NOT What I Was Expecting

NOT What

I Was
Expecting

         By Tallulah Anne Scott

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved.

NOT What I Was Expecting is a work of fiction.  Names,
characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously.

This book is dedicated
to Mrs. Adelaide Odom and her girls, Betty Lee, Lucy, Peggy, and Anne.  They
are truly the most exceptional women it has been my privilege to know and love
with all my heart.

CHAPTER 1

CeCe and I
automatically looked toward the entrance as the sound of the tinkling bells on
the front door of the Big and Blessed Maternity Shop filled the room.  My death
grip on the box of tissues loosened when Fry arrived.  I knew this meant it was
very likely the poor, expectant mother in the throes of a hormone induced
hysteria was about to feel better.

My name is Maggie
Eastman, and I co-own the Big and Blessed Maternity Shop with my cousin CeCe
DiNardo in beautiful downtown Oakman (that’s just outside New Orleans for those
of you frantically consulting your map).  Fry, an old friend from high school
and part-time employee/lifesaver at the shop, has an uncanny, mystical way with
expectant women.  It seems no matter what he says to them, he always strikes
just the right chord.  We’ve come to rely on him more than we probably should,
but in situations like this, we usually cross our fingers and hope his gift is
working at full capacity.

I juggled tissues
and the rejected outfits while CeCe held the five outfits still being
considered.  Our red-faced, tear-streaked customer swore she was not really as big
as she looked right now.

“It’s the
humidity.  It makes me puffy.  I hate Louisiana.  I should never have agreed to
move here,” she wailed.  “This state makes me look fat.  But what can I do?” she
asked us desperately.  “I’m stuck – just plain stuck in an unflattering state. 
It’s hopeless.”

CeCe and I tried
to encourage and comfort, but our goal at this point was to hang in there and
keep from losing ground for these last few critical moments now that our Go-to
Guy had arrived.  True to form, Fry announced his arrival as soon as he stashed
a Piggly Wiggly bag he’d brought in with him behind the register.

“Ladies,” Fry
greeted as he approached.  “I hope you are all having an awesome day because I
just – whoa.  What up with the tears, gorgeous?”  Fry glanced quickly at both
stacks of outfits and gave his head a small shake, accompanied by a sigh.  He continued
without waiting for our Puffy Patron to respond (she was still staring at Fry
in a trance).  “Sometimes things just blow your mind, am I right?” he inquired. 
“It’s like it’s way too much.  That just happened to me, so I totally relate to
your pain.  I’m Fry, short for Fritz, by the way.  So tell me how I can help?”

CeCe and I stood
perfectly still, waiting for our Puffy Patron’s reaction.  She chewed her lip for
a few more seconds, sniffled softly, used one hand to tuck her hair behind her
ear, and extended the other to shake hands as she introduced herself to Fry. 

“It’s so nice to
meet you, Fry.  I’m Patricia, but everyone calls me Patty,” Puffy Patty said
with a little giggle thrown in for good measure. 

He did it again. 
Every time Fry succeeded with a woman on the edge like that, we told him one of
these days he would get a jumper.  He knew we were teasing him.  It hadn’t
happened yet, and CeCe and I believed it never would.  We just wanted to keep
him on his game.

Puffy Patty told
Fry how horrible everything looked on her, and Fry told her “no way” and she
said “way.”  Then Fry said he knew exactly what would be perfect for her, to
which she replied “no way,” he said “way,” and they went to choose more
outfits.  Then she asked Fry about his mind blowing experience (never a smart
thing to ask Fry), and he told her he had an altercation with the checkout girl
at the Piggly Wiggly over a Three Musketeers bar.  Puffy Patty said “no way”
and Fry said “way” then they both busted a gut laughing.  They laughed,
shopped, talked, and laughed some more until Puffy Patty was satisfied with her
choices and followed Fry to the register.

“You are so making
that up, Fry,” Puffy Patty laughed as she slid her charge card through the
machine to pay for the outfits Fry had helped her choose.  “Why would there be
a conspiracy behind the new richer chocolate filling in the Three Musketeers
bar?”

“Don’t you see,
Patty?” Fry explained lowering his voice so national security wouldn’t be
breached if this information got out.  “It’s all about the original nougat. 
What happened to the original nougat?  Where can you go to get the original
nougat?  But that’s just it.  You can’t get the original nougat.  It’s gone. 
They ‘say’ they don’t make it anymore.  So what are they trying to tell us they
used to make the richer chocolate nougat?  Think about it.”

Puffy Patty had a
pained look on her face, and I became a little worried that if she tried to
follow Fry’s logic she might hurt herself.

“Now Patty,” Fry
said leaning over and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t flaunt your
new clothes too much except for the Mr., because that’s okay.  It’s just not
fair to the other pregnant women.”

“Oh, yes,” Puffy
Patty said with a deadly serious expression on her face, “Those poor women.” 
Turning to CeCe she said, “Thanks for your help.  I’ll be back in a few weeks
to get a few more things.  I just can’t get a lot of great looking things at
one time.  I’ve got a couple of friends who are pregnant, and they get soooo
emotional.  I just can’t do it to them, poor dears.”

She turned, and
gave Fry a smile that was truly radiant.  Sometimes pregnant women really do
glow.  At least around Fry they do.  It might have something to do with his
blonde Adonis good looks – did I forget to mention that? 

Fry, short for
Fritz, also described his unfortunate brain fry caused by the use of drugs
during his teenage years.  The drugs are gone now, but his stoner personal
style has remained.  Here at the Big and Blessed Maternity Shop, we accept him
as he is.  He’s always been a sweetheart, just perpetually unaware of what was
going on around him due to foreign substances.

About six years
ago he had his appendix removed, and it changed his life.  He developed a
serious infection that required a week-long stay in the hospital and scared the
crap out of him.  When he left the hospital, he said the sun shone brighter,
the food tasted better, and it felt like he was finally taking notice of the
world around him.  He liked the feeling and began to search for his place in
life.  This journey was made infinitely easier by a large trust fund left to him
by his grandfather.  CeCe and I had just taken over the maternity shop, so we
gave him a part time job.  As it turned out, his gift with those in a family
way presented itself and he’d found his calling.

After the happy
customer left, still cheerfully commenting about “those poor women,” we
embraced a rare occurrence for our shop – it was empty.   The Big and Blessed
Maternity Shop is a very homey place with wooden floors, golden walls, and
white curtains that give it just the right coziness.  Originally, it was an old
Acadian style home that was transformed into a small grocery store in the
1960's and then a maternity shop in the 1980's.  I wish CeCe and I could take
credit for making the shop a success, but that’s not quite how it happened.  We
grew up working here during summers and after school since our mothers (who we
affectionately refer to as “the sisters”) co-owned the store.  We went off to
college together to experience the glamorous big city life.  We are small town
girls to the bone and soon had more than enough of city life.  We couldn’t wait
to get back to Oakman after graduation, but expected to get jobs in New Orleans
and commute like most people who didn’t work in one of the local industrial
plants.  We were surprised and deeply moved when the sisters announced our
graduation present would be The Big and Blessed Maternity Shop, since they had
decided to retire early and pass it on to us.  Now at 29 years old, CeCe and I
have been managing the shop for about six years, and loving every minute of it.

You might think
we’d be sick of each other by now, but we still like doing things together.  As
a matter of fact, we grew up doing everything together.  My mom and dad split
up when I was seven, and not long after that CeCe’s dad passed away.  Our mothers
decided to combine households, so we moved into my Aunt Shirley’s house.  That
was probably one of the best decisions my mother ever made.  I’ve never had a
lonely moment since, and I ended up with CeCe becoming more like a sister than
a cousin.  Of course, since we are cousins rather than sisters, our shape and
features are very similar, but our coloring is like night and day.  We both top
out right at 5'6" and gratefully inherited our mothers’ generous curves. 
We also both wear size four.  Because of the genetic donations of our
respective fathers, CeCe ended up with brown eyes and light brown hair while I
have blonde hair and blue eyes.  My hair is stubbornly straight, so I often
find myself wishing I could borrow CeCe’s wavy curls the same way I commandeer
her clothes.

CeCe, Fry, and I
all leaned against the big wooden counter and stared out of the large glass
window with a great view of Main Street.  Oakman is a town where people don’t
move away when they grow up.  Instead, they just buy a house down the street. 
There’s an oil refinery and two industrial plants in Oakman that employ a large
portion of the town’s people, as well as residents from the surrounding area. 
When the day shifts are in full force at the plants, their total employees outnumber
the population living within the Oakman city limits.  Thirty five years ago,
when the sisters were settling down with their respective families, downtown
possessed only one traffic light.  The booming metropolis Oakman has become now
boasts of four traffic lights keeping us honest at intersections.  Can a subway
be far behind? 

I let my mind
wander as I continued to stare through the front window of the shop, which
seemed like a good way to relax.  The process of easing out of bed on this
Monday had seemed brutal, so some down time was a good thing.

I was admiring the
golden leaves on the oak tree across the street which reminded me it was
already October.  If I was hoping to do Christmas shopping early, I should have
started yesterday.  My mind was probably working on my letter to Santa or
something when it was rudely sucked back to reality as Fry yelled,
“Son-of-a-bitch!”

I heard CeCe’s
loud gasp followed by the SLAM!  She plopped Swear Bear down on the counter
before I had a chance to ask what happened.  Swear Bear is a foot tall, brown,
teddy bear bank dressed up in a little devil costume that CeCe found online. 

“OH NO WAY!” Fry
said not believing it should count because of what he’d just witnessed.

“CeCe’s right,” I
agreed.  “Everything counts.  Any swearing on the premises means money for
Swear Bear, so pony up.”

“Oh, come on,” Fry
protested.  “Didn’t you see that selfish, small-minded dude throw his coffee
cup out of his car window?  You know something deep inside me rebels against
people destroying the planet.”

Swear Bear got a
nickel every time one of us used inappropriate expletives in the store.  We
found this necessary after an unfortunate incident a few months ago.  Fry had
just had a similar run-in with yet another litter bug and was a little hot
under the collar about it – hot enough to use slightly more colorful expletives
than today’s outburst.  Unfortunately, his few choice words sent the minister’s
wife flying out of the shop a little undone.  She was a bit short in stature
which blocked her from his view by a clothing rack.  We knew this would never have
happened if he had seen her.  His charm would have kicked in, and everything
would have been fine.  We just couldn’t take any chances.

“We know,” I assured
him.  “But you’ve got to learn when you can let your ecological conscience
explode and when you have to rein it in, temporarily anyway.”

“Damn litter bug!”
Fry yelled at the window, throwing in a fist shake for emphasis.

“Hey!” gasped
CeCe, “That’s . . . .”

“I know, I know,”
conceded Fry.  “That’s another nickel, but it was totally worth it, and I feel
better now.  No worries ladies.  No more swearing on these premises.  Oh, I
almost forgot.  I have to tell you guys about my amazingly awesome evening.” 

When Fry thought
of something, I could almost see the light bulb go on above his head.

“Do you remember
Luke Becnel?” Fry quizzed.

“Your friend from
high school who had the same focusing problem you did?” I asked.

“That’s him.  You
remember, CeCe?” Fry asked anxiously.

“I remember him as
cute, skinny, and wasted,” CeCe answered.

“Oh, good, you
both remember him.  Well, it turns out he’s moved back to town and is living
with his Uncle Barney over in the Timbermill subdivision.  I went there last
night, and we caught up on everything.  We’ve been trying to set up a time to
get together for a few weeks, but we kept missing each other.  Either he was working
late, or I was booked up.  It was so cool to hang out with him again.  He’s a stoner
no more.  He was in the military for a few years and then the Peace Corps, so
he really hasn’t lived here since before graduation.  He started out doing the
volunteer thing in the Peace Corp, but then they hired him as a whatever-you-call-it. 
He was the guy in charge of the volunteers in his area where they were doing
construction.  Anyway, he just got back.  Man, he’s not skinny or unfocused
anymore.  Luke is the man, and his Uncle Barney’s a kick and half.  Barney made
the most stupendous tacos.  He definitely has the soul of a Mexican.  He’s way cool. 
He makes up these stories in his head, so it’s like watching a movie when he’s
describing stuff.  He was telling us about how Andy Griffith was working on his
investments.  Apparently that’s his accountant – Andy Griffith!  How cool is
that?  Of course, it wasn’t the real one, but to Barney that’s just easier than
remembering his accountant’s name.  Anyway, his story was awesome, and I hope
my mind gets all creative and shi — stuff when I’m his age.”