Baby & Bump (The This & That Series)

by Moss, Brooke

  “Fine,” I grunted. It sounded more like the snuffling sound a pig makes, but hey, who cared at this point? I sure as hell didn’t. Offering the receptionist a jerky wave, I shuffled off to the waiting area with a scowl on my face.

  How dare Fletcher switch me to the other doctor? I mean, I was pretty sure he’d done it because we’d long since crossed some sort of line between doctor and patient. He’d said it himself: there was something between us. And it wasn’t just a crush. It was more. So, so much more.

  Tears stung my eyes as I sat squished into a tiny leather chair. I looked up at the ceiling to keep them from spilling. Was this God’s punishment for what I’d done to Marisol? Or worse yet, was my mother right? Was God mad at me for getting pregnant out of wedlock with my douche bag ex husband? Oh, dear Lord, how did one repent for that? Was it a few Hail Marys, and maybe a splash in a baptismal font? Or was more involved?

  “Lexie?”

  Jumping, I looked down to find Martha standing in front of me with a red, white, and blue starred backpack on her shoulder. Her long hair was pulled into two glossy braids with mismatched ribbons on the end. She was adorable like always, and my heart warmed despite all of the pain rattling around inside of my chest.

  “Martha.” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “How are you doing?”

  She wrinkled her ski jump nose at me. “Better than you. Whatcha crying about?”

  “Nothing.” I forced a smile that was too wide to look natural. I probably looked terrifying.

  Martha nodded knowingly. “Hormones?”

  I laughed in spite of myself. Nothing got past this kid. “Yeah, you’re right. What are you doing here?”

  “My bus driver drops me off here every Thursday, then Dad takes me to karate.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and settled down in the seat next to me. “You look pretty today.”

  The warmth in my chest started to spread. “Thanks, sweetie, but I’m pretty sure I look a little puffy.”

  She shook her head, making her braids swing. “Puffiness is normal. My dad says so. He also said you were pretty.”

  My stomach seized, and the baby kicked. “He what?”

  One of Martha’s shoulders rose and fell. “Yeah. The other night Marisol came over. She brought Thai food. Marisol was laughing because you have to wear flip-flops at work, and Dad told her to stop. Then he said you were pretty.” She looked at me with a wince. “Marisol was pretty mad.”

  I bit my lip. It felt so weird to be completely torn between elated for me, and sad for Marisol. But I was. “Marisol’s pretty beautiful. I don’t think she’s used to boys not telling her so.”

  “Oh, well.” She swung her feet, kicking her backpack. “We ordered a pizza after she left. I hate Thai food. Everything’s covered in peanut butter.”

  I laughed. “You’ve got a point. But there are some good dishes in Thai cuisine. I’ll have to make you some.”

  “Sounds good.” She played with the end of one of her braids. “But if you make that for me, I’ll make you my world famous pizza.”

  I gasped and press a hand to my chest. “You make world famous pizza?”

  “Uh huh.” She nodded solemnly. “With pineapple and salami.”

  “No kidding?” Nudging her with my shoulder, I noticed that Martha smelled like strawberry lip-gloss. I loved strawberry lip-gloss when I was her age. “I should hire you at Eats and Treats.”

  “That’d be cool.” She flashed her jack-o-lantern smile again. “Would you let me decorate cupcakes? I’m an expert decorator.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yup. I’m trying to teach myself how to make flowers.”

  “How’s that going? It took me a long time.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not so good. My dad looked up a video on YouTube to see how, but we still couldn’t figure it out.”

  I pictured Fletcher and Martha trying to construct frosting flowers together, and smiled to myself. “Keep practicing,” I told her. “It takes time. But you’ll get it.”

  “I hope so.” Martha twisted a sparkly ring around her finger. “Because Libman’s birthday is coming up, and I want to make a cake.”

  “Dogs can’t eat sugar, silly,” I reminded her. “It makes them sick.”

  “I know.” She looked up at me with laugh. I noticed that her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled, just like her dad. “But my dad and I really like cake, so we always look for reasons to make it.”

  As if it were possible to love Fletcher anymore, suddenly I did. And I loved his daughter, too. Oh, what a sticky situation I was in. Those pesky tears tickled my eyes again. “So what else will you help me cook for Eats and Treats?”

  Martha thought about it for a few beats, and her smile dropped.

  I patted her knee. “What’s wrong? Out of recipes already?”

  “No.” She sighed. “It’s just that if I work with you at Eats and Treats, that’ll mean I have to work with Marisol, too.”

  I half smiled. “Oh, Mar’s not so bad once you get to know her. She can make a mean mole sauce.”

  “I wish my dad would break up with her.” Martha propped her chin on her fist. “She’s just so grouchy.”

  Part of me wanted to defend my friend, but the part in love with Martha’s father wanted to let Marisol sink her own ship. She’d had months to forge a relationship with Martha, and instead of finding common ground, all I’d ever heard Marisol do was gripe. That kid complains too much. That kid is always hanging around. That kid is always taking Fletcher away. Fletcher was a father, and Marisol had had more than enough time to adjust to it. But her discomfort seemed to grow with every outing the three of them had together.

  I didn’t say anything, so Martha went on. “She pretends I’m not there when my dad leaves the room. If I talk to her when he’s not looking, she totally ignores me. Then when he comes back, she acts like everything I say is so cool.”

  Cringing, I shifted in my seat. I didn’t even know what to say. But Martha didn’t give me the chance to think of anything, because she threw her next comment out and my heart almost exploded all over the waiting room.

  “I wish he was dating you!” she blurted, turning to face me. “You have stuff in common with him and you make him laugh. All he ever does when he’s with Marisol is rub his eyes. He only does that when he’s frustrated. You never frustrate him, Lexie. Plus, he said you like Elvis music, and she never lets him listen to it when they’re together. I don’t know why he met Marisol first. She sucks.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Martha that Fletcher met Marisol after he’d met me, and that the minute he saw her, he was sunk like the Titanic. She was too beautiful and too charming not to date. Any resistance would have been futile.

  “I hate her,” Martha said in a wobbly voice.

  I slid my arm around her small shoulders and pulled her to my side. “Shhh. Now don’t cry. It’s okay.” I smoothed down her hair and closed my eyes. Holding Martha felt so natural to me. How in the world could Marisol not like this kid? “Listen, I know you and Marisol don’t see eye to eye. And I understand why. Sometimes Marisol is sort of difficult to get along with.”

  Martha sniffled. “You got that right.”

  I rested my chin on her head. “But underneath it all, there is a hilarious and funny person who has been my friend for so many years I’ve lost count. She’ll go to bat for me, no matter what it’s for, and she’ll win. Every time. You don’t find that kind of loyalty in just any friend, you know.”

  Martha nodded, her hair tickling my nose.

  “So even though on the outside Marisol is cranky, just remember that on the inside there is a person who will fight for the people she loves. No matter what. Maybe remembering that will help you to hate her less when she ignores you.” Without thinking, I pressed a kiss to the top of Martha’s head. “Okay, kiddo?”

  A woman’s voice rang out, tearing the moment in two. “Lexie Baump?”

  I looked up at the nurse smiling at me. “I have to
go. It was sure nice to see you.”

  “You, too.” She forced a smile.

  “You know what?” I dug in my purse, and yanked out a business card. “Here’s my cell number. If you ever need some advice on how to navigate your way around Marisol, give me a call.”

  Her face lit up as she took the card. “Thanks!”

  Hiking my purse up on my shoulder, I waddled towards the nurse. “I’m ready now,” I told her, squeezing past her into the back of the office.

  It was then that I realized Fletcher had been standing behind the receptionist across the room. His arms were folded across his chest, and a sad frown on his handsome face. God knew how long he’d been standing there, but I didn’t care. I’d meant everything I’d said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I looked at the tiny pocket sized calendar resting on my passenger seat and released a colossal sigh. I was thirty-two weeks pregnant today, and it was time.

  No, my water hadn’t broken….

  It was time for me to lay my grievances with my mother aside. Time for me to apologize to her for not speaking to her in a month. Time to forgive her for hurting me. And time for me to accept my mother, flaws and all.

  The truth was, I was nesting.

  My apartment had been scrubbed from top to bottom. Every article of clothing I owned, for myself and for my baby, had been washed, ironed, and folded to perfection. I’d assembled every piece of baby equipment and polished them until they gleamed. I’d even rented a carpet steamer, which I’d promptly used to sanitize my floors and drapes.

  All that cleaning, and yet something still felt incomplete. I needed my mom. I wanted my mom. It was the same feeling I got every single time I got the flu. It didn’t matter what age I was, when I was lying on my bed with a fever and the chills, I wanted my mom. Now I was about to have a baby. What woman didn’t want her mother when she was thirty-two weeks pregnant and on the verge of becoming a parent herself?

  Which is why I was parked in her driveway on a Saturday afternoon.

  I hadn’t called first. Mostly because I didn’t know what to say, and because I was pretty sure my mother would cry.

  I could never understand her when she cried over the phone.

  Besides, her thirty-third, and final, message had left things open for my eventual return:

  “Hi, Alexandria, it’s your mother. Listen, I know you think you’re going to be mad at me forever, and maybe you’re right. But I want you to know that the moment you look at your baby, you’ll understand why I do the crazy things I do. Because the love and protectiveness that a mother feels for her child is so overwhelming, it takes your breath away. That’s why I keep trying to set you up. Because I would do anything to protect you from feeling overwhelmed and alone. That’s all I’m trying to do. I mean, sure. I guess I went about doing it the wrong way, so sue me. But still. I only did it because I love you—and my grandchild—so much. I won’t call anymore. I know I’m annoying you. But you know where I live, and the door’s always open. Come see me when you’re ready.”

  I looked at my mother’s Buick in the carport. I was ready.

  I hoisted myself out of my driver’s seat and waddled up to the front door. This was it. Turning the knob, I pushed the door open a few inches. She never locked her doors. I’d been warning her how dangerous that was for years, but she’d always come back with, Spokane’s just fine! I grew up here, for Pete’s sake!

  I hesitated in the doorway. I’d always just walked right in in the past, but things felt different now. Too much had transpired between us.

  “Mom?” I called out softly.

  There was no answer. Not that I was surprised. You couldn’t have your house lined in stuffed dolls and not expect to have some soundproofing. I opened the door all the way. “Hey, Ma! It’s Lex. Can we talk?”

  My words sounded flat against the padding of all the Cabbage Patch dolls.

  There was a dull thumping sound that came from the back of the house. She must be in the laundry room folding clothes. Her dryer had been purchased brand new by my father in 1988, and for as long as I could remember, the damned thing clunked like there was a clog lodged in the vent.

  Muttering a curse word, I sidestepped a trio of dolls who watched me with painted on eyes. This place creeped me out more and more every time visited. It was going to be a struggle to bring my baby here for visits without wanting to sprinkle him or her with holy water afterward.

  The banging sound stopped, and I halted. “Hello?”

  I heard a muffled sound that could only be described as a wail.

  My blood ran cold, and I strode through the living room. “Mom?”

  It would figure that after all this time giving her the silent treatment, I would walk in to find her crumpled on the floor after a heart attack. How many times had Corbin and I discussed buying her one of those Life Alert things?

  The bumping started again, increasing in volume and pace, and I took off in a run down the hallway. Holy hell, she was having a seizure! “Mom!” I bellowed, charging past the empty laundry room. “Mooom!?”

  A groan rang out. A deep groan.

  What the what?

  I pushed her bedroom door open and wished instantly I hadn’t. There was too much flesh and too much movement to process. Pastor Irm’s black shirt and collar were tangled with my mother’s lavender teddy bear sweatshirt on the carpeted floor. And my mother’s giant beige bra with five hooks hung from the doorknob.

  I heard my mother giggle—giggle, for crying out loud! I hadn’t heard her giggle in at least twenty years.

  And then I heard myself scream an obscenity that rhymed with “Holy trucking pit!”

  Pastor Irm. And my mother. Getting their freak on.

  Amongst the flesh, I saw two eyes pop open from behind thick pink tinted glasses. “ALEXANDRIA?”

  I stood frozen. Couldn’t move. Wanted to but simply couldn’t.

  Pastor Irm looked over his bare shoulder. “Patsy, what’s wrong? I… oh, dear.”

  My mother’s pale white legs started to kick on either side of the pastor. “GET OUT!”

  My feet finally unglued themselves from the floor, and I ran face first into the doorjamb when I whirled around.

  My mother’s screams rang in my ears as I ran—nay, sprinted—back down the hall, and shoved my way through the front door. The sunlight assaulted my eyes as I tripped on the curb and dove across the yard.

  “Keys, keys, keys,” I muttered to myself, fumbling in the pockets of my hoodie. My hands were shaking, and I could hear the sound of Irm’s groan echoing in my head over and over again. I shuddered as I yanked the keys out and tried unsuccessfully to press the unlock button. “Oh, son of a… I’ve got to get out of here.”

  Had they been doing the nasty for long? I racked my brain. How long had my mother and Pastor Irm been close friends? Ten years? Maybe more. Had they been having sex this whole time? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to go back to my mother’s house, let alone eat dinner there again.

  I dropped my keys on the driveway and raked a hand through my hair. They’d been bouncing around on my father’s bed. Where else in the house had they done it? The kitchen? The dining room? Mother of all things beautiful, in front of all those dolls? It was enough to make me sick.

  The screen door swung open and slapped against the house. “Alexandria, wait!”

  I looked up and saw my mother. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and she’d pulled on her pink bathrobe. She held out her hands, and made a choking sound. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to, I just, I’m so sorry.”

  My shock quickly morphed into anger. She’d been treating me like I was Satan’s Mistress ever since I announced I was pregnant. Again, and again, and again my mother had made me feel like I was as horrible as someone sitting in a jail cell for murder.

  And the whole time she’d been boinking Pastor Irm.

  My mother started to come down the front steps towards me, but I put out my hands to stop her. “Don’t come
any closer to me.”

  My voice was shaking, but I took a deep breath and went on. No point in chickening out now. Not after what I’d just seen. “You’ve been so cruel to me. So cruel. And I came here prepared to apologize to you, just so that I could have you back in my life again. So that I could share this amazing experience with you. I’ve missed you, Mom. My whole apartment is ready for this baby, and the only thing that’s missing is the grandma. I don’t want to do this without you.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just stood there crying.

  I put my hands on my giant stomach. “Do you understand how much you’ve missed? You’ve missed most of this pregnancy because you’ve been so focused on marrying me off. You’ve missed experiences that I should have been able to share with my mother, because you were so focused on what a disappointment I am, or how much people are going to judge you because your pathetic daughter got knocked up. You treated me like I was some sort of slut.”

  My mother’s hand went to her chest. “Lexie, I—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped. “You don’t get to talk anymore. You don’t get to decide what is acceptable or appropriate anymore. You don’t get to judge me anymore. I just caught you in the act with your pastor. Who does that? What kind of a person treats their child like garbage, when they’re doing the very same thing?”

  I scooped the keys off of the driveway and unlocked my car. I knew I was going too far, but like everything else lately, I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t rein it in. The hormones were a’ragin, and I had no control. “I’m so disappointed in you, Mom. So disappointed. Maybe it was best we weren’t speaking, because I’m not sure I want you around my baby, anyway.”

  My mother covered her mouth, her shoulders bouncing. I slammed my car door, and fired up the engine. And as I peeled out of the driveway and sped away from the house, I realized that I was crying, too.

  This was not how I’d seen my day going.