Excerpt from The Blondes by Emily Schultz, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I sat beside the toilet feeling nothing, hearing nothing, seeing nothing-because I was crying, although I didn't compute that until a light rap came on the door.

"H-Hannah...?"

It was my new neighbour.

"You all right in there?"

I scrambled up, wiped my sleeve across my face, looked at my watch but couldn't make out the numbers. My glasses. I found them and pushed them back up my nose. How long had I been in the bathroom? Five minutes? Ten?

Another rap at the door.

"Hazel," I corrected my neighbour through the door. My voice sounded shredded. "One minute."

I began running water frantically-off with the glasses again-and splashed it on my face, grabbed the folded white towel from the bar. I looked terrible.This may very well be the worst impression I will ever make on anyone, I thought-which of course is hilarious now-and then, oh dear ... I laughed. But it was, you know, like a hiccup, and I threw up again, right there in the sink. Bagel is not a nice food to barf.

When I came out, there she was, hovering in the little hallway, a narrow, pinched expression on her wide face. She had ditched the trench coat and wore this short-sleeved sweater that was the colour of an old tennis ball. It seemed tatty, but later I'd realize the texture was only because I'd left my glasses on the sink again.

"It's-it's not my business," she stuttered. "I mean, I don't even know you, but are you okay? Can I get anything for you?"

I shook my head. I could feel how dreadful I must look, how my eyes burned. "It's all right. I'm just pregnant," I said nonchalantly, shaking my hair back.

She looked past me toward the bathroom. "Why don't I get someone from downstairs?"

"Sorry if you heard me in there. I didn't mean to disturb you," I said.

It was then that her gaze seemed to fasten on to something, and I turned and recognized the oblong shape: I'd left the pee stick sitting on the bathroom cabinet.

"Oh," she said in a voice that was suddenly squeaky, and I realized for the first time that she was maybe a little younger than me. "Oh, Hann- Hazel. Hazel, why don't you come in and sit down for a minute?" She gestured me into her room, and even though I had forgotten her name, strangely, I found myself stepping over the backpack and inside room 306.

* * *

The neighbours have finished burning the hair. I can still smell it, hanging in the air like a thick sheet. Brown; it smells like the colour brown. The smoke goes quickly but the odour lingers. I don't see the man and woman now-not even from here at the kitchen window, which has the best view past the hill and that row of evergreens. They've gone back into their own cottage.

When do you develop your sense of smell? I think Larissa told me that babies practise breathing while they're still in the womb. At his mid-term ultrasound Larissa's son was also practising sucking, and had placed his small, transparent thumb up next to his mouth. She had a black-and-white image of that one taped to her fridge. But I don't know if breathing and smelling are related in the womb.

You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to go over to that neighbouring cabin tomorrow if Grace hasn't come back, and I'm going to tell that couple my situation. A pregnant woman alone out here? How can I be a threat to anyone? They'll have to help me. I did go banging on their door once before, but that was at night and they didn't answer. I'll try during the day, when they can see me from their window. They must have a car. If they have a car they'll have to agree to drive me to a hospital when I go into labour. Ordinarily anyone would, right?

Excerpted from The Blondes by Emily Schultz. Copyright © 2015 by Emily Schultz. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Dunne Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.