The scent of roasted garlic hit me like a punch to the stomach. I was mid-stir at the stove, trying to be helpful for once in the kitchen when the nausea slammed into me. My knees buckled, and I dropped the spoon with a clatter, one hand flying to my mouth as I sprinted toward the sink.

Behind me, Adriana’s voice floated in, far too cheerful for someone witnessing my demise. 

“That sounded dramatic. Should I grab a bucket or a priest?”

I groaned over the sink, ...