by Ami Snow
“Nice,” said the man with the cornrows, bumping fists with his friend across him.
“Um, thanks, guys,” stammered Imogen, “Just give me a holler if you need anything.”
“Will do, babe.”
Imogen turned on her heels, sighing as she walked towards the register. She rubbed on the tendon between her thumb and index finger vigorously, groaning under her breath. She had been feeling light-headed for a couple of days now, and stocking up on vitamins and fluids didn't seem to combat whatever illness was heading her way. She sat down on the chair behind the register, leaning her head against the bar.
“Slacking off already, are we?”
Imogen sprung to her feet, her eyes snapping open. She muttered under her breath, crumpling back into the seat, “Christ, Sarah, you scared me. Thought you were Patricia.”
Sarah rubbed her chin thoughtfully, staring at Imogen's slouched frame. She tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ears as she tutted, pursing her vivid, mulberry red painted lips. She placed the back of her hand against Imogen's forehead, commenting, “You alright, hon? Don't think I've ever seen you sick in the two years you've worked here. It's a pretty slow day, you wanna go home? I'll let Patricia –”
“No, no, I'm fine, thanks,” said Imogen hurriedly, sitting up and rotating her neck, “I'm just feeling a bit puke-y. My tits are killing me, too.”
“Oh shit, honey, did you get your period this month?” Sarah's eyes bulged, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Yes – well, I don't know, I thought it was my period –”
“Oh, God, Imogen. You think you might be pregnant?” asked Sarah, dragging a chair from an empty table to sit across from her.
“Are you crazy? Get up,” hissed Imogen, “We can't both be sitting down –”
“Relax, Patricia's not here,” said Sarah, shrugging, “Anyway, so tell me everything, exactly what is going on?”
“Christ, Sarah, what is this, high school?” Imogen rolled her eyes, a smile unfurling on her lips, “It was amazing, Sarah, the sex was mind-blowing.”
“And just who is this man, with the penis of a god?” asked Sarah, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, shit, Sarah,” said Imogen, looking away, her voice dropping to a whisper, “It's bad. I fucked my dad's best friend.”
“You filthy little minx!” snickered Sarah, her eyes twinkling, “Is he hot? How did this happen, and holy shit, wait, no – what the hell are you gonna do?!”
“I don't know,” said Imogen, burying her head in her hands, “Yes, he's sexy as hell, there's something about the way he raises his eyebrows – no, wait, what am I even saying. What I meant was, it's not a sure thing – how could I have been so fucking stupid? I missed my birth control too, I mean, I don't know, it just happened. This whole thing's just an endless clusterfuck.”
“Holy shit, Imogen,” said Sarah, her eyes narrowed, “You're not actually thinking of keeping it, are you?”
“No,” snapped Imogen, looking away, “I – I don't know. What the hell am I gonna do with a baby? Look, you're scaring me, I don't even know if I'm pregnant.” The final word left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Look, Imogen,” said Sarah, reaching over and squeezing Imogen's cold, clammy hands, “Whatever you decide, honey, I'll be here for you.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” replied Imogen, squeezing back, “I know you got my back, girl. Not looking forward to our next monthly camping trip though – it's gonna be hell with the family.”
“Your family and your camping trips,” said Sarah, shaking her head, “Hang in there, sweetie. Alright, I gotta get back to my station. We'll talk later, okay?”
Imogen slunk into her seat, a throng of garbled thoughts racing in her head. All her life, she was known as the “planner” of the Paige family, the organized one. She was always the first to rise in the morning, ensuring there was breakfast on the table before she herself headed for long, ten-hour shifts. She made sure the laundry was folded and put away on a weekly basis, and stocked the fridge and cupboard like clockwork. After her mother had passed, she seemed to step in naturally, filling in the missing motherly shoes. She knew she was the glue holding the shattered shards of her broken family together. She blinked, mindlessly tracing her stomach with her finger as the soft giggle of a child's laughter drifted in her ears.
“Miss? Can we get a refill, please? Miss?”
Imogen snapped out of her daze, leaping to her feet.
Chapter Five –
“You don't look too good, Gen,”
Connor Paige, the oldest of the clan, crouched down to Imogen's level, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder. She gagged as the revolting stink of raw fish permeated her nostrils, clasping her hands over her mouth and nose. She took a deep breath, forcing a quivering smile onto her face, giving him a thumbs up. She glanced down to the bucket next to Connor's feet. It was brimming with flopping, dazzling silver-scaled trouts; white-whiskered, spotted catfish; and two, tiny, jerking largemouth basses, stacked on top of one another.
“Is it the fish?” asked Connor, lifting an eyebrow, “We do this every month – the hell's gotten into you today? Even Princess Lauren's been helping out.”
Imogen opened her mouth to speak, stopping, puffing out her cheeks. Hesitating, she swallowed, glancing up to the open-mouthed disgust of her older brother. Before Connor could say anything else, five long, slender fingers with thick, crystal nail french tips, slithered around his arm, clinching his raised wrist.
“Leave the poor girl be, baby, let's go round and play with Chris and Donna – Chris has been buggin' me about his big brother.”
Imogen flashed her sister-in-law, Macy, a weak, grateful smile. The blonde bombshell winked back at her, grinning back, parting her barbie pink lips, exposing a set of the straightest, whitest teeth Imogen had ever seen. She had adored Macy from the start, and had vouched for her when her parents and siblings had doubts about her genuine intentions with Connor, as they were deemed to be aesthetic opposites. Connor was tall and wiry, and had spent years with his nose buried in his books, eventually receiving a prestigious degree and a great internship – he had his whole future ahead of him. Yet when he lost his job during the market crash, Macy had started up her own successful boutique. They had two children, and decided that Connor would stay home with the kids while Macy worked full-time to keep her business afloat. Imogen admired the raw independence that seemed to radiate from this woman.
“Imogen, look who's here!”
She squeaked, her eyes widening as she turned to face Ronald, beaming, his arm around Tucker's shoulder. She nodded, licking her flaky lips, “What are you doing here?”
“That's rude, Imo –” started Ronald, frowning.
“No, no, I'm sure she's just surprised to see me at another one of your family gatherings. Sorry to come unannounced,” said Tucker coolly, raising his eyebrows up and down at her.
She looked away, turning to gaze at her father, “Yeah, that's all I meant, Dad. Good to see you, Mr. Travis. I think I'm gonna go for a walk, if you'll excuse me.”
Imogen decided to break free from the crowd and to get some much needed fresh air. Awkward pools of her sweat seeped through the sheer fabric of her cream white camisole. She found an isolated clearing several feet from the bank of the lake, into the looming, cool shade of the ginger pine trees. She fanned herself with her hand and cupped her free arm under her swollen chest, settling down on a horizontal log. She took a deep breath, sighing as she kneaded her temples. She could still hear the shrill, distant echos of Chris and Donna's squabbling.
Without warning, she lunged forward, tears springing to her eyes as the stinging acidity rose in her throat, the contents of her churned breakfast of fiery jalapeno poppers and spicy sausages expelling out of her mouth. She winced, holding her throbbing stomach as she walked towards a single tree stump across the clearing. She cursed under her breath, scolding herself for scarfing down a digestive system's worst nightmare. For the past fe
w weeks, everything that touched her lips seemed bland and inedible without at least five coatings of hot sauce. She collapsed onto the stump, bursting into a fit of unprovoked, turbulent tears, sobbing into her hands. She pulled away, staring at the gooey mess in her hands, and wailed some more.
“Gen?”
Imogen rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, sniffing. She pivoted in her seat, barely looking up, sighing, “Lauren, please, I'm not in the mood right now. Don't attack me when I've got my guard down.”
“I wasn't – wow, is that what you guys think of me?”
Imogen turned to face her. Lauren's dark roots gleamed under the rays of the sunlight, peeking out of her waxy blonde hair. Her face was clouded by the shadow and her lips were pressed tightly closed, but Imogen could see the hurt riddled in her dusky eyes. Imogen finally noticed the teal mug of instant hot chocolate in Lauren's hands. Her lip trembled, feeling instant remorse and slightly bewildered at the sweet gesture.
“Shit,” breathed Imogen, “I'm an asshole. That's sweet of you.”
“I brought some instant mix and thought I'd make you some , figured you were feeling sick from period cramps.”
“Well, I'm not,” said Imogen simply, her eyes downcast, “Hasn't come in two months now.”
“Two months? That's – oh dios mio,” gasped Lauren, her hands slapping against her face theatrically.
“Cut it out, Lauren – you and your telenovelas,” snorted Imogen, patting the spot next to her, “So, how long have you known?”
“I don't know, I guess I had a feeling, and your tits have blown up three cups,” said Lauren, her expression turning serious, “Are you sure you're pregnant?”
“Yes, I don't know, those tests aren't always a hundred percent –”
Lauren whipped out a small box from her back pocket, placing it gently on Imogen's lap, “Here, it's a new one.”
“What're you doing with a pregnancy test?” whispered Imogen, biting her lip.
“Don't worry, I'm not,” said Lauren hurriedly, rolling her eyes, “Take it already, will you? The suspense is eventually gonna kill you – trust me.”
Lauren watched as her sister disappeared behind the tree. She fiddled with her hands nervously, pacing back and forth as she waited. Imogen finally emerged from behind a wide tree trunk, waddling over uncomfortably as she adjusted the waist of her pants. She placed the white pregnancy stick on the tree stump, crossing her arms impatiently as she waited for the lines to appear.
“How many times have you taken the test?”
“Twice,” said Imogen, biting her fingernail as she squeezed her eyes shut, “Both positive.”
“Well, Gen,” said Lauren softly, pointing at the blue parallel lines materialized on the stick, “I guess third time's the charm.”
Chapter Six –
Imogen and Lauren stared at the positive pregnancy test in absolute silence. The only sounds heard were the rustling of the leaves gently groping the bark of the tree, and the episodic, soft howling of the light breeze brushing against their skin. Lauren finally broke the silence, her voice cracking, a terrible southern accent escaping her lips, “Well, ain't that a kick in the head.”
Imogen stared at Lauren for a moment, her nose wrinkling. Her chest fluttered as she doubled over in laughter, “What? Who says that to someone who's just found out they're pregnant?!”
“Shut up,” said Lauren, her smile squirming, “Imogen, what're you gonna do?”
“Fuck me if I know,” groaned Imogen, grinding her teeth together in hopeless anguish, as she picked up the untouched mug on the floor. She took a sip of the cocoa, cringing as the cooled, granular liquid touched her lips.
“I didn't even know you were seeing someone –”
“I'm not,” said Imogen slowly, bracing herself for a cruel retort.
“Nothing to say to that?” Imogen pressed Lauren, cocking an eyebrow, “Really?”
“Gen, I know I give you a hard time,” muttered Lauren softly, averting her gaze, “I'm not judging you. It's really not my place.”
“Wow, Lauren,” replied Imogen quietly, a subtle smile curling on her lips, “Thanks. Definitely wasn't expecting that, but that was nice. Was almost like we were kids again.”
“Can I ask you something, Gen?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you gonna keep it?”
Imogen sat on the ground, charting the curves of her slightly rounder, growing belly with her fingertips. She gulped down the emerging lump in her throat, croaking as a fresh batch of tears cascaded down her plump, ruddy cheeks. She gazed at Lauren with doleful eyes, “I want to, I really do.”
“Gen, that's great – I –”
“I can't leave the fucking house –” snapped Imogen, her eyes flashing.
“Why not, Gen? Don't you have enough saved up?”
“Yes, and I would've moved out ages ago if I didn't think all you fuckers would drive Dad up the wall,” growled Imogen, panting. She took a deep breath, lowering her eyes, “Sorry, Lauren – I –”
“No, it's the hormones,” said Lauren evenly, shrugging, “Plus, I deserve that. Listen to me, Gen. I didn't buy the test for you – I had an extra one. I had my own scare, and it really put things into perspective for me.”
“I'm sorry, Lauren, you could've reached out to me – I –”
“No, I couldn't,” said Lauren bluntly, “And it's my fault. I've been on my ass for years now, neglecting school, work – moving forward with my life. I was fucking scared out of my mind when I thought I could be pregnant, Gen. No money, no job, nothing to call my own. I can barely look after myself, what the hell am I gonna do with a fucking baby?”
“What are you saying, Lauren?”
“I'm saying, Gen. I'm growing the fuck up. I didn't want to tell anyone till it was a sure thing, but I've sent in applications and everything to the community college downtown. Taking some courses, gonna get my GED.”
“Lauren,” whispered Imogen, glowing, “I'm so proud of you. I don't know what to say –”
“Say you'll finally move out. Stop holding yourself back. I promise, I'm not fucking up this time. I'm serious,” said Lauren firmly, a confident smile on her face. She placed a hand on Imogen's shoulder, “Does the father know?”
“No,” replied Imogen curtly.
“Why not?”
“Well, he's not the right –”
“I think he deserves to know,” interrupted Lauren, “Whoever he is. If he doesn't step up, you know you've always got family, but if you never –”
“I know, I know,” sighed Imogen, “Let's get back, it's getting dark.”
The pair walked back to the campsite, arms laced, quiet nostalgia trailing behind them.
Chapter Seven –
Imogen unzipped her tent and crawled out onto the grass, the moist blades of golden, amber tinted leaves crinkling and crunching under the weight of her knees. She squinted, flipping her flashlight on and off quickly, peering into the darkness at the cluster of tents around her. Her eyes bolted on the stirring burgundy tent next to Ronald's wheezing black shelter. Holding her breath, she unzipped Tucker's tent slowly. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, glancing sideways before shining the blinding glow of her flashlight onto his sleeping eyes.
“Psst.”
Imogen swallowed, a pearl of aroused perspiration trickling between the smothering space of her swelling breasts. Tucker was sprawled out on top of his sleeping bag, unperturbed. There was a healed, flesh-toned scar etched across his right nipple, his bare, chiseled chest rising and falling as light snores exhaled from his parted lips. Her eyes darted to the silhouette of his hand buried in his spanish gray boxers, gripping his brazenly stiff cock.
Imogen hovered over his sleeping build. She delivered a quick smack to his leg, clamping her hand against Tucker's mouth, stifling his incensed, freshly woken rage as his eyes darted back and forth. She whispered into his ears, her hot breath tickling his cartilage, “Shh, don't wake them up. It's me, Imogen. I
need to talk to you.”
Dazed, Tucker limped out after Imogen, stretching his arms as he followed her down the descending path. He cleared his throat, his voice gruff from sleep, “Where we going?”
As if she hadn't heard him, she beamed her flashlight forward as she continued down the path, slightly stumbling at the steady decline of the hill. She finally stopped at the foot of the trail, gasping lightly as she caught her breath. She sat down on a broken log, gesturing for him to join her. Tucker turned a full circle, baffled, croaking, “What's going on? Why're we so far from camp?”
Imogen stared at Tucker, her eyes flitting back and forth as she attempted to gather her words. She stared at Tucker, her thoughts drawing a complete blank as she ogled at the prominent bulge on his boxers. Tucker frowned, following her gaze. His lips broke out into a devious, playful smile. Her toffee-tinted skin glowed under the ivory rays of the moon, her loose, flowing hair collected on one side of her shoulders. He groaned under his breath as he noticed the glaring, pert nubs of her erect nipples, poking through her camisole. His eyes narrowed, tilting his head to the side as he spoke, “You look fucking beau –”
Imogen pounced on him, knocking him to the ground. Tucker grunted in surprise, quickly regaining his cool as his teeth grazed her tender, full lips, slipping in his tongue as he raked a hand through the back of her hair, slipping off her camisole. She winced as his fingers clenched the jiggling, swollen mounds of her breasts, mashing them against each other as he buried his face into her throbbing, ample cleavage. He flicked out his sharp, pointed tongue and ran it across her stark nipple, growling, “Did your tits get bigger? They're like fucking balloons in my mouth, it's amazing. And these fucking hips...”
A light moan whispered out of her lips, her eyes squeezing shut as she bathed in the older man's lust. His attention to detail made her feel like a temptress – the young, sweet, forbidden fruit. She pushed his head backwards, grinning coyly. She retreated slowly, licking a trail from the scar on his nipple down to the slightly loose skin of his lined stomach, aged from what once looked like perfectly chiseled abs. She yanked down his boxers, grabbing hold of his thick, veined cock , stroking the rugged, coarse hairs of the dark shroud surrounding his throbbing pole. Her intense gaze widened, boring through his glazed stare as she licked a trail from the bottom of the shaft to the tip of his cock.
