by Jc Emery
“I am so sorry!” Colleen whispers. Her eyes are red and she looks truly sorry. I want to believe her but Mac isn’t buying it. If he has to take a trip to the hospital, he’s going to withhold sex for a week. I’d go for longer but I’m a sucker for her big blue eyes.
“Just forgive her, dude,” James says through the door. Colleen turns around and pushes her face to the crack of the door.
“James, I’m about to try some creative techniques to take care of Brad’s problem in here, so unless you want to hear, I suggest you back up.” I laugh and then moan because even moving hurts at this point. Colleen turns back to me and I notice that she’s wearing a skirt—without panties. Half of me has had this fantasy for a long time and the other half of me is about to cry because I’m not sure Mac can take it.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
(Colleen)
… in an effort to be something more.
THERE HAVE BEEN many moments in my life where I thought that I could not be more embarrassed. There have been times where I have burst out into tears in public because I just can’t handle the teasing. There have been times where I have been certain that the ground is going to swallow me whole. Most of those times have involved Brad. This time is no different.
We’re due at my parents’ house in a few hours; though I’m not sure we’re going to make it. We’re both suffering from some stomach issues. And when I say some, I’m being gentle. There’s a big family get-together this afternoon, which should be fun. I haven’t seen much of my friends and family since returning home from Vegas, not that I’d seen them much before that. I was always working and just plain too busy to visit. At least that’s what I told myself. The truth is probably more like I felt like an outcast around them. I don’t anymore.
All of them know who they are and they take pride in that. I had tried so hard to separate myself from them in an effort to be something more. Though now, the elusive something more still evades me. I remember wanting a nice house, a small backyard, a devoted husband, and a couple of kids. In this moment, my stomach bloated and all of the windows open, I don’t know why what my parents had was never good enough for me. It seems I don’t know much of anything anymore, including myself.
“Can you go in the other room, stinky girl?” Brad asks, sitting in his chair and chuckling. I cock an eyebrow at him.
“You’re not exactly smelling fresh yourself.” I grumble and throw the green and white Celtics coaster at him. “Besides, this is your fault.”
“My fault?” he scoffs, blocking the coaster from hitting his face. He laughs and another round begins. I grab the nearest throw pillow and bury my nose in it. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Everything smells in here. “This is not my fault, Colleen. Who bought the laxatives to begin with?”
“Yeah, but they were supposed to just be for you, not me!” I shout through the pillow, covering my face. He laughs again and I fear the worst but nothing comes. Thank God.
“Yeah and you’re the idiot who fell for the old bait and switch routine. Did you really think I hadn’t anticipated that you’d put something in the creamer of my coffee?” he says, smiling and lets another one go. Now I think he’s doing it on purpose, if that’s even possible.
“Yeah and you’re the idiot who didn’t anticipate that I had switched mugs,” I remove the pillow from my face and smile at him smugly.
“Yeah and you’re the idiot who accidentally put it in both mugs! Now you’re suffering, too. So explain to me how it is my fault that you sound like Ol’ Flatulent Aunt Fanny over there?” I grimace and my stomach betrays me. Aunt Fanny is Brad’s great aunt who passed away a few years back. In her later years she was unable to control her bowels no matter where she went and she always had gas. No matter what.
Out of nowhere I start laughing uncontrollably. Brad just stares me down as though I’ve gone insane and I’m sure I have. Sitting here in the living room, channel surfing and polluting the air; I have more than I ever thought I would. Right now it really doesn’t matter how embarrassing this little problem is. Brad isn’t shaming me for it, he doesn’t find me disgusting for it, and he isn’t running away because his image of me is shattered. A lifetime of friendship has prepared us for dealing with flatulence—together—and not running like hell.
“You and me,” I finally calm my laughter. “We’re sitting here, letting ‘em rip, and it’s okay,” I say. Brad raises his eyebrow.
“Why wouldn’t it be okay, pretty girl?” He’s serious.
“Well,” I mumble and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re not running away from me. You’re just here.” I smile up at him, thoroughly embarrassed at having to explain myself.
“When the hell are you going to get it?” he asks. “You’re my pretty girl and not just when you’re all dressed up. You’re my pretty girl when you’ve had too many beers and you’re ready to puke. You’re my pretty girl when you’re jealous and when you’re shy; and you’re definitely my pretty girl when you’re farting your ass off,” he smirks at me. I laugh loudly, unabashedly snorting along the way and he joins in. I take a moment to look at him and see a twinkle in his eyes.
We don’t talk about what we are to each other anymore. I don’t think either of us knows. We’re married. Okay. But are we friends? Lovers? Fuck buddies? God, I hope we’re not fuck buddies. As much as I’ve been enjoying the sex, I don’t just want to be something Brad does when he’s bored or between women. These past few weeks have me wanting more from Brad than just his friendship. I want his everything and I want to be everything for him; but what if Darla is wrong? What if Brad doesn’t love me? Part of me thinks I’d be an idiot to think he doesn’t have feelings for me. The other part of me doesn’t know. This thing with Brad has always been there, so what if I’m wrong? What if I’m too late and he’s just settled into this level of comfort with me where he could never seriously think of me that way…
“Dude!” James’s voice shocks me from my thoughts. I look up and find him walking in the front door. Brad has gotten up to let him in. He shuts the door behind him. James crinkles his nose. “It stinks in here.”
“Colleen’s got some bad gas,” Brad says nonchalantly like it’s an everyday thing. My face turns beat red. I don’t care if it is just James or not—it’s still embarrassing and damn it to hell—half of the stench in this place is Brad.
“Did you knock my sister up, bro? Darla had bad gas with each of our kids,” James muses as Brad leads him into the kitchen. They’re chatting back and forth about “Darla’s monster farts” as James calls them but I can’t really tune into it. James’s off-handed comment about being pregnant has thrown me off. I try to calculate the time since my last shot but my memory is fuzzy. It was definitely before Vegas.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Brad says. I hear something drop in the kitchen and pull myself from my thoughts.
“Are you for real?” James asks. Brad laughs—loudly.
“Yeah, for a little while now,” he confirms. I can hear James’s gasp loud and clear. “Can we keep it between us? I don’t want Colleen freakin’ out. You know how they all are. It’s bad enough right now that our parents run around and rub her stomach. She doesn’t need crap from our friends, too.” I’m actually a little impressed with him right now. He’s standing up for me.
“So, you guys are actually trying for a baby or something?” James asks.
“I don’t know. I think Colleen’s on something but she doesn’t talk about it and I don’t ask. If I knock her up she can’t leave me right,” Brad says firmly. My jaw drops. Is he serious? I remember his comment on the way home from the airport.
I can’t wait until we have kids and can have a van that smells like old cheese.
At the time I thought he was insane, but that feels like a lifetime ago. Images of rowdy little boys with Brad’s hair flood my imagination. The thought makes me smile.
“I told you, you could have knocked her up years ago and spared yourself all this hardship,” James say
s. Just because he and Darla had a pregnancy scare back in high school and mom and dad sat him down and told him that if she was pregnant that he would have had to marry her—James now thinks impregnating women is the most effective way of keeping them around. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was a major creeper who possibly needed to be locked up.
Walking back into the room, James is carrying a package of flour and a six pack of beer. He holds them up for my benefit. “Flour’s for Darla and the beer’s for me. She drives me to drink when we have one of these family things. Thinks she’s got to out-do the corner bakery.” I smile and laugh. That’s my Darla. She definitely goes all out.
“So, you looking to be pregnant or what?” James asks, giving me the eye. Air leaves my lungs and I feel like I’m been knocked in my windpipe. Brad snorts but then looks at me and he stands up straight, giving me a look that is unreadable.
“I’m not looking to be anything, James,” I defend and roll my eyes trying to shrug it off. If I freak out about my potentially lapsed birth control shot then Brad will, too; and that’s no good. I smile at them both. James seems placated by my response but the husband is giving me a knowing look. As he walks James to the door, I hurry out of the room. I rush upstairs to hide from him even though he’ll find me; this at least buys me a few moments of peace, but not for long. A few words are exchanged and Brad closes the front door. I hear his footsteps on the stairs.
“Ah, come on, stink. Don’t hide from me. You know he was only joking!” I crawl into bed and hide my face under my pillow trying to think things through. How could I have been so reckless with something so important? It’s not like we’ve ever used a condom. Come to think of it, I never even thought about a condom or birth control until this moment. I had stayed on the shot for the convenience of it, despite not needing birth control. I suppose that it should have been more of a priority, but clearly it wasn’t. My brain thinks over the time frame and I realize that my shot would have been wearing off right around my birthday. And it’s then that I remember I was supposed to reschedule my doctor’s appointment because it interfered with our trip, and I just didn’t remember.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
(Brad)
Of course, I love you.
“AH, COME ON, stink. Don’t hide from me. You know he was only joking!” I shout, rushing up the stairs. As I walk into the bedroom, I find Colleen curled up underneath the covers. I crawl in behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. Her head is beneath her pillow. She refuses to move it.
“Why are you hiding from me?” I ask, somewhat afraid of what the answer might be.
“I’m not hiding from you. I’m hiding from the world. I stink,” she whines, clutching tightly to her pillow. I know that’s not the real reason, but I’ll accept this answer for now.
“Yeah, well, you just stay right there,” I say, curling around her and getting comfortable. “We have a few hours before we have to go. Let’s nap.” She doesn’t speak, but she does remove the pillow from her face and toss it across the bed opting instead, to lay her head on my arm. We lay like this for a while before she dozes off. Sometime later she stirs and her body stiffens in my arms.
"Brad?" My pretty girl's voice breaks my thoughts. She shifts in my arms and turns to face me. Only, her head is cast down and she's refusing to meet my eyes. "I'm not on anything," she whispers.
I'm a detective. I should be perceptive enough to know what she means. At the very least I understand that this statement has significance.
"I never said you were," I defend myself, thinking she thinks I'm accusing her of something. Colleen likes to fight with me, so there's a very good chance she's just throwing this out there to see how pissed off she can make me. She knows I hate it when she puts words in my mouth.
"Do you get what I'm saying?" her voice gets small, almost indistinguishable from the low whizzing of the heater as it pushes warm air through the house. The thing is, I don't get what she's saying. Though, in the back of my skull, I wonder if I really do get it and I'm just playing dumb.
I lift up her chin, forcing her to look at me. She stubbornly refusing to look me in the eyes; instead opting for staring at my ear. I use my other hand to lightly flick her nose. Immediately, she shoots me a glare.
"The hell?" She grumbles.
"Eyes front and center, pretty girl," I demand. Okay, so it's not much of a demand. If she didn't do it, what could I really do about it? Nothing. But she does look at me. Just when I think she'll never listen, she does. And that's part of what I love about this insufferable woman-- she keeps me guessing.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds important," I say. Being straightforward is probably the best option at this point. I think.
"Brad," she whines and tries to cover her face, but I block her. Without turning away she from me she says, "I'm not ON anything." It takes only a split second before her meaning seeps through my thick skull. She's not ON anything. No birth control. We've never used a condom, and it’s been great.
Not for a single moment have I ever considered birth control. It just wasn't a concern. With every other woman, I've been Captain Careful; but this is Colleen. Who cares if we have a kid? I guess that's what I was thinking at least, because the fear of pregnancy never struck me.
"Please say something," she whispers, her eyes filled with unshed tears. I smile at her as best I can. It's not that I'm annoyed with her, I'm just in shock. I don't know what to say or do right now. I can't place the responsibility on her because I never brought it up. And even if I could, I'm not pissed about the possibility. Maybe I sound lame for saying it, but I want to be a dad. I like kids. They're fun and entertaining, and damn if James and Darla's daughter, Lilly, doesn't have me wrapped around her little finger.
I look at James and see the way his entire demeanor changes when he sees his kids and I envy the bastard. The day Lilly was born, he actually cried. Bawled like a bitch in front of all the boys in the middle of the hospital. A few of the guys there thought he looked like a tool, but most of them "got it." Meanwhile, I stood there wishing I'd "gotten it."
"So?" I manage to say because my brain hasn't caught up to my mouth just yet. And that does it. She starts with the goddamn crying. I want to tell her that it's alright. I want to tell her that I'll be here for her no matter what. I want to tell her that I love her and that if I have or do knock her up, that I'll be the happiest man on the planet. But I'm an idiot so I don't.
"Ah, come on," I say. I wipe the tears from her eyes and kiss her forehead. "Why are you crying?" I ask, trying to sound gentle because I don't want to see anymore fucking tears.
"You're an asshole!" she shouts in my face. I pull back, my ears ringing, annoyed. What the hell is with the shouting now?
"What's your damn problem?" I snap back.
"MY problem!" She snorts. When she's pissed, like now, her accent is really strong and it's hot. "I tell you that we've been having sex without any protection and you stare at me like I'm speaking a foreign goddamn language!" The truth is, sometimes I do think she's speaking a foreign goddamn language.
"I'm trying to be comforting here!" I growl, because I'm really trying and she's not making it easy. Once again, I go from wanting to kiss her to wanting to choke her.
"Ha!" She laughs, but not a trace of humor is to be found in her features.
"Do you want a baby or not!" I yell. I can feel my veins pumping with adrenaline. All I wanted was a nice nap and she's pulling the theatrics.
"What?" Her eyes go wide and she stares at me blankly.
"You heard me! Do you want a baby or not, because if you do, just say it and I'll knock you up!"
"What?" She asks. She's paled and she looks almost sick.
"Would you knock that off?" I lower my voice. "You want a baby?"
"Um," her voice waivers and she starts crying again. Oh hell. I can't win for losing here. "With you?" She asks through the tears. I can't tell if she's hopeful or disgusted. In order to spare my ego
, I decide to go with the former.
"No," I smile, trying to stop the damn waterworks, "with the mail man." She laughs. A real fucking laugh; and I know we're going to be okay.
"We have a mail lady," Colleen quips. I roll my eyes. Hot and cold all the time; Colleen can't pick a mood and stick with it
"Come on, pretty girl," I whine, "quit bustin' my balls, will ya?" She giggles and buries her face in my chest. So she's shy all of a sudden? Hm.
"You're not mad at me?" she asks.
"For what?" I stare at her dumbly. Again, I'm slow on the uptake. "Oh, no actually, this was part of my plan," I laugh, trying to make her feel better. "I think I'll keep you," I smirk.
"You want to keep me?" her head pops up. She's looking at me like I just invented chocolate or something else she'd really like. Hm, for once it seems I've said the right thing.
"Of course, I love you," I blurt out without thinking. She looks like she's been shot in the butt with a pellet gun. This isn't good. This isn't how this was supposed to happen.
"Uh," she says. She's stopped breathing and hasn't moved her eyes from mine.
"Colleen,” I ask.
"Huh?" she says, looking appropriately stunned. Of course she doesn't know what to say. I'm her best friend. I'm not REALLY a husband, I guess. I feel like a fool. These past few weeks I'd allowed myself to believe that there was more to our relationship than just friendship.
"You... love... me?" she mutters. I wish she knew how much I love her. I wish I could tell her. My mouth keeps opening and closing of its own volition, but nothing comes out.
"Yeah," I say, staring into her eyes, imploring some kind of sign that she could possibly love me, too. Even if it's a little bit, I'll take it. I feel a moment of hope before my world shatters.
"Oh," she whispers. Her mouth opens and then closes and opens again. She doesn't know what to say. I don't blame her. She can't help it if she doesn't feel the same way. I feel like throwing up. If I don't do something, I'll have completely ruined what little bit I have with her.
