Bitch Slap

by Bijou Hunter

The motorhome erupts in laughter for a good five minutes at the idea of this fucked-up family—who I love so very much—being good people. We’re a lot of fucking things, but “good” ain’t one of them.

  POET

  I do one last check of my trailer before walking outside where Jimmy watches my little cousin, Tuesday, run in circles after a butterfly. I wish the entire family remained as serene, but they’re still pissed from my speech the night before.

  All I wanted was to beg for them to be on their best behaviors for Cricket’s family.

  “Three days is all I ask,” I said.

  My family—who I love so very much—booed my request. My own father even squirted me with his water pistol. The only one who took my side was Henrietta who went on a ten-minute rant about respect and loyalty. Her interest in the bitchfest petered out halfway through, and she finished with a random, “Attica!”

  Today everyone is roaming the property, just fricking waiting to make me look stupid in front of my woman and her family. I doubt Cricket will give a shit if surrounded by fools, but Hayes still acts like I’m a dirty biker befouling his princess.

  “You better strap on some adult diapers, boy,” Uncle Emmett says when I walk up to where he stands with my dad and Uncle Donovan.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for the thought.”

  “You look like a scared little bitch,” Uncle Emmett says. “Nothing personal, kid. Poppy just told me to give you shit because you hurt her feelings last night.”

  “I did not.”

  “No, probably not, but that’s her story, and she’ll stick to it.”

  Checking my phone, I find a message from Cricket saying the family is a few minutes out. My stomach drops to my fricking feet.

  “What are they driving?” Uncle Donovan asks while peering through binoculars.

  “You just want to play with those damn things,” Dad says, grabbing for them.

  “Smell a queef,” my uncle grumbles, and the men get into a minor shoving match.

  Crossing my arms, I say, “They’re in an RV.”

  “Fancy shit,” Uncle Emmett mutters. “Fancy people make my ass hurt.”

  “Whose ass hurts?” Justice yells from inside the house. “Do I need to come out there?”

  “The Butternuts are almost here!” Dad yells back at her.

  Grandpa Jared steps outside, flinches at the sound of his daughter yelling through the screen door, and finally joins me. “All I can say is it’s real lucky you already knocked up this girl because I doubt she’ll want anything to do with you after this weekend.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I lie.

  “Wait until Justice gives her helpful pregnancy advice. Or Poppy and Journey say queef forty times in three minutes. Having been inside with them, I can promise you they are not people looking to make a good impression.”

  Before I can make one last attempt to smooth over the bullshit hurt feelings my aunts and stepmom are milking, I catch sight of a behemoth motorhome rumbling down the road.

  Time for planning officially over, I accept the approaching shitstorm. Nothing can calm the pain in my gut as I watch the RV pull onto our property and through the open double gates. I step down from the deck and head to where Hayes parks. Before I give up all hope of having a good day, the side door opens, and Cricket appears.

  When our gazes meet, she gives me a smile I feel down to my bones, and none of my worries can compete.

  CRICKET

  To the untrained Yankee eye, West Virginia and Tennessee might not seem so different. Both states are covered in trees and mountains. Tennessee has the country music capital and Graceland while West Virginia possesses a whole fuckton of landmarks named after the long dead, former KKK member turned senator, Robert Byrd. I’m not saying my home state is better, per se but If. The. Shoe. Fits.

  Poet’s presence makes this place a glorified Eden, and I see no one except him as I step down from the RV. He looks yummy in a gray and white Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt and black jeans. I can barely keep my hands to myself when he reaches me.

  “I’m in your domain,” I coo while my fingers slide under his shirt to enjoy his blazing-hot skin. “I’m going to sleep in your bed tonight. In fact, let’s go to your bed right now.”

  “I know you’re nervous about combining our families, but we need to face the clusterfrick so we can get to the good part.”

  My smile fades, and my right eyebrow lifts. “What in the fuck is a clusterfrick?”

  Poet owns the sexiest smirk this side of heaven, but I still growl when he flashes it at me and says, “I don’t like being told how to fricking speak, so don’t tell me how to fricking speak. The more you fricking do, the more I fricking hate it.”

  “Our children will not say ‘fricking.’”

  “To rebel from your parental rule, they will. It’s part of fricking growing up.”

  “If you weren’t my fucking man,” I say and pinch his nipple, “I’d bitch slap you so hard right now, and then insist you fuck me.”

  “Wait, if I wasn’t your fricking man, you’d want me to frick you?”

  Shuddering, I want to argue with him over the stupidity of frick and then finish our disagreement with me riding his dick into submission. That’s the ideal end to this day, but our families have different plans.

  “Stop fondling Poet, and let’s meet his family,” Hayes demands, now standing next to Candy.

  My mom takes her man’s hand. Maybe she’s nervous. Or perhaps she wants to keep him calm in case these hillbilly folks annoy the giant fucker.

  Poet takes my hand and tugs me toward a large wooden deck where the biker Waltons live.

  “Dad, this is Cricket,” he says, and I’m awed by how much the elder Bayer resembles his son. Like I’m looking at my future when I stare into his dad’s face. “This is my father, Court.”

  “Court?” Hayes asks as if we’re putting him on. “That’s your name?”

  “Courtland is the name my mama gave me. Court is short.”

  “His mama named him Angus, so let’s move on,” I say and gesture for Poet to do more introducing.

  There’s his half brother, Otto, who was raised by his stepmom’s sister who is married to Court’s cousin. Journey and Donovan have two kids, Ike and Edith. Then there’s his aunt Poppy who is the half sister of his stepmom. We meet his stepgrandma, Christine, who is the mother of Justice, Journey, and Poppy, and her ex-husband and current husband, Jared, who is the father of Journey and Justice. I swear by the time I meet Poet’s half sister, Matilda, I’m ready to break out a whiteboard to track this family’s bizarre tree.

  “We should get name tags,” Christine suggests while smiling brightly.

  “Yeah, actually,” Candy replies.

  I catch Justice giving Candy a dirty look before turning her gaze to her sisters who share some kind of silent conversation that likely involves claiming my beloved mommy sucks. Now I’m frowning at Justice who doesn’t notice, but Jared does, and then he looks to Christine, and THEY have a silent conversation.

  Chipper—having no interest in remembering anyone’s name unless he’s met them a dozen times—arrives at where Poet and I share a silent conversation about how his stepmommy is giving my real mommy a dirty look. Focusing on what really matters, my brother asks, “I heard you hill folk make fine moonshine.”

  Poet’s family glances at each other, and a dozen silent conversations break out. I frown at my brother who shrugs and says, “I’m an amateur alcoholic, and it’s booze o’clock in Chipper time.”

  “Well, I don’t know if that’s the kind of behavior I want around my kids,” Uncle Something mutters and takes a few steps toward my brother.

  “Then keep your kids away from my alcoholic brother,” I say while resting my hands on my hips which is how my mom signals she’s no longer fucking around.

  “My kids live here. You are guests. It’s up to you to behave.”

  “No, it’s up to you to bend over backward for your guests,” I nearly ho
ller.

  “Do you do that when people visit your home?”

  “We would if we ever invited anyone to our home. Knowing how we hate to bend over backward for people, we choose to keep strangers away. I’m sorry you weren’t savvy enough to think of that.”

  “I didn’t invite you here.”

  “Yeah, I did, though, and I live here too,” Poet says, unsure if Uncle Something and I are really arguing or just passing the time.

  “You should have asked us if we wanted drunken strangers around our children.”

  Poet frowns. “I feel you’re making up a reason to start trouble. I feel you’re acting like a fricking queef because you think it’ll be funny.”

  “Is that what you feel?” Poppy demands as her blue eyes pop out dramatically. “Is it really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you are smarter than you look, dummy.”

  “Don’t call him names!” I yell because quite frankly I really enjoy starting trouble. “He is the best person involved in this conversation.”

  “Hey,” Chipper says, poking me. “I’m involved and can hear you.”

  “Don’t be a beef fart. Just let Poet have this beautiful moment.”

  “What about Cap?” Candy demands. “He’s better than anyone.”

  “Yeah, but he’s in the RV and not involved in the conversation. That’s why I worded my statement the way I did.”

  “Oh, then, yeah.”

  “I’m fairly fucking sure that I’m superior to Poet and these people,” Hayes growls, having been ignored for too long and needing attention.

  “You’re cool, sure, but not as cool. Sorry, Papa Bear.”

  “Let’s get back on track here,” Poet interrupts before falling silent as if unable to remember what track we are supposed to be on. “Okay, moonshine is coming, Chipper.” Poet glances at Uncle Something and adds, “They are safe drunks, and your kids have seen worse. After all, Peepaw Zeb is bringing the moonshine and he’s worse sober than Cricket’s family is drunk.”

  “I very much look forward to meeting Peepaw,” Chipper whispers to me, and I snicker.

  “Now, are you hungry?” Poet asks my family.

  Hayes shakes his big head. “The RV has a top-of-the-line kitchen.”

  “Very cool,” Poet replies rather than what he’s likely thinking such as—frick off or something similarly lame.

  “Come on inside, and we’ll get you something to drink and eat,” Christine announces, flashing her bright white smile again. “The girls can talk about girl stuff while the men talk about whatever crap men talk about. Cars maybe?”

  “Beef,” Justice pipes in. “Or porn.”

  “We don’t talk about porn,” Jared tells his daughter.

  “Sure, sure.”

  I agree with her sentiment. In fact, I seriously suspect men talk about nothing except porn twenty-four seven. At least, that’s what I’d talk about if I was a man. That and how much I got laid and how big my dick was. Yeah, it’s a good thing I’m not a dude.

  POET

  I don’t know how Cricket sexes up a cutesy pink maternity shirt with an adorable big-eyed owl on the front. Despite how much tension hangs in the air, I can’t take my fricking eyes off of her. Hayes grudgingly accepts a beer from my father while Chipper decides to wait for moonshine. Justice and her sisters invite Candy inside the house where it’s cooler. Cricket considers joining them but eventually sits next to me in a lawn chair.

  “How are my babies?” I ask, leaning over to kiss her round bump. “Are they behaving for their mama?”

  “Whipped,” Emmett mutters from nearby. I’d be more irritated by his insult if the man wasn’t wrapped very fricking tightly around Aunt Poppy’s finger.

  Cricket gives Emmett a dirty look, though, because she likes glaring at people. I ignore their pissing match and focus instead on my babies. I feel a hard kick on the right side of her bump, and a lazy one on the left. If my twins are anything like Cricket and Chipper, the girl is the one trying to kick her way to freedom while her brother calmly waits for the exit to open on its own.

  “Have you been thinking about names?” I ask for the millionth time.

  “Yes, but you won’t like them, and I won’t like you for not liking my great taste.”

  Cradling her bump possessively, I admit, “I don’t care if you like me as long as you love me.”

  “Oh, then, I was thinking about the name Minnow if we have a girl.”

  “Awful,” someone yells. Searching for the offender, I suspect it’s Henrietta out in the yard with my cousins and a very awkward Cap.

  “You know because we watch ‘Gilligan’s Island,’” Cricket adds while caressing my hand on her stomach.

  “Minnow is a fish,” Chipper says nearby with his eyes closed.

  “Cricket is an insect,” Cricket snaps. “What’s your fucking point?”

  Chipper never opens his eyes while a smirk slides across his face. “That’s right. You’re a bug.”

  Cricket rolls her eyes before returning her gaze to me. “I think it sounds cute. Of course, we’re not a hundred percent sure we’re having a girl.”

  “If the girl was Minnow, what would the boy be?”

  “Trout,” Chipper suggests, laughing before the word finishes leaving his mouth.

  Hayes laughs loudly, and I hear my uncle snickering. One of them suggests “Guppy,” while someone else whispers, “Flounder.”

  Cricket refuses to look in their direction. “I want a boy name that starts with ‘M’ if we do name the girl Minnow. I want them to match like Chip and I do.”

  “But not rhyme because that’s just weird,” Chipper says, still refusing to open his eyes as if the world isn’t worth enduring without moonshine.

  “He’s right. That is just weird.”

  Rubbing her belly for good luck, I whisper, “Let’s see if Baby B is a girl. While we wait to find out, I’ll get used to the name Minnow.”

  “I have another ultrasound scheduled in two weeks. Will you come to it?”

  “Of course.”

  “The appointment doesn’t fall on our four-day weekend schedule,” she says, studying me with her rich brown eyes.

  “It’s time I shared your bed on a Wednesday.”

  Grinning, Cricket tightens her grip on my hand. “I’m redoing my bedroom for you. Bianca Bella is organizing the revamp. It was her idea actually. She says a manly man doesn’t want to sleep under a chandelier.”

  “You don’t have to change anything,” I say while mentally thankful to have the chandelier gone.

  “I think she just wants to move it to her room. Bianca Bella likes to steal shit from people. She rarely does, but I know she struggles with the urge. Anyway, she’s right that my room is too ultra-feminine for you.”

  “Hey, want to walk to my trailer? I bet you won’t care about my taste once you see it up close and personal.”

  “Okay,” Cricket says and wiggles to get her balance before pushing up from the chair. “We’re heading to Poet’s trailer. Don’t follow us.”

  “Be back in no more than twenty-three minutes,” Hayes instantly demands.

  “No.”

  Cricket hugs her stepdad who never loses his frown when stating, “Twenty-five is all you’re getting before I send your brothers to retrieve you.”

  “Speaking of your boy,” Emmett says, “are you sure he’s only twelve?”

  “Yeah, I’m fucking sure.”

  “He doesn’t look twelve. He looks old enough to vote.”

  “What’s your fucking point?” Cricket asks Emmett before Hayes can.

  “Well, what the hell do you Butternuts feed your kids to make them so damn huge?”

  Chipper sits up suddenly, wearing a darkly serious expression. “We eat the hearts of our enemies. The protein makes us grow strong.”

  Cricket grins at her brother and then pulls me down the steps of the deck. “Let’s go before I have to yell at someone else.”

  I wrap an arm arou
nd her shoulders and guide her toward my trailer. Behind us, my father mentions something about Hayes not riding a motorcycle. Hayes then says “fuck” about thirty times before we get too far to hear him any longer. I don’t know what happens next, but I’m happy to miss more of the pissing match.

  CRICKET

  Poet’s trailer is only five minutes from the main house, but I’m exhausted by the time we arrive. I also have to pee, of course. The door isn’t locked and Jimmy bolts through the door as soon as it opens. Entering Poet’s domain, I inhale the maleness of his doublewide.

  “It might not be fancy, but I like it,” Poet says, sounding defensive.

  Turning to him, I can’t think of anything reassuring to say, so I blurt out, “I have to pee.”

  Poet shows me to a small bathroom where I sit for nearly five minutes. I never have to pee as much as I feel like I do. I keep waiting for more to come, though. Finally, I get up and wash my hands and then my face before remembering I’m wearing makeup.

  Well, fuck it.

  I step out of the bathroom to find Poet on the couch with his dog. The man looks both adorable and sexy—a talent only he possesses.

  “This is what I pictured,” I say, joining him on the couch. “I thought of you stretched out on your comfy couch when we talked.”

  “Are you happy to be here?”

  “Of course,” I coo, wanting to sit on his lap but fearing I’ll crush him. “Aren’t you happy for me to be here?”

  “Of fricking course, but everyone is so tense and bickering.”

  “Do they not normally bicker?”

  “Sure, but that’s family bitching at family. I wanted them to be nicer to guests.”

  “Why? My family isn’t nice to guests,” I say while playing with his thick, chestnut hair. “And anyway, when alphas get together dick measuring and pissing contests are to be expected. The same thing happens whenever Hayes and Chipper spend time with the Serrated Brotherhood club in the town over. It’s normal.”

  Poet studies my face with his crystal blue eyes. “You’re so damn gorgeous and perfect.”