A Bump in the Road (37 page)

Julie texted me this message this morning:

Black pearl necklace worked. Ben was a dream and even better the second time around. So hot. So good. Just wanted to give you an update.

J.

P.S. Talked to Reese. Do you know if she has scheduled her sorely needed stick-removal-from-ass surgery yet? Let me know. I’d like to send flowers.

Well, at least they spoke.

Along with the lightning rod cervix kicks, Mr. Skeletor has also blessed me with an overwhelming waterfall of emotion.

Suddenly and out of the blue.

On today of all days. On Halloween. The holiday for strange happenings, hauntings, and ghoulish occurrences. In the true spirit of Halloween, I thought of something truly bizarre today: Jake and I will have a child to take trick-or-treating next year. Of course, he’ll still be a wee one and we’ll probably have to carry him from house to house and then we’ll steal his candy, but still. A kid. To dress into a costume and take out into the world.

I saw all the little trick-or-treaters as I drove home from work today. Dusk was just beginning to settle and as I saw the groups of pumpkins, witches, and zombies trekking up and down the block, I felt a pang. A pang because someday, Skeletor is going to be one of those little kids. I got a little teary-eyed and switched on the radio, hoping I’d hear some Eminem or something so I could focus on the profanity-filled lyrics rather than my overflowing emotions.

Eminem was not on the radio.

The Beatles were, however. “In My Life,” to be exact.

Well, that did it. The lyrics about loving someone more than everything that had come before just about killed me. The tears overflowed and rained on my steering wheel. I tried to brush them away quickly, lest they impair my vision and I run down some kid dressed as Harry Potter.

I was still crying as I walked into our apartment. Jake was already home.

“What’s wrong?” He jumped up and bounded over to me as soon as he saw my tear-streaked face.

“Song . . . Beatles . . . Halloween . . . witches . . . Eminem . . . love you more . . . things that went before . . .
so moving
!” I blubbered.

“Er, yes.” He patted me on the shoulder.

“You don’t understand! I’m talking about our child here! Don’t you care?” I shouted at him, hands on my hips.

He stared at me, not sure how to proceed. “Of course I care. I love the baby,” he finally said.

“Good. Me too,” I hiccupped out. “I love the Beatles, too.”

“Er, yes,” he said again, totally bewildered.

I woke up this morning feeling awful. At first I thought it was still the lingering effects of a Halloween candy hangover, but I quickly realized my discomfort had more to do with my sudden enormity than too many mini Three Musketeers. After the requisite bathroom trip this morning, I lay back down in bed and wondered if I’d be allowed to join
Celebrity Fat Camp
after I had the baby.

It appears as though, literally overnight, I’ve become huge. Even Jake muttered an exclamation under his breath when he saw me this morning.

The worst part about turning into a tank overnight is I can no longer squeeze myself into a good portion of my clothes, including the cocktail dress I planned on wearing to Mule Face’s wedding tonight. It literally came down to a choice between buying a new dress this afternoon or throwing a bed sheet over myself in a nouveau toga-style dress. Since there was no way I wanted to spend money on a dress for Mule Face’s wedding, option A was out. Since we didn’t have any clean sheets, option B was out. So, in conclusion, as much as it seriously disappoints me, we aren’t going to the wedding.

I am so depressed. I was so looking forward to laughing at the iPod hooked up to speakers operating as the DJ, the hideous bridesmaid dresses, and the fried chicken buffet. Everyone at work on Monday is
going to be recapping the wedding and I’m going to be clueless. Maybe it’s just as well. Watching Mule Face and Big D do their choreographed dance to Aladdin’s “A Whole New World” might drive me to drink.

So, Jake and I are going to have dinner and get some Cold Stone Creamery, Skeletor’s favorite treat now. He’d better knock it off soon though, I don’t want to have to work off three gallons of cake batter ice cream after he’s born. I’ve already gained thirty pounds, and twenty-nine of that had better be baby.

Oh, and speaking of Skeletor, Jake suggested another name last night: Corbin. I asked him if he was on drugs, which he took as a no.

I bounded out of bed this morning, eager to arrive at work and hear the reviews of Mule Face’s wedding from my coworkers. As I left my apartment, I saw Champagne Wayne in the hallway. It was about eight thirty and he looked like he was just getting home, dressed in a purple suit reeking of cigarettes and carrying a glass with brown liquid in it.

“Heya!” he slurred.

“Hi, Wayne,” I said, and tried to walk past him.

“Hey! Wait! You looksh good!” He patted my stomach.

It’s nice to know I’ve still got it.

I was only at my desk for ten minutes before my phone rang. I let it go to voice mail and listened to the message. Just as I thought, it was Reese.

“Clare, sorry to bother you with this, but I have to get your opinion about something for the shower. Julie wants it in a bar, which I think is totally inappropriate for a baby shower. I was thinking we could have it at the Four Seasons and do an afternoon tea. Well, call me and let me know what you think.”

Just another daily phone call asking me to take a side. I ignored all of the phone calls, e-mails, and text messages and just told them to work it out; I didn’t care. Because I don’t. I truly don’t care where it is, who is invited, or what color the tablecloths are. All I care about is that we all get through it so I can have this baby already.

With a few short weeks until the deadline, not even half of the Flynn-Shepard RSVPs are in yet. Irene assured me their guests are always very prompt in responding to invitations but I’m thinking she’s never the one managing the process. It’s probably her assistant or some poor event planner. I’m praying a crapload more come in before next week because I do not want to call all of the Flynns’ equally rich and snotty friends.

I was just about to pick up the phone and make my daily phone call to Irene when Julie called.

“So, aren’t you going to ask me how my date with Ben was?”

“Oh, God, I totally forgot. Sorry, it’s been crazy. How was it?”

“Fabulous. Amazing. We went to Tavern on Rush for dinner and then met his friends out at a bar.”

“That’s great. How were his friends?”

“Most of them were OK, but the girls were bitches and looked me up and down and then ignored me like I was trailer trash.”

“Did Ben notice?”

“Of course not. Typical guy.”

“So, what exactly is going on between you two?”

“Oh, who knows. We’re just having fun. Nothing serious.”

“Well, I’d love to meet—”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you!” She cut me off. “Reese wants to give out favors of little engraved—”

“Julie, cut it. You remember the rule.”

“Fine. But you’re going to laugh so hard when this is all over and I can tell you what’s really been going on.”

“Sounds good.”

“I gotta go. Amanda, our new nurse manager, has taken it upon herself to send out an e-mail chastising everyone on their excessive use of computer paper. I need to go kick some ass.”

When I got home tonight from work, Jake was sleeping on the couch, face covered by a throw pillow. He claims he’s still exhausted from me keeping him awake with my shower worries the other night, but I swear, he’s the most well-rested person on the planet.

“Message hsmmmmm,” he said.

“What?”

“Message on machine for you,” he managed to roll out of his mouth before turning over.

I walked over to the blinking answering machine and pressed Play.

“Hi, Clare, this is Kyle Tiesdale, reporter for
The Daily Tribune
. If you recall, I interviewed you a while back for the piece we did about your blog. We got a great response from the article so we’d like you to give us a call back to discuss a few things. Thanks.”