That Baby (13 page)

So I call Danny.
 

“S’up,” he says. “So, are you freaking out about being pregnant? You seem really excited.”

“I was a little freaked out about feeling sad about not being pregnant. Then I freaked when I realized I might be pregnant. Then I nervously freaked when the lines turned pink. Then I was shocked freaked when the doctor confirmed it. Now, I’m just freaking happy. It was fun to tell everyone. Although, I’m a little nervous we told everyone so soon. Hopefully, everything will go okay. Other than some nausea and fatigue, I feel mostly okay.”

“Your boobs look bigger.”

“Phillip said that too. I think it’s wishful thinking on his part. And speaking of freaking, the look on Joey and Phillip’s face when you showed them maternity underwear was priceless.”

“More like a sad reality.”

“Since I’m not quite there yet, I was thinking . . .”

“Uh, oh. You know we’re coming over for dinner tonight.”

“I know, just don’t come over until six-thirty. Phillip and I are going to be cleaning.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Never mind. The reason I called is I want to know the name of place where you bought our XXX honeymoon gifts.”
 

“Looking to purchase a few new trinkets? Maybe I should join you.”

“I think I’d like to go myself. And no sex toys. Just something, uh, just something.”

“You can’t go in there all embarrassed like.”

“I won’t. I just don’t need to give you details.”

“I like details.”

“Too bad. Can you tell me the name of it, so I can look up their website and see if they have what I need?”

“I’d rather take you there. Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”

I glance at the clock. “Fine. Text me the address and be there in thirty minutes. I don’t have a lot of time.”

I hear the garage door open and run to the laundry room that’s just off the door from the garage.

As Phillip walks in, I stop him with a feather duster. “Bonjour, monsieur.”

Phillip gives me a surprised grin but then his dad runs into the back of him.
 

What the hell?

His dad eyes my skimpy French maid outfit, and I want to die of embarrassment. I run back into the laundry room and slam the door.

Phillip comes into the room, grabs my hand, and pulls me down the hall and into our bedroom.
 

He gives me a steamy look, lust all over his face.

“Can I get a rain check on this?” he asks. “Dad got tied up at work today and now Omaha is getting an ice storm, so my parents are spending the night again.”

“It might have been nice for you to tell me that. You told me to meet you at home for cupcake sex! What if I would have been naked and surrounded by frosting, Phillip?”

He grabs the feather duster and runs it across my chest.
 

“Stop that!”
 

But he doesn’t. He peeks down the front of the French maid costume.

“A very hot, sexy rain check.”

“I don’t know, Phillip. This maid is very busy.”

He drops the duster, pulling me against him while sliding his hands up my skirt and clearly insinuating that he’d be up for a quickie.

“Your parents are out there,” I say, trying without much resolve to fend him off.

“Are you sure we can’t?” he says, teasing me by moving his fingers inside my thong.

“Of course, we can’t. You need to stop that and I need to change.”

“I’ll help you,” he says, stripping the costume off in one fluid motion and staring at me hungrily.

“That’s not exactly helpful,” I tell him as he licks his lips. “You need to go out there, since you have clothes on, so they don’t think we are in here doing exactly what you’re thinking about.”

“What do you think I’m thinking about? Because I was thinking about . . .” He whispers something naughty into my ear.
 

“You have a dirty mind.”

“Isn’t that why you were dressed like that? Because I’m a dirty boy?” he asks, lowering his lips to my chest.

I push him away, grab the outfit I had on today, and quickly put it on. “Please go out there, so we don’t go together. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

“I want to know why you dressed up.”

“Because I thought we could make cleaning fun.”

“We wouldn’t have done any cleaning and you know it,” he says, flipping my skirt. “Although, I think you’re right. I’d rather have sex than clean. And with work and you being pregnant, I think a cleaning lady makes sense.”

“Really?”

He kisses my nose.
 

“You dress like that, you are probably going to get anything you want,” he states.

Because I worked all day and had sexy times planned for dinner, when we were at the XXX store buying the outfit, I told Danny to plan on going out for dinner tonight. I quickly call him.
 

“Please tell me you haven’t left for dinner yet.”

“We haven’t,” Lori says, answering his phone. “Danny worked out late and is in the shower.”

“Thank god. Please tell me that we can go to dinner together.”

“Danny told me you were being the sexy maid tonight.”

“I was all dressed up, ready to go, pushed the feather duster into Phillip’s chest, just like we planned, but then . . .”

“Then what?”

“His dad ran into the back of him and saw me. Mom was still in the garage, thankfully.”

“Oh crap.”

“Tell me about it. Now, I’m hiding in my room. The surprising thing is Phillip wanted to do it while his parents were in the house!”

“And that’s bad?”

“It is when they saw how I was dressed. It’s one thing to sneak off when no one knows, but when you’re dressed in a cheap French maid costume with your boobs and ass hanging out, I’m pretty sure they know.”

“True.”

“I didn’t make dinner because I thought we’d be in bed. Now, I have to go out and face them. Please don’t make me do it alone. Come over. Now. Tell Danny to meet us when he’s done.”

She giggles.

“Why are you giggling? Wait. Don’t say it. Don’t even bring up the couch incident, and tell your husband that you will give him no sex—like ever—if he breathes a word of it to anyone, especially to Phillip’s parents.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Thank you!”

I put on my boots then run out of my room and straight out of the house. “Where are you go—” I hear Phillip say as I shut the front door behind me.

Lori is just coming up the driveway.

“I should have had you bring something, so it looks like I’m helping you. Now I just look like a lunatic.”

“You are a lunatic,” Danny says, running up behind us. He gives me a smirk. “Is Phillip a dirty boy?”

“Ohmigawd, Lori! Did you not tell him what just happened?”

“What just happened?” he asks, looking dumbfounded. “And why are you already done?”

I give him a quick replay.
 

He’s still laughing as we head in the house.

February 8th

An ungrateful brat.

Phillip made me ride with him to work today because we were supposed to have a blizzard.
 

We didn’t.
 

And his parents are still here.

We have lots of food at home, but I’m thinking about a cheeseburger and fries from our local sports bar.
 

“Phillip, what do you think about going to The Lake Bar for dinner tonight?”

“Um, that sounds really good, but I think my mom is cooking something.”

“We could eat it tomorrow. I’m dying for one of their bacon burgers and cheese fries dipped in ranch dressing. Doesn’t that sound so good?”

“But she cooked.”

“What is she making?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Danny and Lori will eat it. She and your dad can eat it. Like, we don’t have to eat with them every night just because they’re staying with us, do we?”

“No, I guess not. You’re right.”

But Phillip’s face lights up when he walks into our house. “Oh, I’m in heaven,” he says. “Doesn’t that freshly baked bread smell amazing?”

I don’t say anything, because all I smell is the overwhelming stench of cooked broccoli.
 

I make a beeline for our bathroom, hoping if I smell the gingerbread candle in there, it will keep me from getting sick.

Phillip strolls into the bathroom a few minutes later, where he finds me with my nose inside the candle jar.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying not to puke,” I reply, the glass causing my voice to have a deeper, echoing tone.
 

“I’ll be glad when this morning sickness stuff is over,” he says.
 

“You’re not the only one.”

“And I know you wanted a burger, but Mom made my favorite dinner. Her homemade garlic rolls, white chicken pasta, and broccoli. You know how I love that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Tell you what,” he says. “We’ll go there tomorrow for lunch.”

“Okay,” I pout. Well, pout as much as possible when your face is stuck in a candle.

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, sweetly, sliding his arms around my waist. “I love you and I want to make you happy.”

I suck in one more deep breath and set the candle down. “I know you do, Phillip.”

“And you love garlic rolls.”

“Yeah, I’m sure dinner will be great,” I lie. “Phillip, um, does it bother you that your mom is sort of taking over our kitchen? Shouldn’t she have to ask first? See if we have plans?”

“She’s just doing something nice for us.”

“Yeah, I know . . . It’s just . . . Never mind. Let’s go eat.”

We’re in our dining room eating. Not only has she cooked Phillip’s favorite meal, but somehow all of our wedding gifts have disappeared. When I mentioned it to Phillip’s mom, she said, “Oh, I thought I’d help you out by putting them away.”

And while that’s a nice thing to do—help someone—the truth is, I didn’t ask for her help. I didn’t want her to put them away. I wanted to do it myself, so I could put things where I wanted them to go.
 

But I can’t say that, because I’d sound like an ungrateful brat.
 

She continues, “And since you don’t have a kitchen table, we had to have somewhere to eat.”

Which sounds like a slam, directed at me. Like my house isn’t good enough. I almost suggest that we go eat at the sports bar like I wanted, but that would probably come off as bitchy.

Danny and Phillip are going on and on about how amazing her dinner is. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
 

Or throw up.
 

The sauce that I usually love seems too rich, the bread too garlicky, and the broccoli is just gross.
 

Mrs. Mac is beaming with pride because the boys have eaten about forty rolls apiece.
 

Danny pats his stomach and says to Phillip, “I wish our wives could cook like this. Although, I’m gonna have to work out longer tomorrow to burn these calories off.”

Lori and I share a glance.
 

Later, she discreetly asks me to come see her kitchen progress and sneaks me out the front door.
 

The kitchen is still a disaster.

“It’s coming together,” I say, but then sigh. “I can’t compete with homemade rolls.”

“Me either,” she says. “I don’t have a kitchen.”

“Would you make homemade rolls if you did?”

“I don't know,” she says. “Maybe if I had time. Maybe I should. But I’m different. I’m mostly home all day. You work.”

“Yeah, but you're busy. Your house has been in some form of remodeling since you moved in. I’m sure you don’t feel settled yet.”