Jaquie spent the night praying to the porcelain god, Dave patiently holding her hair. No one warned you about night sickness because some genius named it morning sickness. After surviving the day unscathed, she didn’t expect to be sideswiped by spaghetti and garlic bread. At least, that’s what she told Dave. Stupid lies. Even she believed them. She ran her hand along the tile marks engraved across her cheeks, desperate to ignore the putrid stench of vomit, and the sourness in her mouth. She needed mouthwash and a shower — to confess. Propped in the doorway, Dave’s head lolled to one side, hair sticking on end. After insisting she’d sleep on the floor, he stayed, too. Despite her encouragement to go to bed, he recounted the times she’d nursed him back to health. Well, now he’d have a neck ache to accompany the heartache when he realized she was drinking again.

Word: porcelain; Action: repaying a favor