by H. J. Bellus
The ringing of another cell phone cut me from my trance this time. This time it was Cree’s. Milly quit riding and spurring.
“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’s 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 won’t 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’ll regret it, and she’ll 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. No 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.
“I’m so happy he’s dead,” he said. “He’ll 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’s 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
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 into 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 li’l 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.
“What do you think?” Milly asked, hopeful.
“I think it is fan-fucking-tastic. Pass me more fish and get to work, fishster.”
Milly took the last package of Swedish Fish and dumped them down her bra, and then had the audacity to shake her titties at me. Surely she didn’t think a little titty germs on Swedish Fish would stop me? After all, we were fishsters. I wanted to beat her ass, but held back, thinking of my Meatball that was clearly in the way. I would have to be stealthy in this attack, so planning very carefully, I grabbed her sketches again and pretended to examine them closely. She was giggling, thinking she had won the war. The little biotch even grabbed a fish out of her bra and dangled it above her mouth, nibbling on it slowly. The scent of that fish sent me into overdrive and I attacked. Rolling from my back, I sprang into action and pounced on her. I had her arms pinned down while I sat on top of her. Then I dove in for a fish. We wrestled around and squealed, fighting over the fish like two year olds.
Somebody cleared their throat, instantly stopping the insanity, and we both looked up to see Greyson standing in the doorway.
“Does Tripp and Cree know about this?” he asked as he waved a finger at
us.
I still straddled Milly’s lap, with my hands on each of her tits, feeling her up for some fish.
“Why the fuck do you think they keep us around?” I chirped at him and then couldn’t contain the laughter.
Even the shocked Greyson started laughing.
“What do you need, Grey?” Milly asked as she rolled me off of her.
“Have you guys seen Willow? I need to talk to her,” he asked in complete defeat.
“She should be here any minute to help with our super-secret project,” Milly answered.
“I’ve messed up again,” he offered in a low voice.
Then it was on like fucking donkey kong. Momma Milly sprang into action and I had a feeling this had to do with the heart to heart they all had the night we took Annie to the fair. I know one thing, if Greyson was a smart man, he would turn around and walk away before Milly beat his ass to a bloody pulp.
“Greyson! Get the fuck out and stay away from her. Do you hear me?”
“Milly, please let me explain.”
Willow walked up behind Greyson and pushed her way into the room. She looked between the three of us with a questioning anger radiating from her face.
“Greyson was just leaving,” Milly offered, and with that he turned around and walked away.
Willow sunk to the floor and started sobbing. I shot a glance to Milly, wanting to know what the fuck was going on. It was pretty obvious that the two of them had a fling going on, but Jesus, was it that complicated? It pained me to see Willow hurting so badly. I wanted her to know that she had an outlet to let go of her pain. I threw the last fish at Milly, beaning her right between the eyes, earning me a little giggle from Willow. Then I went to Willow and wrapped her up in my arms and kissed the top of her head.
“I love you, Willow. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want to know. All I need you to know is that we’re here for you. You always have a safe place here with Tripp and me. Always. No questions asked.”
Willow eased back into me and let her sobs continue to escape. Momma Milly was still on the war path. She was obviously way too close to the situation to see that all Willow needed right now was someone to hold her without judgment. I’ll never forget the days it felt like the world was judging me, causing me to weaken so much I wanted to die.
“Milly, go get the shit to get this room pimped out.”
Hours, pizzas and some “oh shits” later, we were almost finished with the room. Mac and Annie had joined us after waking from their naps. Milly was such an excellent mother. She was able to work her ass off and tend to her children’s every need. Annie was self-sufficient and an easy keeper, for that matter. Mac, on the other hand, was a living and walking nightmare. Okay, not a nightmare, but definitely hell on wheels. He was walking, but not talking. Mac grunted, and grunting worked well for the little fella. One grunt and he had an adult at his full attention. Milly was starting to panic about his speech. I assured her that he was fine, and probably the most intelligent one of our bunch.
Tripp was going to either hang or shoot us because this room was the furthest thing from a baseball room. It looked like a pink and grey tornado had ripped through it, leaving behind a killer rocker theme just perfect for my baby Rose. There was zebra, polka dot and checker print all over the room. Nothing matched, but it all went perfectly well together. It was totally Milly’s style, and it made my heart happy that my sister decorated my baby girl’s room.
To appease Tripp, we had little Annie working on some baseball decorations. She had painted them pink and was glittering the shit out of them. When we weren’t looking, she even took Mac’s little hand for a swim in the latex paint. She put his handprint and her handprint on one of the baseballs and wrote underneath it, “Mac and Annie your BFFs.” I thought it was the cutest part of the room. Milly, on the other hand, shit herself when she saw baby Mac and the pink paint all over his hands, face and belly. Even the gigantic pink crocodile Tripp won at the fair was nestled in the corner of the nursery. To me, it was the perfect touch.
Just as we were cleaning up, our song came pouring through the house speakers. Little Annie was the first to recognize the beat of the song, and in true girl fashion, showered a handful of glitter into the air. Willow jumped to her feet and grabbed Annie to start spinning her around, and the two of them started singing at the top of their lungs, “Oh, girls just wanna have fun.”
Milly immediately put the lid on the paint cans before she started rocking out. I grabbed my baby Mac and started spinning him around the room. Milly only let me have him for a few seconds before she stole him and took the opportunity to dance with him. This was Mac’s first dance with us crazy hoochies. And it wouldn’t be his last, either!
I followed suit with Annie and grabbed a handful of glitter and let it rain over me and my baby’s new room. I sang the song at the top of my lungs and twirled around the beautiful masterpiece that Milly gave me. I had a huge grin on my face, because the next time we had an impromptu dance party to this song, Rose would be in my arms. Willow jumped up into the crib with Annie and continued to shake her shit. I started laughing so freakin’ hard at the sight of her in a baby crib, shaking her junk like Nicki Minaj. She was letting loose of her worries and just having fun with her girls.
Rose even joined in on the dancing, unfortunately it was on my bladder. I turned to run to the bathroom and crashed smack dab into a brick wall of muscle with a familiar scent. I looked up into my Beast’s pissed off, curious face. He had knocked his hat sideways on his head and was scratching his hairline. Oh my god, I’m dead meat! Dead fucking meat! For an instant, I almost felt guilty, but then remembered the old adage it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Annie leapt from the crib to the changing table, causing a case of baby wipes to go crashing to the floor, which caught all of our attention. She was now armed with a rattle, singing the shit out of the song and Willow started clapping to the beat. The rest of us followed, except for Tripp, who was still stunned shitless. Annie had it going on with her little hips shaking and her vocal chords on full force. She finished the song with a kick into the air and thrust of her tiny hips.
“Unky!” she squealed and held her arms out to him.
No matter how pissed my husband was, he would never deny his little Annie. He made his way across the room and picked her up. Annie placed both of her little hands on Tripp’s cheeks and forced his head to look around the room.
“Look at this beautiful room we made for your baby. I made the baseballs for Rose. Aunt Lacey said you would throw a hissy fit if you didn’t get to put a baseball in here, so I did it for you all by myself. Do you love them?”
He reached forward and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Annie,” he said. Tripp made his way back to me and grabbed my hand. “Which means anything you do, Annie, I love.”
Annie started squealing in joy and the rest of the room let out a loud sigh of relief. Tripp took the opportunity to reach down and whisper in my ear, “You are in so much fucking trouble, young lady.”
Letter #7
Meatloaf,
Yes, your new name is Meatloaf. Let’s go through this month’s list:
I breathe like a hippo.
I look like a hippo.
I walk like a hippo.
I dress like a hippo.
I’m a freakin’ hippo with a meatloaf in my belly. I love you, but so done with being pregnant. I’m ready to hold you and love you with everything I have. I’ve also decided that the next person to pet me will be bitten. Countdown is on, baby bug!
Love, Momma
Letter #8
Meatball aka Meatloaf aka “Get out of my belly!”
It is the end of the eighth month. I’m tired. I’m happy. Stick a fork in me I’m (earmuffs) fucking done! Today is the last day of work for me. I‘m going to surprise your daddy with ice cream and fried burritos for a celebration. Then I’ll make him take me to the hot tub and massage my feet. I only have four weeks left on
the “pamper my ass” rollercoaster, and trust me, I’m riding this ’til the end. I love you, but really “Get out of my belly!”
Love, Momma
Chapter 24
Broken Plans
Tripp
I was armed with Cree’s favorite beer and my favorite soda as I entered the shop on the farm. I never liked to go home to an empty house, and since Lacey was finishing up with work, I decided to go visit Cree. It had been exactly twenty-two days since my dad died. Being alone was the last thing I could do since his death. I decided not to fly home for the funeral. Cree and Lacey really encouraged me to go and try to gain some sort of closure from the fucked-up relationship. Lacey was too far along in her pregnancy to fly, and leaving her wasn’t an option. To me the decision was easy, and I didn’t need closure from the bastard.
As soon as I entered the shop, Annie popped up, blocking my entrance. “Password, Unky!”
Passwords were Annie’s latest obsession. She required one at every entrance and of every favor asked. Last week she held Mac’s diapers hostage from Cree and Milly until they guessed the correct password. It took the fools over an hour to finally guess “Steve” to unlock the diapers. Cree never lost his temper, but he was one password away from blowing up.
