Tales of a Sibby Slicker (The Sibby Chronicles Book 2)

by Samantha Garman

  “Already? The monster is not even two!”

  “Everyone always talks about women being baby hungry. Don’t buy into it. It’s the guys.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Have another one. Eventually. I’m good with how things are right now.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I’m good with how things are, too. I’m not ready for a baby.”

  “Let me give you a piece of advice, and you can do with it what you will. It’s never a good time to have a kid. Yeah, you can be more financially stable, or have more space. But think about it. What if you have a kid when your career is in the toilet—you’re going to have to jump back into work to get where you want to be? Or what if your career is skyrocketing? You’re gonna leave that, lose momentum, just because you want a kid? See what I mean? It’s all shit timing, Sibby. So you make a choice—if it’s important to you, you’ll do it.”

  “I think I’d like a baby,” I said slowly. “But I kind of wish it wouldn’t turn into a teenager.”

  “Look at it this way,” she said. “When it’s a teenager, you’re no longer breast feeding, which means you can drink. A lot. That’s how I plan on getting through the monster’s teenage years.”

  I leaned back and shook my head. “You’ve got this mothering thing on lockdown.”

  She winked. “If only I’d remembered to spike this cappuccino with Baileys…and on that note, let’s get out of here. I’m ready for a real drink.”

  When we walked into Veritas, Aidan jumped over the bar and onto the floor. He rushed at Nat and gave her a big bear hug.

  “When do you leave?” he asked. He released her and then took the leisurely path back around the bar.

  “I have four more child-free days, and I plan to make the most of them,” she said with a laugh. “I’m thinking karaoke one night.”

  “You want to hit up some old stomping grounds?” Aidan slid a drink menu in front of her and waited.

  “I’ll try a Heartbreaker, please,” she said.

  “What’s a Heartbreaker?” I asked.

  Aidan’s mouth flattened as he shook the martini shaker. “Caleb’s new cocktail.” A few moments later, he set the drink down in front of her.

  She took a sip. “Wow. That’s really good.”

  “Pain inspires art, eh?” I remarked dryly.

  “How’s he doing?” Nat asked.

  Aidan sighed. “Good. All things considered. He’s been working here nonstop. I sent him home and took his shift. He’s burnt.”

  “He moved out of their apartment, right?” Nat pressed.

  Aidan looked at me.

  “I had to catch her up to speed. I wasn’t gossiping,” I defended. “I wasn’t.”

  “Right.” He scooped some ice into a glass, and with the gun, filled it with water. Setting down the glass on a coaster, he said, “He’s staying with a friend on the Upper East Side.”

  “A friend,” Nat said slowly.

  “A friend,” Aidan reiterated.

  “A female friend? Is that what you’re not saying?” I demanded.

  “Maybe.”

  “You mean Caleb breaks up with his girlfriend of two years, and the first thing he does is fall into another woman’s vagina?”

  “She cut him lose, Sibby,” Aidan reminded me. “Actually, she backed his ass into a corner, made him feel like shit—for months—and never had the courage to end it.”

  “She tried,” I argued back.

  “Not hard enough.” His voice had risen. “She treated him like shit! So what if he’s hooking up with a hot girl? It’s not your concern.”

  I pressed my hands to the bar and stood. “Hot? Did you just say she was hot?”

  “Oh, boy,” Nat muttered. To Aidan she said, “Now you’ve done it.”

  “You’ve met her, haven’t you?” I demanded, glaring at him.

  “I know her,” he admitted, throat tight.

  “How?”

  He remained frozen, body filled with tension, face pale.

  “How, Aidan?”

  Aidan sighed. “I used to date her.”

  Gemma Peters.

  Her name was Gemma Peters.

  How could best friends sleep with the same girl and not care? I’d asked Aidan this moments before stomping out of Veritas, in a complete blind rage. Although I couldn’t say exactly why I was so upset, except that halfway out the door, I didn’t want to turn around and admit I was being irrational.

  Annie and Caleb were not together. However he got his ego back was his deal. But the fact that Aidan, my husband, had once upon a time, slept with this Gemma Peters…well, it just didn’t sit well with me. Kind of like three-day-old Kung Pao Chicken.

  In fact, I was feeling really nauseated.

  “Men,” I muttered.

  “Preach!” the homeless bag lady with a shopping cart full of treasures shouted.

  I stopped walking and looked at her. Her tin foil hat was crooked, and she was wearing one red sock and one purple sock, but suddenly, I felt like she was an objective opinion.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Gimme a quarter,” she demanded.

  I rooted around at the bottom of my bag and found some change. I gave it all to her. She pressed her hands together and bowed. “Ask your question, frizzy-haired girl.”

  My hand immediately went to my ponytail. “Why do some guys sleep with the same girl but none of them care?”

  “I need more details,” she said, sounding strangely lucid.

  “My husband and his best friend have both hooked up with the same woman. Neither seem to care that she’s been with both of them.”

  Shopping cart lady placed a hand to her chin and struck a thoughtful pose. “I do believe it’s because neither of them are serious about her. Your husband didn’t want to marry her, did he?”

  “No,” I said that with confidence. I knew all about Aidan’s serious past relationships. He’d never once mentioned Gemma.

  “And his friend doesn’t want to marry her either?” she went on.

  “He just got dumped.”

  “Ah. Ego. He needs to feel like a man again.”

  “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  “Quack.”

  Lucid moment over.

  With a wave, I continued walking. I wandered through the neighborhood, stopping off for an ice cream cone. Nothing better than ice cream when it was chilly out. A few blocks later, ice cream gone, I was standing on Annie’s front stoop. I had no idea if she was home or if she’d let me in. But I had to try.

  I pressed the buzzer for her apartment. A moment later, the intercom crackled to life. “Hello?”

  “It’s Sibby,” I said, relief that she was home pouring through me. “Can we talk?” For a moment, Annie didn’t say anything, and I worried she’d say no, but then the buzzer buzzed.

  I opened the front door and nearly ran to the stairs. I took them two at a time until I got to the third floor. Annie was leaning against the doorframe when I stumbled out of breath.

  Bent over at the waist, I inhaled sharply.

  “What happened to your wrist?” she exclaimed.

  “I went camping,” I reminded her. “Slipped on frost.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “You do clumsy with such flair.”

  I lifted my eyes. “You’re just now figuring this out?”

  “I’ve been aware for quite awhile. You coming in, or do you want to wheeze out in the hallway?”

  “I can wheeze from inside your apartment,” I quipped, following her inside. The apartment looked sparse, and I faltered when I realized it was because all the masculine touches were gone. Caleb had taken his stuff and left. Most of it anyway. There were some boxes stacked along the living room wall.

  “He hasn’t picked up the rest of his boxes?” I asked.

  “Those are mine,” she said quietly.

  “Yours?”

  “I’m—moving.” />
  “Where?” I asked.

  “Montauk.”

  “What’s up there? A job?”

  “My uncle owns a seafood restaurant. I’m gonna cook there for a while. Until I can figure out things.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  She sighed. “Few weeks. Trying to sublet the rest of my lease.”

  Were you going to tell me?” I asked.

  Annie nodded and then shrugged. “Probably—if I could’ve ever gotten over my embarrassment.”

  I took a moment to study my best friend. She was sad, that much was obvious. But there was something else, too. She looked…hopeless.

  “I love you, you know,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “Do you? You’re the sister I never had.”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, I mean it,” I stated. “If I’ve ever done anything to make you doubt that, then I’m a shit friend.”

  “You’re not a shit friend,” she said, finally showing a little life. Her blue eyes were lit with truth. “You’ve stood by me even though I’ve behaved—you’re like my conscience, Sibby.”

  “I don’t want to be your conscience. I want to be your friend. Why won’t you let me?”

  “My parents are getting divorced,” she blurted out. “They’ve been separated for months and never told me. And I just—marriage doesn’t work.”

  “My marriage—”

  “Is new and yet it still has its issues. You guys don’t even want the same things.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it? Come on, Sibby, be honest with me. Or at least be honest with yourself. If you really wanted a kid you wouldn’t be fighting it this hard.”

  “Oh, I get it.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared defiantly at her. “You aren’t happy, so you want to take everyone else down with you.”

  “Is that what you think of me? Really?”

  I clamped my jaw shut in mulish anger.

  “You don’t know me at all. I was your maid-of-honor.”

  “Did you mean your maid-of-honor speech?” I tossed back. “Did you really mean what you said? About looking at us and knowing we were going to last.”

  “Yes, I meant it,” she snapped.

  “Then how can you stand there and tell me you can’t have the same thing?”

  She blinked. “Because your parents are still together. Because your entire childhood of happy moments isn’t a lie. Because your parents wanted you.”

  “Your parents wanted you,” I insisted.

  Annie sighed, her chest heaving with emotion. “No, Sibby, they didn’t. I was an accident and they got married because of it.”

  Chapter 13

  #inicecreamveritas

  “That can’t be true,” I said once I’d recovered from shock.

  “It’s true.” Her expression was bitter. “Believe me, it’s true.”

  “Did you always know about this?”

  She shook her head. “It came out in one of my screaming matches with my mother.”

  “Lovely,” I muttered, my own tone bitter.

  “Right? My mother, ladies and gentlemen, who always wanted more from life than to be a wife and mother.”

  “So she blamed you for holding her back? Nice.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “But isn’t that how you feel? About impending motherhood.”

  Did I feel that way? Would I resent a baby? Resent the time it took away from my writing, away from Aidan? My life wouldn’t be my own anymore.

  “There’s a difference between resentment because you had a kid and not being ready to have a kid.”

  “When are you going to be ready?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe when I’m on speaking terms with the make-believe kid’s father.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I smacked my forehead. “I left Nat at Veritas.”

  “Rewind,” Annie said.

  “Nat’s in town. We were hanging out at Veritas. Aidan might’ve given me some news that had me flying off the handle.”

  “What kind of news?”

  “No news,” I backtracked.

  “Sibby. Have you had sugar?”

  “No.”

  “Sibby?”

  “Yes!” My arms flew up in exasperation. “I had sugar, okay? But this is not a sugar spell, I promise. I had the smallest ice cream cone in the world! A kiddie scoop, even.”

  “Sprinkles?”

  “No!”

  “Sibby, come clean already.”

  “Fine! I had a strawberry ice cream with waffle cone mixed in. And it wasn’t a kiddie size; it was the biggest size they had!”

  My best friend blinked at me but didn’t seem at all fazed by my sugar-induced outrage. I was hypoglycemic, and technically, I should’ve been more cognizant of my sugar intake. But I’d really wanted an ice cream and—

  “You hate strawberry ice cream,” Annie said, calm and matter-of-fact.

  I froze.

  “You hate strawberry ice cream,” Annie repeated. “You call it the devil’s torment.”

  “Frozen strawberries are too cold, and they’re always freezer-burned,” I murmured.

  She made a face. “And how did your ice cream taste today?”

  “Like the best thing in the world.”

  Annie inhaled a slow breath. “Do you think—can you possibly—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “Gah! Why did you say that? Now it’s a real possibility!”

  “And it wasn’t before?”

  I put my hands over my ears. “I can’t hear you!”

  Annie gently pulled my hands down and held them. “When was your last period?”

  “What’s the date today?”

  She told me.

  “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “Maybe you’re stressed. You’ve been stressed. I stress you out.”

  “True.” I shook my head. “I’ve been regular. I’ve always been regular. Even when I was eighteen and got mono and dropped a bunch of weight, I was regular.”

  “Okay, let’s not panic. There’s a first time for everything, right?” She marched me toward the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Stop pushing me!”

  She paused. “I’ve got a pregnancy test you can borrow.”

  “Borrow?” I snorted. “This is one of those times that I’m not gonna give it back. And why do you have a pregnancy test?”

  “Because most women go through scares.” She began shoving me into the bathroom.

  “I don’t have to go. I can’t pee on a stick when I’m empty!”

  “Wait here!” She ran to the kitchen. A moment later, I heard a cabinet open and then the sound of running water. Annie rushed back, spilling water on the wooden floor. Thrusting it at me, she said, “Drink all of it.”

  I took the glass and looked at it.

  “What are you waiting for?” she screeched. “Pound it! Like you did in college!”

  With a deep breath, I went in. I chugged. I chugged until there was nothing left.

  “I can’t anymore,” I moaned as she tried to shove round three at me.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m at sea,” I muttered.

  “How’s the bladder?”

  “Too personal. Even for us.”

  “This? You called me in the middle of the night after you lost your virginity.”

  I glowered. “I thought I’d done it wrong!”

  “How can you even—fine. Whatever.”

  “You do realize we’re in a slapstick comedy routine, don’t you?” I asked, feeling hysteria rise in my throat.

  She put both hands on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. “Do. You. Have. To. Pee?”

  “Yes!’ I squeaked, sounding like a chipmunk that’d sucked helium.

  Annie grabbed my hand and stalked toward the bathroom.

  “I can’t do it! I can’t pee on a stick!”


  “Sure, you can. It’s really easy, you just get your leg—”

  I threw her off. “No, you don’t get it. I can’t do this. I can’t find out if I’m pregnant. Not yet.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “What if…”

  “Yeah?”

  Shaking my head, I felt my insides quake. “What if he did this on purpose? What if he poked holes in the condoms while I was sleeping, and I—”

  “Aidan? Aidan Kincaid? Your husband.” Annie looked at me like I’d lost my marbles.

  “Yes, my husband,” I snapped. “The one hungry for a legacy. The one who wants to fill my womb with his dimpled Irish swimmers.”

  “And I’m asking again. You really think Aidan would do that to do you?”

  My shoulders slumped. “No. I don’t. But if that’s not the case, then…”

  “Then what?” she demanded.

  “Then Sibby’s Law.”

  “Sibby’s Law,” she repeated in understanding.

  I nodded. “Yep. Sibby’s Law.”

  “How’s it coming in there?” Annie called through the closed door of the bathroom.

  “Can you not say anything for like five minutes? I have stage fright.” I sighed. “Waterfall, waterfall, waterfall…”

  And I thought the SATs would be the hardest test I’d ever have to take.

  I set the stick on the wrapper on the bathroom counter. Washing my hands, I stared at it out of the corner of my eye. Plus sign, minus sign. The test was idiot proof.

  “Come on,” I muttered at the stick. Somewhere in the distance, I heard my cell phone ring.

  “Should I get that for you?” Annie asked.

  “It’s probably Aidan,” I called back. “And no. Don’t get it. I’m not ready to—no. Let it go to voicemail.”

  Annie’s phone trumpeted for a moment, and then it stopped. “Timer’s done.”

  Moment of truth.

  I leaned over the counter and peered at the stick.

  One big fat pink plus sign.

  Light-headed, I sank to the floor. I brought my legs up and curled into the fetal position. The bathroom door burst open, and Annie loomed above me.

  “Sibby?”

  “I’m with child,” I said, breathless.

  “God, you’re so fucking dramatic,” she stated. She sank down onto the floor, wormed my head into her lap, and stroked my hair. “This is not the end of the world.”