do you think

Especially today?”

through me, and instantly, I feel a little

again and clears his throat, and

wince from

cup so tight I might

Abby, but I think it goes without

your sous chef for the

through a whole host of emotions—worry for

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