by HJ Bellus
Annie just simply leaned down and kissed her dad.
She sat up, put both hands on her hips, very Milly-esque I might add, and let him have it, “Dad, I want my Snickers. You always steal them and it’s not fair. You know this is a free country. Then when Mac gets older, you two will both be stealing my Snickers and I will never get one. You twos will gang up on me and it will never be fair. ‘Cause you are always saying he’s your boy. I’m a girl and want my effin’ own Snickers.”
All eyes shot to me when effin’ flew out of her mouth. What was the big deal, she used it correctly and to her dad of all people, but doing the adult thing I mouthed ‘sorry’ to everyone. Annie just earned a new title with that meltdown. She was now the proud owner of Minnie Milly. Boy, did that girl sound like her mother. Nobody was expecting her answer, and I could even tell Tripp was choked up and ready to go buy out the local grocery store for Annie. Cree scooped Annie up off the blanket and went on a walk with her. He was the best dad ever, and rest assured he would have little Tink’s Snickers phobia under control in minutes.
Tripp was spread eagle on his back, recovering from the trauma of the meltdown, when the music started playing under the canopy and the dancing started. Being knocked-up Barbie and all, I decided to make my way over to him and straddle his mid-section.
“Jesus Barbie, your dress is a little short to be doing that,” Tripp said as he lifted his head and made sure my ass was safely tucked away.
I noticed an envelope slide out of his pocket. It was clearly addressed to him, so I pointed at the envelope and raised an eyebrow. Tripp grabbed the crinkled envelope and forced it back down in his pocket. I went to ask about it and he simply shook his head. It was not up for discussion whatever it was, and I wasn’t going to push the issue.
“Just living up to the name, Ken,” I said as I bent over and kissed his nose.
“You are such a slut,” Tripp whispered and slapped my ass.
As he slapped my ass Ice Ice Baby came blaring from the speakers, and a case of lightening diarrhea struck. I shot off of Tripp as fast as possible, grabbed Milly and sprinted for the dance floor. We even snagged Annie on the way. Us three girls let that dance floor have it. At one point Annie was dancing on top of a tall speaker and Milly was on the stage, and me, I was giving my slutty dress a real work out. I caught Tripp and Cree watching us on the edge of the dance floor with the biggest shit eating grins plastered on their faces. This song was just for us girls. We would pull their happy asses out here soon enough. I knew Milly would have to request, Somebody Like You before the night was over.
Letter #5
Meatball,
It is time to celebrate…it is official: I don’t have the pukes anymore. I can eat and not worry about losing it!!! Here is a checklist of my faves:
Candy: Swedish Fish (straight reds)
Food: Chicken Tacos (sitting in your daddy’s lap)
Drink: Diet Mt. Dew (daddy doesn’t like me drinking it)
Dessert: Lemon Bars
Your dad still reads to me every night from our pregnancy book. He loves reading your list of developments each night, and I even catch him rubbing the list with his strong hand and a huge smile plastered on his face. Oh yeah, and today I had to do the hair pony tail holder trick on my jeans. I’m refusing frumpy maternity clothes. We have to rock this shit girl! I’m not above wearing a bikini the rest of this pregnancy.
Love, Momma
Chapter 22
The End
Lacey
“Momma, what do you want for your birthday?” Annie asked, as her and Tripp sat cross-legged on the floor playing UNO.
I was plopped in Cree’s recliner in my nappy yoga pants and Tripp’s hoodie with a bag full of Skittles watching my family. No worries, because my perfect pot belly made the best shelf for candy storage. Milly was lying on the floor with her legs perched up in Cree’s lap, while baby Mac was belly to belly with her blowing raspberries on her nose. The more raspberries that flew out of his mouth, the more laughter he got from his mom and pops. It was downright disgusting, but heartwarming all at the same time.
Cree was armed with green nail polish and was painting Milly’s toes. Ever since the two dated, her toes were always green, or a combination of green and yellow. Every once in a while Milly would jerk her foot away, which made Cree flash his panty dropping whites at her, and say “Quit begging, Dolly.” Who knew what those two were up to. They took freaks to a whole new level.
“Just dinner with our family, baby girl. That’s what I want,” Milly responded.
“Basagana?” Annie questioned.
Seeing that Annie was distracted, Tripp took a peek at her cards. He wasn’t cheating, rather trying to end the torture. Annie was a ruthless shark when it came to UNO, dragging the games out for eternity. She had two cards left in her tiny hands. Yellow Tripp mouthed to me, and then shot me one of those ‘I want in your panties’ winks. Tripp played a Wild, changed the color to yellow and let Pistol Annie take the win. Annie’s victory dance followed on the coffee table. She leap frogged her little buns onto the couch next to Cree, and grabbed Milly’s other foot and started painting it hot pink.
“Annie, what do you think you are doing?” Cree questioned her.
“Dad, slow yo’ role, nothing gets between a girl and the color pink,” Annie said waving the dipstick to the polish in front of her face for added drama princess effect.
Milly and I giggled at the little hoochie in training. Cree didn’t look as impressed with Annie, but Milly’s continued fit of giggles derailed him from his fatherly speech. He gave Annie a nod of his head and the duo went to painting Milly’s toes.
Tripp made his way to the recliner, scooped me up and settled back in with me on his lap. His hands always went straight to Meatball. I loved feeling his strong hands on my bouncing, growing belly. Tripp picked up one of baby Mac’s bottles from the table and then proceeded to tell me he was going to teach me a lesson.
“You see Lace, milk needs to be the perfect temperature for the baby. Too hot and it could burn the baby’s mouth and throat, and cold milk might give the baby a belly ache…” Trip explained all of this when a stream of breast milk shot from the bottle and splattered on my face and continued to dribble down my neck.
The douche bag just sprayed Milly’s tit juice all over my face. Cree instantly erupted into laughter, Milly craned her neck to see what was going on and Annie pointed out to me that Mac’s milk was all over my face.
“Tripp! I. Can. Not. Believe. You.” I spit out in rage.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Tripp said in between laughing like a raging idiot, “Baby, I’m sorry. I was just trying to show you.”
“Let me go now,” I demanded.
“No, stop. I’m sorry. Really, really sorry,” Tripp pleaded while still laughing.
“Oh, you are sorry? So sorry that you can’t quit laughing over the fact you just showered me in milk. Not just any milk, but the milk extracted from best friend’s boob,” I questioned.
Tripp leaned down and whispered into my hair, “Baby, I’m sorry. It was an accident. A funny one, but an accident. I’m sorry, pretty girl.”
Fine! If he wouldn’t let me up then he would wear it with me. I grabbed the ragged edge of his hoodie, pulled it off, wiped down my face and neck and then shoved it in his face. Asshat! Let’s see if he finds a stranger’s titty juice smeared on his face funny. She wasn’t a stranger, but titty juice was titty juice.
Milly and Cree took the kids upstairs to tuck them in. Those two idiots were still laughing, too.
“I know you are pissed, but I still love you,” Tripp whispered.
He then grabbed me by the hips and lifted me to face him. Trip grabbed my face in his hands and started to kiss me. I’m a dirty hooker, so I let him. I was still mad, and he was still in trouble, but I let him kiss me. I never turned away or denied a kiss from my husband. Before I knew it, Tripp’s hands were up my shirt skimming trails across my back. I was primed, ready and
going in for the kill, and that’s when I heard Milly.
“You are such a slut. Go home and do the nasty on your own furniture or I will spray you with milk straight from my boobie,” Milly said, as she grabbed both of the sisters.
Moment ruined. Thank you, Milly. Seeing the horror on my face, Cree cut in on the conversation.
“It’s okay, Sis. Soon, actually in a few shorts months, you will be able to pay these two back,” he said pointing at the two asshats in my life.
“And anyway my boy just sucked her dry. It takes her a good thirty minutes to reload.”
I secretly loved it when Cree called me Sis. He shortly started calling me that after our corn dog bonding moment when Milly had been beaten by the Bastard. Cree always made me feel like I fit in. I wasn’t born to fit. And I damn sure branded my body and attitude to not fit in, but Cree never accepted it. I was born to fit in his little family.
Milly returned armed with Cree’s favorite beer. She not so gracefully tossed it to him as she plopped down on his lap. She had the whole couch to sprawl out on, but chose his lap. I guess I didn’t have much room to talk considering I was spread across Tripp’s lap facing him. Look at us, just a couple of dirty hookers with the loves of our lives firmly planted underneath them. By the looks on all of our faces, similar thoughts were playing out in our all of our minds.
Breaking into the silence, Tripp piped up, “So, what’s the fun plans for tonight? A movie, game or strip poker again?”
Holy hell! Not strip poker again. Last time, I ended up buck naked and trying to hide under Tripp’s hoodie that kept getting yanked away by my asshole friend, Milly. Milly had barely managed to keep her undies on, but somehow the two douches we were married to remained fully clothed. Definitely cheaters! Milly and I googled strip poker rules the next day and they definitely were cheaters.
Beating me to it, Milly said, “Oh, hells to the no, big boy. You two are a bunch of ruthless- ass cheaters. I’m in the mood to ride.”
Oh, dear baby Jesus, we were in for a show. I could tell by the look on Milly’s devious face.
“Yes, I’m going to ride Cree like Sea Biscuit,” she continued as she began vigorously bouncing up and down on Cree. Her legs sprang into action, spurring at Cree’s calves. Oh, poor Sea Biscuit. Milly reached back and grabbed Cree’s trucker hat off his head and placed it sideways on her head as she continued to molest poor Sea Biscuit with her grinding and bouncing hips. It was quite the show. Tripp and I couldn’t contain our laughter, which only provoked the horny rider. She was riding the shit out of Sea Biscuit.
Tripp’s phone pierced the air, cutting into our laughter. He pulled it from his pocket, and I noticed my picture on his screen with the word ‘mom’ sprawled across the screen. What the hell was his Mom doing calling him? Tripp declined the call and another goofy picture of me blowing a giant bubble covered the screen. He was constantly taking pictures of me to save on his phone. Every contact on his phone was assigned a picture of me. He was such a stalker. Even Meatball was in some of the pictures. My favorite was a picture of Tripp and I kissing, with his ball cap twisted sideways hiding a portion of our faces. It was mysterious and hot at the same time, and I found myself staring at that picture during work more and more. If I wasn’t so effin stubborn, I would have quit my job and stayed plastered to his side.
The ringing of another cell phone cut me from my trance this time. This time it was Cree’s. Milly quit riding and spurring.
Cree said, “Man, it’s your mom, Tripp.”
Tripp just shrugged, lifted me off his lap and walked outside, slamming the door. Cree looked at me for an answer. I knew something was wrong and the conversation could not be avoided. Or maybe, just maybe, his mom had come to her senses, and wanted to earn her place back in Tripp’s life.
I silently nodded my head giving Cree the go ahead to answer the phone. Milly made her way to the recliner and snuggled in with me.
“You wanna be my Sea Biscuit,” she whispered, to me trying to lighten the mood. I just giggled and then returned my focus to Cree. Milly wrapped me up and we listened.
“Hi, Aunt Phyllis.”
Silence
“Okay.”
Silence
“He did get your call, but declined it. You have to understand where he is coming from. I don’t want to be disrespectful, but I support every one of Tripp’s decisions.”
Silence
“How?”
Silence
“He’s dead?”
Earth shattering silence and tears enveloped the room. Tears of sorrow, sadness, relief and slight joy. The one man who demeaned my husband and treated him like shit was dead. So, yes, slight joy. I remembered Tripp’s word from our camping trip when he told me he would have killed my dad if he was still alive. I had no doubt those words were very real. Those same words and the brutal meaning behind them burned in my gut for Tripp. His dad would never hurt him again. Images of my sweet little Tripp, dressed up in his baseball uniform, forced to sit in the car during Grant’s games, haunted my dreams, and now the man responsible for that is dead.
“I’ll talk to him, but I will not make him do anything he doesn’t want.”
Silence
“He won’t leave Lacey. She can’t fly at this stage of her pregnancy.”
Silence
“Yes, she’s still pregnant and this conversation is over.”
Click
Tripp cleared his throat. Not one ounce of emotion graced his face. He was void, empty and broken. I immediately ran to him and jumped up in his arms. Tripp grabbed my ass and hoisted me up, so I could wrap my legs around him. He looked down between us at my bump and let one single tear fall between us. I couldn’t bear to see him in that fragile state again. Once in a lifetime had been enough. I buried my face in his neck and cried for him. Tripp rested his chin on my shoulder and let out a gust of pent up frustration.
“Tripp, your dad is dead. It was cancer,” Cree said calmly.
“I really don’t care. He wrote me off anyway. He doesn’t have a son anymore.”
“Your mom wants you to fly home. She said she needs you, and really wants to talk to you,” Cree continued.
Laughter escaped Tripp, “My mom can go to hell. And you’re right. I’m not leaving Lacey to go to a funeral for my dad. Even if Lace wasn’t pregnant, I still wouldn’t waste the time or money on the heartless bastard. And tell Phyllis if she ever talks about Lacey again…she will regret it, and she will find out just how big a piece of shit I am. End of discussion.”
Tripped turned around and walked out the door. No strip poker tonight. No Sea Biscuit tonight. Not movie tonight. It was just one more moment in our lives that we conquered together, one bare and very painful moment. Tripp sat me in the Jeep and buried his face in my neck.
He mumbled very clearly into me, “I’m so happy he is dead. He will never have the chance to glare at Rose or put her down with his nasty mouth. I would have killed him the first time it happened, Lacey.”
In that moment, I was very thankful that cancer beat Tripp to it.
Letter #6
Sweet Meatball,
I love you!!! But you really need to stop the gymnastics at 2:46 A.M. The other night your dad and I were cuddling on the couch. I was sandwiched between him and the couch tracing each one of his tattoos while he watched some stupid ball game, and you started a gymnastic show. You had both of us laughing so hard with your rolls and kicks. But seriously, it is not so cute at 2:46 A.M.
Oh, the frumpy maternity clothes made it to my closet. Not so happy about that. Only a couple months left…only a couple months left.
Your Aunt Milly is begging us to do maternity pictures. She is just dying to see me in all those compromising and gushy positions. She has even offered to take them for us. I can’t hold her off much longer. Don’t hold it against me if you ever see one of those glowing maternity pics of me looking like a fairy godmother clutching my gut. So not my fault.
Love, Momma
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br /> Chapter 23
Super Secret Project
December
Lacey
Everything had been moved into our castle. Tripp made sure all was perfect, from the hardwood floors to the paint on the walls. We had all of the essentials in Rose’s room, from the crib to the changing table, diapers and clothes. The list goes on forever. The only form of décor in the bland nursery was Rose’s little rocking chair that Tripp insisted on restoring for her. It was the one thing I had left from my childhood, and my husband made sure it was fit for a little queen. He repainted it white, added a super gloss finish to it and hand painted, “My love is the forever kind…Love, Dad” on the back of it. Those eight words melted my heart.
Milly and I were lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in Rose’s nursery, eating candy. No warmed tootsies or taffy. It was Swedish Fish today. My appetite for these damn little fish had been ferocious since becoming knocked up. Milly and Tripp always had a fresh supply of them for me. I still had a master plan for Tripp to stuff his boxers with them and then feed me, but it hadn’t quite worked out yet. Those fresh red fish stuffed in my man’s boxers, just waiting to be licked and chomped, turned my lady bits on something fierce.
“Here you go, fishster,” Milly said, pulling me from my naughty thoughts.
Milly passed me her sketches she constructed for Rose’s nursery. I didn’t need to look at them because I had complete faith in my fishster. My only worry was tricking Tripp in to going out of town and then going behind his back and decorating Rose’s room. He was still absolutely dead set on a baseball themed nursery, and just the thought of it threatened to bring back my morning sickness. My lil’ badass Princess would not be growing up in a baseball themed room. Puke!
Leave it up to Milly, she convinced Cree to take Tripp out of town for the weekend. It involved lots of pumpkin pie and brownies, whatever the fuck that meant. All I know is that I sent two pumpkin pies and a platter of brownies over and watched Annie and Mac the previous weekend. When Cree came to pick up the kids, he looked like he was still in a sugar coma and had a serious case of blood shot eyeballs. Those two were really a pair of creepers.
