by Gina LaManna
“Your best friend’s an ex-cop?”
“Yep.” I breathed heavily, simulating the exercises Anthony and I had watched together online in preparation for childbirth. “She got fired for using too much force on the job.”
“Shut up,” Ginger said to me as Legs, the brunette, paled at my response. “Stop talking.”
I stopped talking because I felt no need to continue the explanation that Meg had been written up for too much force after one of the criminals she’d arrested had called her fat. Unnecessary details.
The phone started ringing for a fifth time.
“Answer the damn thing,” Ginger said, kicking the phone toward me. “Put it on speaker so we all can hear. Let your friend or husband know you’re fine and will be home soon.”
“Will I?” I asked hopefully. “You wouldn’t believe how badly I have to pee, and I went just before you ladies arrived. It’s insanely hard work to have a small child sitting on your bladder, you know?”
A few women in the seated crowd nodded knowingly, and one of them even brought me an extra pillow from a nearby couch. The robbers watched with interest, but they made no comment.
I flicked open my phone, recognizing the number. “Hello, Officer Meg,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows at Legs. She was the nervous one—the one who would crack first from the pressure, I guessed. Let’s call it maternity instinct. “This is your BFF, what’s up?”
“Hey, BFF. I’ve never heard you call me that before, but it makes sense. Say, where are you?”
“I’m stuck at the bank.” I leaned on the word, just enough to tip Meg off, but not enough to send the robbers slamming my phone into the garbage can. “The lines were really long and I got held up here. Really feeling trapped at the moment.”
“Right. I’ve heard pregnant ladies can feel claustrophobic because of their own tummies. Would you say that’s accurate? I mean, my spleen might feel a little crowded if a kid sat around kicking it all day.”
I cleared my throat. “Meg, I’d like some help, please. I can’t get ahold of Anthony. I was supposed to call him, and I deleted his number. Do you mind?”
The bandits each took a step closer to me. I was pushing my limits. There was no way Meg shouldn’t suspect something by now. I would never ask Meg to call Anthony for me, so if she relayed the message he would know something was wrong.
“Oh, sure,” Meg said nonchalantly. “Anyway, I was just calling to tell you a piece of great news.”
“Really?” I gritted my teeth. Everyone else leaned closer, engrossed in Meg’s story. “What’s that?”
“I’m going to become a professional!”
I waited a long moment for her to finish the thought, but she never did. “A professional what?”
“A pie.”
“What?”
“A pie—you know, 3.14159...whatever. A P.I.” Meg waited for it to sink in. “Professional Investigator. I figure you got your own little security business on the side, maybe we can find a way to partner up. Whaddya say?”
“Private Investigator?” I hesitated, my fingers on my forehead. I might have been more encouraging if Meg hadn’t just missed every single obvious sign I’d given her of my distress. If she couldn’t tell something was horribly wrong from all of this, then I had little hope she’d find success as a P.I. “That’s cool.”
“It is cool, isn’t it?” Meg parroted cheerfully. “Anyway, did you drop your ring off yet? I’m hungry.”
“It’s an old cigarette,” I corrected quickly. “And I’m starving. Do you want to meet somewhere if I get out of here?”
“Oh, sure. Say, I was catching up with my pals on the police scanner—”
“Eavesdropping illegally?”
“Semantics. More importantly: guess what?! There’s a huge bank heist going on right now, so I gotta go, chickadee. Should probably study this if I’m going to be a real P.I.”
“Meg!” I called, but she was already gone.
Instead, the sound of heavy breathing replaced hers across the phone line. “Lacey, are you still there?”
“Yep. Hello, Clay.”
“I need a favor.” Clay spoke too quickly for the robbers to realize what was happening. “I want to propose to Meg.”
“Propose what to her?”
“Propose,” he said, whispering. “Meg just went in the other room. Something’s blowing up on the police scanner.”
“Gee, imagine that,” I said. “Maybe you should pay attention to it.”
“Why would I do that? I could care less about some stupid bank heist. I’m not dumb enough to trust my money with a huge corporation; it’s safe and sound under my mattress.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, how should I ask Meg to marry me? Originally, I wanted to take her to Hawaii, but that’s not panning out right now. I need an alternative. I don’t want to wait.”
“Clay, that’s great!” Despite the crappy developments of my day, this one caused a little flutter of love for my best friend and my favorite cousin. “Let’s see, you could...” I hesitated. “Christmas is coming up, how about a Christmas proposal?”
“Nope,” Clay said. “Try again.”
I frowned. “What about...”
“Como Zoo,” one of the ladies murmured quietly. When I looked over at her, she raised her eyes and shrugged. “Como Zoo! They have the conservatory open year-round. It’s almost like Hawaii.”
“Not a bad idea,” I agreed. “Did you hear that, Clay?”
“Yeah,” he said, the wheels crunching in his oversized brain. “But I don’t want it to be in public. I hate people.”
A few more members of the hostage situation chimed in with ideas, but Clay shot them all down with rapid-fire rejections. Not that I minded; this was an exercise in building camaraderie, and also a terrific distraction from my gnawing hunger and desperate need to pee.
“Why doesn’t he just order a tropical bouquet and give it to her with the ring on it?” This suggestion came from the brunette robber. “That way it’s simple, private, and tropical.”
“Shut up!” Ginger shouted at Legs. “You’re not planning an engagement, you’re pulling off a bank heist.”
“Right,” Legs said, backtracking. “Sorry, sorry.”
There was silence on the line for a long moment. Then Clay said, mystified. “A bank heist? Lacey, where are you?”
Ginger cursed, then leapt into action. “Let’s go, ladies! We’re out of here.”
“I need a minute!” Blondie called from the back, returning to sight a second later to check out the lobby. “We’ve got the safety deposit—”
“Nope,” Ginger snapped. “We’ve been made on the scanner. Time’s ticking. Don’t anyone move, and you’ll all get out of here alive. You—pregnant lady—don’t touch the phone.”
I raised my hands. “I’m not moving anywhere until someone gets a forklift and hauls me out of this chair.”
A quiet laugh rang from the room as the three bandits headed toward the back. Along the way, they made a quick sweep to retrieve the loot they’d scored and shove it into bags. The rest of the hostages watched, frozen with fear by the sight of the big guns pointed in our direction. When the last gun slipped out of view and the women hurried out the rear of the building, I breathed a sigh of relief.
The next moment, I looked up to find a familiar figure stepping into the bank from a side entrance that had previously been locked down. Luckily, locks didn’t matter when said figure was named Anthony Luzzi.
My husband appeared disgruntled and furious as he located the lobby, but I couldn’t help but think he looked big and handsome and strong. Strong enough to lift my behind out of this very cushy chair.
“Anthony!” I threw my arms open wide. “You made it!”
My husband took one look toward the rear hallway, and I could sense his desire to chase down the robbers who’d held up his wife. I saw the moment he decided to let them go and, instead, check on me.
He crossed the room in two
seconds flat, helping me to my feet before he gathered me into his arms and pressed a blazing kiss to my lips. His mouth was hot on mine, and I could’ve lost myself in the moment entirely until I glanced over his shoulder and saw the roomful of hostages watching us. His eyes were a buttery shade of Nutella, and despite the intensity there, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me.
“Um, Anthony?” I tapped his shoulder. “We have an audience.”
“Who the hell cares?” he murmured, pushing my hair back from my face. “Are you okay? What happened here?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said with a shrug. “Actually, I changed my mind. I’ll take one more kiss.”
“How does the size of your fingers make you cry, but when you get robbed at gunpoint you don’t shed a single tear?”
He wiped his thumb across my dry cheek, then pressed another tender kiss to my lips. His hands pulled me as close as physically possible, considering the new dimensions of my stomach. He somehow managed to get his hands around my back, down to my butt, and it was in this pleasant moment that the front doors flew open.
“Oh, crap,” I said, as Anthony and I paused, looking into the faces of a full SWAT team.
Behind them were rows and rows of police and emergency vehicles, surrounded by swaths of crime scene tape. Beyond the first responders waited a mob of onlookers and a slew of reporters. And not to be forgotten—Meg. She stood front and center among the reporters, elbowing her way forward for a better view.
“Hi there, Lacey!” Meg waved frantically. She tapped the foremost reporter on the shoulder. “That’s my best friend in there and her husband. Hubba hubba, am I right? I’ll give you an exclusive on all the juicy details if you want.”
Anthony sighed.
“Our baby is famous,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “He or she is on the news already.”
“So much for a quiet, normal life for our child.”
“It’s not too late,” I promised him. “We’ll give him or her the most normal life he or she could imagine.”
“It’ll be a lot easier to complete a sentence once we know his or her gender.”
“I know, but it will be so special to have it be a surprise on the day he or she is born!”
“Lady, can I get a quote?” one of the reporters shouted from across the street. “How are you feeling, being pregnant and held up at gunpoint?”
I glanced up and Anthony and shrugged. “I suppose I feel quite hungry,” I hollered back. “And I’d really like to visit the restroom.”
Chapter 2
“WHO NEEDS DESSERT?” Nora asks. “Nobody. That’s what I thought. Dinner’s over—time for the next activity.”
Anthony held a fork in his hand, a plate of pasta before him. He looked confounded.
“Nora, relax please,” I said gently. “Anthony hasn’t even taken a bite of his supper.”
“Not my fault he showed up five minutes late.” Nora buzzed with excitement. “Come on, come on, chow down people!”
“It is your fault,” I said, “since you made him run out to the garage to get an extra tub of ice cream. We can give him a few minutes to eat.”
“We don’t need Anthony for this. We just need you, darling.” Nora spoke directly to my stomach. “Come on, baby. Let’s go sit and talk.”
“You know I’m attached to the baby, right?” I stared at my grandmother. If I thought I had pregnancy brain, Nora had it ten times worse. “Physically, this baby isn’t going anywhere that I’m not, and I’m going to sit next to my husband for five minutes while he finishes dinner. Come on, we’ve all seen Anthony eat; it doesn’t take him that long.”
Nora sighed and sat back in her chair. Carlos was well on his way through a huge plate of lasagna. My grandmother had tempted us over here with the promise of freshly ordered lasagna from Marinello’s. Though she’d been on a cooking spree lately, there really wasn’t anything better than made-from-scratch lasagna from the best restaurant in town.
I’d polished off my plate like it’d been a race. Nora made no comment on my manners since she was anxious to skip right past dessert and move on to the after-hours entertainment.
Somewhere online, in the dark forums of her Googles, she’d read a study that claimed babies would recognize the voices of people who talked to them while still in the womb—which Nora had interpreted to mean that she should spend the last three months of my pregnancy speaking exclusively to my stomach.
For the first few weeks, I hadn’t minded her obsession. I’d thought it was cute—up until the night I’d caught her leaning over my bed singing songs to my baby while I slept next to Anthony. We had begun dead bolting our bedroom door after that.
“I need my baby time,” she said. “Have you picked out a name yet?”
“We’re not telling anyone,” I said for the millionth time. “It’s a secret.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows as he chewed through the lasagna, stifling a smile. I ignored him. The truth was, we couldn’t decide on a name. Nothing seemed to fit. So, technically we weren’t lying—the name was a secret, even to us.
“Lacey, you should skip dessert. You’re getting fat,” Nora said. “Let me talk to the little munchkin.”
My lip quivered. I turned to Anthony. “You liar!”
He raised his fork in question. “What did I do? I haven’t said a word since I arrived.”
“You said I wasn’t getting fat!”
“You’re not!” Anthony glared across the table at Nora. “Will you let my wife eat dessert? She is not fat! She has to grow a baby!”
Nora looked rightfully ashamed. “Of course she’s not fat. I just said that because I wanted my turn with the baby before everyone else talks to him or her.” Nora’s own eyes filled with tears. “I want this baby to know their bisnonna. Who knows how long I’ll be alive?”
“He or she will know you,” I said. “Talking to the baby is not a competition, and you are as healthy as a horse.”
“Feels like a competition,” Nora muttered, then put her hands on either side of my stomach, as if making earmuffs for the baby. “I know Meg comes over sometimes and talks to this little guy or gal when I’m not around.”
I rolled my eyes and stood. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Nora cooed with happiness as we moved to the living area and left the men to eat blissfully in silence. I plopped myself down on the worn, squishy armchair that’d been set up for this very activity. Nora situated herself on the stool next to me and leaned forward.
“Hi, baby,” she started, then hesitated. “You know, Lacey, I’d really like to address my great-grandchild by his or her name...and gender. It’s a mouthful to say his or her, he or she, etc. Can’t you just give me a little sneak peek into the names you have lined up?”
“Nope.”
“Fine,” she said, used to the routine by now. “Hello, baby.” She glared at me. “Your momma is great, but sometimes she can be a stubborn gal. Now, I know she loves you more than anything in this world, but if she ever tells you no—to anything—sweet baby, you just come right over to Nonna, and I’ll take care of you.”
“You know I can hear everything you say, right?”
“I’m talking to my great-grandchild. Don’t listen.”
I sat back, closed my eyes, and tried to doze. This was how the past several months had gone. Dinner, discussions with the baby—that I wasn’t privy to—and more. There were definitely a few things about having a baby in my belly that I wouldn’t miss. Nora’s possessiveness over my stomach was one of them.
On the other hand, I adored being pregnant. I loved the feel of this sweet little life inside me, rolling around and playing kickball with my intestines, and I loved knowing Anthony and I had made something so precious together.
Other perks of the motherhood gig included the ability for up-front parking spots at select stores, sympathy from strangers in the grocery lines, and the ability to eat like a starved lion without judgment at every meal.
“Okay
,” I said, when I heard the clatter of espresso cups in the sink. “Your time is up.”
“But—”
“You are allowed forty-two minutes a night,” I said. “That’s more than anyone else talks to my stomach, including myself and Anthony.”
“Yes, but you can barely turn your head, let alone bend over and talk to your stomach,” Nora said sensibly. Then, she sighed. “Fine, I’ll get Carlos in here.”
“You really don’t have to. He hates doing this.”
“He will be an active grandparent this time around, I swear on my life!” Nora stood, a hand on her hip. “He’s nearly retired, and he has no more excuses. Carlos! Get in here! It’s baby time!”
“You can have my time,” he called back. “I’m busy.”
“Set your limoncello down and get your squishy tush in here!”
Carlos appeared at the door. He might’ve looked embarrassed if his features weren’t made of stone. The only stand he’d made against his wife was that the glass of limoncello had travelled with him.
With a hefty sigh, he sat down on the stool recently vacated by Nora. He looked at my stomach. “What the hell am I supposed to say?”
“Carlos!” Nora leapt across the room, moving like superwoman. “That is not language to be using in front of a child! Talk to the baby. Tell him or her you love him or her.”
Carlos cleared his throat and muttered something.
“What’s that?” Nora demanded. “The baby can’t understand your mumbles like I can. I have nearly a century of experience. This little baby barely has ears.”
“He or she has ears,” I said, correcting Nora’s biology once more. “He or she will be coming out into the world in just a couple of weeks.”
“Good job, you. You did great growing that baby,” Nora said, her eyes tearing. She’d become almost as emotional as me. “I’m so proud of you, Lacey. Now Carlos, tell the baby you love him or her!”
“Dear him or her,” Carlos said. “I don’t know you, but...Nora, I can’t do this. I can’t see it.”
“Read him a book then,” Nora said. “Or her. Babies brains grow a lot when they’re read to.”
