French Fry (The French Twist Series Book 3)

by Glynis Astie

  Was he joking? Did he forget I had supported us for six months while he was out of work? That I put up with his mood swings and tried to bring him out of his sadness? I rode on a fucking motorcycle because he wanted me to share in his passion! I have my own damn riding gear, for God’s sake!

  And what about all the crap I went through for his mother? Has he forgotten the three-ring circus of activities involved in our French wedding? I had to star in ALL of them, while he had the time of his life. And don’t even get me started on the shenanigans of the ex-pack. (You must recall my less than subtle name for his ex-girlfriends who attended all wedding-related events, purely for the purpose of taunting me.)

  While I tried to channel my indignation into a coherent declaration, Louis closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need a break, Syd. I am going to see Bastiaan.” To punctuate his remark, he got up and left the room.

  What? He explodes at me for no good reason and now he is leaving? My indignation had grown tenfold, but I had yet to formulate my rebuttal.

  Inspiration suddenly struck and I bellowed, “It’s nice to see you finally express some of your pent-up emotion! One of these days you were bound to explode!”

  Nice, Sydney. You are the very definition of maturity. Your newborn will be so proud to call you his mother.

  Louis returned from the bedroom with his workout bag, glaring in my general direction. “I will be back late. Do not wait up.”

  Grasping at straws, I pleaded, “But you haven’t eaten!”

  He opened the door, turning back briefly to say, “I have had enough.” And then he was gone.

  The tears began to run down my face the moment the door slammed. I buried my head in one of the many pillows surrounding me and had a gut-wrenching cry. I felt so resentful of Louis. I knew he had been under a great deal of stress at work, while trying to come to terms with becoming a father far earlier than he had ever imagined. But whatever his struggles were, HE didn’t have to think of the baby every single second of every single day.

  I would LOVE to work out some of my tension by going to the gym. However, I have long since given up my membership since I feel like crap most of the time. What is the point in paying to go to a gym, when you are always achy, queasy and bloated? Plus, my center of gravity keeps shifting and I’m afraid I might tumble from any exercise equipment I manage to climb onto. The only activity I can manage without endangering my safety is walking and I’m certainly not going to venture out on my own in the dark.

  I threw a pillow across the room in frustration. It isn’t fair! I’M the one who’s had to make all the changes. I’M the one whose body has morphed into a vastly altered state, resulting in my feeling fat, ugly and cranky the majority of the time. I have modified my diet, which translates to giving up almost all of my favorite foods and, of course, alcohol. I spend every moment trying to tame the crazy beast who lies within for the sake of the baby’s health. I have to be so careful about EVERY LITTLE THING and I can never, ever just think about myself again.

  I don’t care what anyone says. It isn’t the same for fathers. Granted, mothers have to carry, birth and breastfeed the babies, but fathers could do a lot to help out once the baby is born. Sadly, according to most women I know, the mothers still take on the brunt of the work.

  Who do you think usually ends up doing the cooking, laundry and cleaning? Who’s going to get up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? (Fathers CAN do that. Ever heard of a breast pump?) Who’s going to read the child development books and implement the appropriate activities to ensure the best future for the baby? Many men will tell you they try to help, but their wives take over since they aren’t doing things correctly. They will roll their eyes and call these poor women “control freaks.” But I don’t buy it for a second. Those men are happy to be let off the hook. Caring for babies is extremely hard work!

  I thought my husband would be different, but I’m beginning to wonder. A few months ago, my boss bought Louis a book about becoming a dad. (So sweet!) Do you think he has touched it? Of course not. He has had plenty of time to play video games, watch TV and mess around on his computer, but gleaning information about how his child is developing or how to help his pregnant wife isn’t on his current list of priorities.

  I’m well aware of his supreme focus on buying a house and I fully admit it would be a good thing for all of us to have a larger living space. I agree with his decision, but I’m not ready yet. I need ONE thing in our chaotic existence to stay the same. Is that too much to ask?

  I noticed the water boiling over and quickly got up to turn off the burner. I no longer felt hungry and figured the banana I had earlier would tide me over until my stomach calmed down.

  After splashing some water on my face, I decided to seek comfort in a chick flick. I needed something to distract my mind from going to the place of no return. As you know quite well, I’m rather skilled with a good old-fashioned freak out. I could have easily gone with the trusty, “How the hell am I going to do this? I’m not ready to be a mother!!!” Or even reverted to the ever popular, “Why did I marry him? We don’t belong together!”

  But that wasn’t going to happen this time. I had been able to keep Crazy Sydney at bay for a long period of time and I wasn’t going to let her back in now. Nope. Tell your story walkin’, sister.

  Five minutes of careful consideration resulted in the selection of Bridget Jones’s Diary. (I have long felt Bridget and I to be kindred spirits.) As the gorgeous Mark Darcy came on the screen for the first time, there was a knock at my door. Did Louis forget his key? After his earlier tirade, I would rather spend the evening with a fictitious character in the form of the sexy Colin Firth than with my husband. Sighing heavily, I picked myself up from the couch and answered the door.

  The sight which met my eyes was not a pleasant one. I found Maya standing in the hallway holding a red, geometric-print, halter dress with a metallic sheen. It was exactly the type of garish ensemble my mother-in-law would have worn with relish. Suddenly the stress of the last year and half of my life sucker punched me in the stomach and I knew I was going to be sick. I held my hand over my mouth and ran into the kitchen. I barely made it to the sink before the entirety of the banana came up.

  Maya followed me inside and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Stop being so dramatic, Syd. You could’ve just told me you didn’t like it.”

  I wiped the corner of my mouth with my tank top and shuddered. It seemed to take a dramatic gesture—whether intentional or not—to hold her attention. “Well, now you know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After what will be forever known as “the vulgar banana incident,” Maya finally admitted to provoking me with outrageous matron of honor dresses. She insisted she wasn’t intending to cause me distress, but trying to “get me to lighten up a little.” Forever confused by Maya’s logic, I agreed to let bygones be bygones as long as she didn’t engage in any further wedding nonsense. Simply being her friend requires dealing with a large degree of mischief; I had no intention of falling victim to another act of absurdity.

  As a peace offering, Maya booked a spa day for us at Tranquility, one of the swankiest spots in San Francisco. It may have taken her two weeks to get us full-day treatments with what she termed, “the only acceptable estheticians” but in comparison to the four months most people had to wait, we were extremely lucky. In truth, I was happy simply to have the day off work; the pampering was a bonus. I needed to be as far away from Paul and his pet insurance crusade as possible. His tireless efforts were putting my former nemesis, Lindsey, to shame. I’m guessing her pregnancy had put a serious damper on her ability to cause a ruckus. All the better for me! I think having to handle the two of them at the same time would bring Crazy Pregnant Sydney out, fangs bared and guns blazing. Not a pretty picture in the least.

  In preparation for my day of indulgence, I took a quick shower, put on a pair of black leggings and a pink tank top and tucked my long black sweater into my gi
gantic purse. (It takes a hefty satchel to fit a change of clothes, deodorant, tissues, water, crackers, a banana AND industrial sized containers of breath mints and hand sanitizer.) I scoured the internet for the lightest weight sweater I could find as it pained me to wear it, but I could no longer in good conscience expose my sizeable rear end to the world. Thirty weeks pregnant doesn’t make for a tiny tushie. And it is only going to get worse…

  After putting my breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, I heard Maya’s voice outside the door. She hadn’t knocked and she clearly wasn’t talking to me, so she must be on her cell phone. My bat-like hearing detected her giggling like a schoolgirl. What the hell? She is totally flirting! Is this a new tactic she is trying with Devon to get him to agree to the latest wedding demand? I gasped. Or is she cheating on him? No. There is no way she would be that stupid. Would she?

  I needed to find out what she was up to—for her own good. I had already helped her fix the last disaster and was in no mood for another one. I had my hands, well, my uterus, full here. In an attempt to be stealthy, I tiptoed across the room with the goal of eavesdropping. Sadly, I stubbed my toe on the couch on the way to the door and let out a gigantic scream of pain. Way to blow your cover, Syd.

  I immediately heard Maya banging on the door and yelling my name. I limped over to the door and opened it to find her completely frantic, clutching her cell phone for dear life.

  “What the fuck happened?” She gave me the once over, searching for the source of the agony.

  “I stubbed my toe.” I blushed with embarrassment at my klutziness. “Sorry to alarm you.”

  Relief spread across her face. She immediately returned her focus to her phone, texting like a madwoman. When finished, she grinned at me and slipped her phone back into her purse. “Are you ready for your spa day?”

  I eyed her suspiciously. “Did I interrupt anything?”

  She shrugged. “Another wedding fiasco. It’s a wonder anyone can get their jobs done without me.”

  Uh-huh. Not buying it. I will have to pry it out of her later. Maybe I will be lucky and the spa treatments will relax her into submission.

  Forty-five minutes later, we were safely parked in the Union Square garage, only a couple blocks away from our destination in the Westfield Shopping Center. Maya waited to turn off the ignition until she had finished her rendition of Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” Still bopping to the beat, she sang, “Are you ready?”

  I paused. This new perky Maya was…disturbing. I observed her warily as I said, “Yup. Let’s go.”

  Maya swiftly got out of the car as I struggled to hoist myself up from a seated position. Her Mini Cooper was adorable, but not the easiest vehicle to get out of when you had an extra twenty pounds residing squarely in your midsection. After shaking her head, she held her arm out to me.

  “Let me help, Syd. This is too pathetic to watch.” There’s the Maya I know and love.

  After a good heave-ho, I had been safely extracted from the car. But not without a sound chuckle on Maya’s part.

  I fixed my death stare on her. “I can’t wait for the day you find yourself in this position.”

  She scoffed. “You’re much too decent a person to indulge in such ill-mannered activity. I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but you’re all talk.”

  I bit back a nasty retort, knowing full well she was right. I couldn’t be as flippant as she was—especially after having gone through pregnancy myself. No one deserved to be made fun of in such a physically draining condition.

  I settled for glowering at her as we exited the parking garage and slowly made our way to the safe haven of Tranquility. I’m sure she was quaking in her boots.

  Immediately upon our arrival, we were bustled away by a very efficient and bubbly man named Chester. He matched my five feet seven inches (with the aide of his platform boots), had a shock of red hair and a porcelain complexion most women would kill for. He also had quite the gift for gab.

  I swear, he didn’t stop talking from the moment he picked us up from the reception desk to the moment he dropped us in the waiting room. While Maya engaged in a lively discussion of fashion tips with him, I was content to watch the volley of conversation. I knew about as much about current fashion as I did about oil rigging. (Absolutely nothing.)

  After changing into our plush robes, Maya and I returned to the waiting room and sipped cucumber water. She propped her feet on an obliging ottoman and sank deeply into its matching armchair before exclaiming, “This is amazing!”

  I was torn between agreeing with her and asking her if she had started taking happy pills. (It is a legitimate question!) The Maya I knew was surly. She was sarcastic. Sure, she came through when you needed her, but she had never exhibited such a…well, positive attitude. I feel silly admitting it, but I found this new Maya quite unsettling.

  “Syd? You there?”

  I met her eyes. “Yes. Sorry. Totally here. I’m just tired, as usual. There’s a good chance I’ll fall asleep on the massage table.”

  “From what Chester was saying, that’s pretty common. Especially for women in your condition.” She arched her perfectly sculpted eyebrow to further her point.

  “Yes, well, pregnancy comes with a whole host of trying experiences, culminating in a massive amount of pain. I’m going to need as much rest as I can get before that time comes.”

  Maya snickered. “Didn’t Nurse Bertha liken it to having the largest bowel movement of your life?”

  “No, Maya, that was your imagination.” I rolled my eyes at her. “That’s something my dad would say.”

  The smile froze on her face for a fraction of a second. “I bet you keep flashing back to that horrific pregnancy video, don’t you?”

  I shook my head at her. This was my own fault. I had been stupid enough to tell Maya about the unforgettable video we had been forced to view in our Lamaze class. I had revealed every last detail, right down to the terrifying compilation birth scene. I rue the day I ever mentioned it to her. This video has been the butt of an endless parade of tasteless jokes from Maya. (Finally! The return of my pun prowess!)

  While I seriously debated threatening her life if she ever brought up this heinous video again, Maya became more entrenched in her laughing fit. A couple of minutes later, she was finally able to speak.

  “Sorry, Syd. I was just telling your father about it and he said…” She gasped and held her hand over her mouth.

  What?!?

  I gaped at her. “You told MY DAD about the video?” I had so many questions, I had no idea where to start.

  Why was she having secret conversations with my dad? (She hasn’t ever mentioned speaking with him, so that qualifies them as secret.) What would make her think it was a good idea to discuss my traumatic Lamaze class experience with him? Couldn’t she have chuckled over this with someone outside of my family? She knew my dad would tease me about this for the foreseeable future. Damn her!

  Suddenly the penny dropped. “He mentioned you were helping him with something. Is he the mystery man from the phone?”

  I was about to press her further when Chester came rushing up, an expression of sheer panic on his face. Lucky Maya. Saved by the anxiety-ridden, red-headed concierge.

  Maya cocked her head to the side. “What’s up, Ches?”

  After offering Maya a brief smile, he addressed me nervously. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Durand, but it seems the expectant mother before you has had some sort of… episode and is insisting Louisa stay with her until her husband comes to pick her up. I hope you don’t mind waiting a little longer.”

  I surveyed the situation. I was sitting in the most comfortable robe in existence on the most comfortable chaise lounge in existence, sipping a cool drink whilst listening to soothing music and inhaling the delightful scent of lavender. I was perfectly content, aside from wanting to throttle Maya. No biggie.

  I put my hand on Chester’s arm in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. “I feel no need to move, Chester. This room is delig
htful! I’ll be happy to wait for Louisa.”

  Chester exhaled loudly. “Thank you for your patience, Ms. Durand. I greatly appreciate your flexibility. I don’t see it very often.”

  Following his expression of gratitude, Chester walked toward the door to the treatment rooms. At the same moment he reached for the handle, the door flew open, hit him directly in the face and knocked him to the ground. The door slammed shut abruptly and shouting ensued on the other side. It sounded oddly like, “We don’t have any beef jerky!”

  Maya immediately jumped up. “Chester! Are you OK?” She rushed to him when the door flew open again. Maya dodged to the side, thereby escaping the same fate as Chester, as a naked woman ran into the waiting room. I did a double take. NAKED woman?

  Suddenly, two men in understated security uniforms hustled out of the back, each carrying a fluffy white robe. They spent the next few minutes trying to corral their wayward client, but it seemed that between the liberally applied massage oil and what I imagined to be their reluctance to be sued for assault, they were unable to get an effective grip on her.

  Still in a state of shock and unable to come up with a better idea, I stayed put on my chaise lounge. Thankfully, poor Chester hadn’t been knocked out; he was only slightly bruised and shaken. With Maya’s help, he stood up and took charge of the situation.

  “Ellie!”

  The naked woman stopped and stared in his direction. She appeared to be in her late fifties, with mahogany hair, deeply tanned skin and gorgeous green eyes.

  “Ellie, did you forget your beef jerky again?”

  She nodded timidly as Chester approached her and handed her a robe. She quickly put it on and curled up into a chair.

  He sighed and turned to one of the guards. “You have both been told if she forgets her beef jerky, we have a stash in the kitchen.”