Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4)

by Smartypants Romance

  Judging by the look on Rosalind’s face, she didn’t either and it’s really shaken her. I squeeze her shoulder in support and she gives me a pained smile, then nods at whatever Miss Chipper has said.

  For most people, this would probably be fun, but for us it’s creating a whole new level of stress. I make a mental note to grab come chocolate-drizzled popcorn from the store on our way home for Rosalind to munch on while I give her an extra-long foot rub tonight. It’s the only thing I can think of that may relax her again.

  I just hope this trip ends up being worth it.

  Chapter Twenty

  ROSALIND

  Six weeks.

  That’s all I have left of my life as I know it.

  That’s actually not completely accurate. The life I loved since I was eighteen years old—one that included an awesome apartment, a regular stylist, waxing, nails, massages, shopping for whatever I wanted whenever I felt like it—all the things that made me me ended the minute I peed on a stick that turned bright pink. Sure, quitting my job and moving in with Joey were sacrifices I was willing to make and would again if needed for my child, but those are probably the only good things I’ve done as a mother so far.

  The longer I’m pregnant, the more I realize I’m ill-equipped, under-prepared, overwhelmed, and downright bitchy as I prepare for yet another major life change. It honestly is taking everything in me these days to not fall into a pit of despair. I don’t know if that’s hormones talking or a sign of depression, but the one thing keeping me going is Joey.

  Never did I expect that a man I met at a strip club, one who shoved money in my side string and dropped me on my head during sex, would end up being my rock through the most difficult time in my life. He hasn’t only followed through with everything he promised, he also seems to know me better than I know myself sometimes. It’s like he can anticipate when I’m going to start freaking out and knows exactly how to calm me.

  Yes, I am referring to his foot rubs, and yes, they are that magical. Or maybe it’s the intent behind them. I don’t know what I would do without him and that terrifies me. Every day I fall for him a little more and I don’t know if I’ll survive without his stupid jokes and wide smiles every day. No one has ever cared for me the way Joey has the last few months, including anyone with the last name Palmer or DiSoto.

  It’s not that my family doesn’t care. They just like to talk in circles, lovingly berate, and add a solid dose of that famous Catholic guilt before pitching in to help when there is a problem. This very hands on, anticipating my needs before they come up, jumping in to make my life easier that Joey does without a second thought, is brand-new behavior to me.

  It scares the crap out of me because I like it so much. I’m already preparing for my heart to be stomped on in the future. I know the statistics. Relationships that start the way ours did typically don’t go well.

  But here in the present, I have to focus on the bigger problems. I get to spend the next six hours in a childbirth and parenting class. Not my idea of fun, but something Joey felt we both needed so we could be prepared. His motto seems to be “knowledge is power.” My motto remains solidly in the “ignorance is bliss” area.

  Yet somehow, he convinced me to agree (probably while pressing that sweet spot on my arch), and so here I am, waddling into a classroom in the office wing of the hospital. Standard blue carpet is on the floor with standard dark blue plastic chairs placed in uneven rows.

  “This is going to be a really uncomfortable six hours,” I grumble and rub my lower back. In the last two weeks, I’ve gone from being the cute pregnant lady to the one everyone is afraid is going to pop at any moment. The old ladies at the gym ask me regularly if I need to sit down and rightly so. My poor feet can hardly take walking around work every day and I have to fold towels while sitting now. It’s really boring not being able to see over the half-wall to watch everyone work out. It’s way more entertaining to watch Bambi as she runs.

  “Oh, we won’t be in these chairs all day,” a very excited-sounding redhead who looks all glowy and shit says as she turns around to look at us from one row ahead. “I’m Jenna.” Jenna reaches out to shake my hand. From the pearls around her neck to the perfect-length pink nails, she screams psycho PTA mom. She is perfectly polished and perfectly coifed, and I get the feeling she’d be clutching that necklace she’s wearing if she caught wind of how our baby came to be. She reminds me so much of my mother, down to that half-shake thing with her fingers, that she immediately puts me on edge. I already think I don’t like her. “This is my husband, Phil, and this is the third time we’ve taken this class.”

  Phil never turns around, which means he can’t see my eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. Let’s face it, I’m trying not to judge her, but I’m definitely judging how many times she’s taken this class. I shouldn’t, I know, but I can’t help it. Three times in this class is something my mother would do. It means there are some major control issues happening with this one and she is definitely going to take a turn to crazy town at any moment. Fortunately, my wispy bangs hide my forehead, so Jenna doesn’t know exactly how judgmental I’m being.

  “We’ll start in the chairs for about an hour, but then we’ll move to the floor for breathing exercises.”

  I look around and, sure enough, there are giant pillows scattered around the room, most against the walls. I hope someone sanitizes those. I’ve learned the hard way exactly how disgusting people’s hygiene habits can be.

  Joey seems to have the same questions I do about our newest acquaintances, because he asks what I’m thinking. “Why have you come three times?”

  Jenna giggles and smacks Joey’s knee. My eyes narrow and I feel a sudden wave of jealousy of her touching my man. I guess technically I don’t know if he’s my man but considering we’re all partnered up in this class for a reason, was it necessary for her to touch him? This is not making me feel any better about my immediate response to this woman. His question wasn’t funny, although I’m guessing her answer might be quite entertaining, especially with the mood I’m already in and we haven’t even taken roll yet.

  “You can never be too careful when it comes to childbirth,” Jenna explains and picks up a giant binder that she starts flipping through. Control issues confirmed. “We have a very detailed labor and delivery plan with lots of activities to keep us entertained and motivated. Oh, like this one—Soduko! But we still struggle a bit with some of the breathing techniques, so we want to make sure we have them perfected before the big day.” She giggles and pats her belly, and I can’t help but wonder why she thinks giving birth is going to be such a good time. Is she expecting this is going to tickle? Did I miss that part of the brochure? Honestly, I hope so. I’m not looking forward to the pain.

  It appears to be my lucky day because the instructors calls us to order, effectively halting the conversation. Jenna giggles again, smiles, and puts her finger to her lip saying “Shhhh!” before shrugging in delight.

  I can’t help it; I mimic her movements and do it right back to her because I’m feeling bitchy and my back is killing me and don’t want to be here. I’m trying very hard to not just leave. Joey nudges me to get me to stop, but I turn and shrug as if to say, “What else am I supposed to do when sitting behind Mona #2?” He tries not to laugh and even focuses his attention on the instructor.

  “Good morning, class,” the woman at the front says, opening her arms wide in greeting. “My name is Babbette, and I’m so glad you’re here as you journey through pregnancy, ready to bring new life into the world.”

  “Babbette?” I whisper in Joey’s ear and he nudges me again, but I catch the smirk on his face.

  “Childbirth is a wondrous and beautiful event and there is much to plan for. But before we begin that part of our pilgrimage…”

  A giggle at her choice in words accidentally escapes, and I quickly cover it with a cough.

  “… I want all the dads and partners to grab one of the small tables you’ll find against the wall a
nd set it up in front of you and the new mommy. Go ahead,” she encourages as all the men and a couple of women begin wandering around the room grabbing the tables. “Be careful now. Don’t pinch your fingers or set it on your toes.”

  It takes a few minutes for all the tables to be set up and the chaos to settle. Well, except for the one couple whose table keeps collapsing. The two women can’t seem to figure things out, and one of them, who I assume is the grandma based on her age and how much she resembles the very pregnant woman next to her, gets flustered and appears on the verge of tears.

  Babbette and her long, flowy skirt quickly flutters to their side and attempts to help but her dangly bracelets keep getting in the way. The entire situation amuses me way too much but is quickly over once Phil finally jumps in and saves the day. And by that, I mean he slides the brackets that no one else seems to notice into place.

  If nothing else goes right when his baby is born, at least any tables are sure to be sturdy.

  Once all is settled, Babbette instructs all the partners to grab a basket from the front of the room. Inside are two baby dolls, a couple of diapers, and blankets.

  Joey and I place the dolls on the table and wait to figure out what she wants us to do. Jenna, on the other hand, is rocking her doll like a real baby and cooing at it. I look at Joey with one eye raised in question and he just shakes his head. I’m starting to think she may be cuckoo. I just wonder if it’s only when she’s pregnant, or if she’s like this all the time.

  “Since most of you are new, let’s start with an icebreaker of sorts,” Babbette begins. “Before we get started with the hard parts, we’re going to ease our way into parenting with arguably the most important part of taking care of your baby—diapering. I want you to lay your baby on the table—just pretend this is a changing table—and open the diaper. Make sure the Velcro tabs are in the back next to the baby’s bottom. If you need to, lay the diaper next to the baby so you can see where the back of the diaper is.”

  She walks us through the process, step by step. Joey, the overachiever, gets it quickly and on the first try. I, on the other hand, pinch my skin and get my sleeve stuck in the Velcro. Now I have a baby dangling from my arm.

  “That’s it. I quit,” I grumble and rip my fake child off my sleeve and toss it on the table, leaning back and rubbing my back again. Jenna gasps at my unmothering behavior, but I don’t have it in me to care. I’m too frustrated and in too much pain. “As soon as this baby is born, I’m giving you full custody and leaving since I’m clearly a danger to it.”

  Joey laughs through his nose and reaches for my doll, probably to fix my mistake—again. “Because you didn’t do your first diaper perfectly? Don’t you think that’s a little over the top?”

  “No. Maybe.”

  “It just takes practice.”

  I scoff and cross my arms because come on. “And when have you practiced?”

  “I am training for Strongman,” he says like that has anything to do with child-rearing. “I have incredible forearm strength and dexterity.”

  I laugh despite wanting to argue that point. He does find my G-spot pretty easily. And he’s currently in the process of swaddling both dolls. Even I have to admit his fingers are oddly agile for this activity.

  “Fine. Then you get diaper duty. Every time.”

  “Okay. You have to breastfeed, so it’s the least I can do.”

  I hold my hand up to stop him. “Whoa. What do you mean I have to breastfeed?”

  He places both dolls back in the basket now that they’re warm and cozy and probably already planning his father-of-the-year party. Honestly at this point, he sort of deserves it. “I was doing some research on formula and discovered the benefits of breastfeeding far exceed bottle-feeding. Everything from bonding to nutrition to brain development.”

  I drop my head back and roll my eyes. “Okay, Dr. Spock. I’m taking your baby books away.”

  “What? Why?”

  If I was feeling a little more confident, I’d probably laugh at him looking like I threatened to kick his puppy. But I’m not, so I don’t.

  “Because it’s making you think you have a say over my body.”

  “But…” Gotta love him, he looks genuinely confused. “It’s not about you. It’s about the health and well-being of our baby. Our lives are never going to be the same.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but I notice Jenna turning her head ever so slightly, and I know she’s pretending not to eavesdrop. That’s just flat-out rude.

  “I’m already donating my vag to this endeavor. I’m not donating my boobs, too, no matter how many baby books you read and how many times it’s in the giant binder of perfect baby births.”

  Jenna’s back stiffens and her head whips back to face front. Ha! Gotcha, Nosy Neighbor.

  “But…” Joey starts before I interrupt him.

  “No buts. Now practice changing your diapers again, Daddy-O, so you’re ready when the time comes,” I say with a clap on his shoulder. “I have to pee. This kid seems to think my bladder is a damn pillow.”

  I push away from the table using Joey’s shoulder for leverage and cringe when I have to use my other hand to help me balance as I stand up. Joey looks at me like he wants to offer help, but wisely knows to keep his big mouth shut right now.

  I waddle to the little girls’ room down the hall and thank God I’m alone to do my business. Pee is pee unless you’re this pregnant. Then it comes with gas and possibly a rogue hemorrhoid. I honestly don’t know why high school health classes don’t teach about this part of pregnancy in their sex education classes. Seems like knowing you’ll have a lump sticking out of your butt for the rest of your life might be a massive deterrent from sex in high school. I’d imagine it wouldn’t just work on the girls, but the boys too. They talk a big game, but really, they freak out easily when it comes to girls and their bodily functions. Flash a tampon box in their direction and you’ll see what I mean.

  Damn. I should be a high school teacher. One trip to the bathroom and I’ve already cut the teen pregnancy rate in half.

  When I finally get done in the stall, I make slow work of washing my hands. I could say it’s because I’m being extra careful with germs but, really, I don’t want to go back into that room.

  I know Joey craves all the information and wants to be as prepared as possible for our baby, but things like this only seem to be highlighting everything I don’t know. It feels like a giant neon arrow is over my head pointing down and flashing “Keep an eye on this one. She’s a hazard to her baby.”

  It doesn’t help that I can see the physical changes every time I look in the mirror. I used to be beautiful. My skin was spotless, my hair was always done, I was curvy in all the right places and tiny in others. Quite frankly, I was a bombshell.

  Now, all I see is random acne that breaks out daily, dark circles under my eyes, hair that almost never comes out of its messy bun, and hips that have very obviously spread. And let’s not forget that I’m growing skin tags under my arm. Yet another perk no one bothered to tell me about until it started happening. And even then, it’s only because I happened to run across it while flipping through some of Joey’s bathroom reading material. I thought my body was just going whacko. Turns out, I’m one of the lucky pregnant women to grow shit on my skin.

  I sigh deeply as I stare at my pallid complexion. “It’ll be worth it in the end. It’ll be worth it in the end,” I say to my reflection. “Right?”

  Not wanting to look at myself anymore, I shake my hands off and grab a paper towel. As much as I’d rather stay in here, at some point Joey will wonder where I am. The thought of him sending either Jenna or Babbette to find me hiding out is enough to make me cringe. It’s better to go back to class.

  By the time I get there, the tables and chairs have all been stacked and pushed to the outer perimeter of the room. Everyone is sitting on the floor, which sounds even less comfortable than those plastic chairs, and the partners are leaning against one of the gian
t pillows, pregnant moms lounging between their legs.

  I crinkle my nose because, while I understand the reason to sit in this position, it’s way more public display of affection than I care for. Especially when you’re not positive how to refer to the guy sitting at your pillow. Six weeks from having my baby and I have no idea where I stand with his father. I sigh. Just one more thing I should probably figure out at some point.

  Not wanting to be called out for my inability to follow instructions, I quickly find Joey and totter my way to him. Putting my hand on his shoulder for support, I lower myself to the ground, him trying to figure out where to put his hands to help me. It’s awkward and ineffective, but I still make it eventually.

  “Hey. You were gone for a long time,” he says with concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

  What he means by his obvious scan of my belly is if the baby is okay. But I don’t correct him.

  “Fine. Just a really big hemorrhoid problem.”

  His face scrunches up in disgust.

  See? Squeamish animals they are. Sex education would be a breeze for me to teach.

  “What did I miss?” I whisper as we get into the correct PDA position, which is not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. Leaning against his chest actually relieves some of the pressure on my back. I have to give it to Babbette—she knew what she was doing with making us lounge this way.

  “Babbette couldn’t figure out how to get the VCR to work, so not much so far.”

  “A VCR?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know what it was either. From what I can tell, it’s like one of those old-school eight-track tape players from the seventies.”

  I shrug because his guess is as good as mine. My mother always complains about how fast technology changes now, so I couldn’t know anything about a VRC or whatever he called it.