French Fry (The French Twist Series Book 3)

by Glynis Astie

  Saffron’sfriend, Magenta, popped onto the screen next to announce, “It’s time to have your baby!” With beads of sweat pouring down her face, she outlined the essentials of pushing—different positions, when to bear down, etc.—and told us this stage of labor could last anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours. Between the flower child names, the perky attitude to pain and the idea that I could be spending HOURS pushing another human out of my body, I felt like I might vomit.

  I fought valiantly to calm my racing heart by breathing deeply and reminding myself that knowledge is power, but when the pain began to register on the mothers’ faces, I crossed my legs tightly. I’m guessing this is a woman thing. You know what I mean—when a guy gets kicked in the balls, all the other guys in the immediate vicinity groan in pain. They can’t help it; they’re well aware of how much pain the poor guy is in.

  However, let us keep in mind that all the women in this room KNOW this pain is coming their way. There is no question. The baby must exit your uterus in some fashion. Sure, you could end up needing a caesarean section and get out of the act of labor, but this procedure comes with its own level of pain—coupled with a huge scar.

  I tried so hard to pay attention to the screen, but there was so much pain, fluid and…hair. And I’m not just talking about on the babys’ heads. I told you this video was old! Let me be very clear on this. I don’t believe in waxing. (Hot wax is not going anywhere near my delicate parts, thank you very much.) But there are many ways to keep your lady parts groomed these days. No one needs to see a ’fro in your nether regions.

  As I was white-knuckling it through the atrocity of watching another woman experience the pain of labor, the video shifted to a THREE MINUTE montage of babies exiting birth canals. (Not exaggerating in the least! I wishI were.) It reminded me of passing a car accident—you don’t want to look, but you can’t pull your gaze away. The screen had been transformed into a massive tennis cannon of lady parts.

  “Pew! Pew, pew, pew!”

  I felt a hand grip my arm. Oh no. Did I say that OUT LOUD? Not even the horrific images on the screen could justify such a wildly inappropriate outburst. I closed my eyes in defeat, realizing I had sunk to a new low.

  After a few deep breaths, I opened my eyes and slowly turned my head to find my husband doing everything in his power not to laugh. From what I could see, things didn’t look good for him. A cross between a major cackle and a botched throat clearing escaped his lips followed by what looked like some sort of leg spasm. What a pair we made.

  I willed him to regain his composure, knowing I wouldn’t stand a chance if he gave in to his laughing fit. A death glare from Bertha silenced us quickly. Properly chastised, we settled back into the scary video. Where were we? Oh yes, we were in the middle of the mechanics of labor.

  Lest you think I’m a total wuss given my reaction to the graphic nature of the video, let’s remember when this particular act occurs, I’ll be viewing everything from the OTHER end. I’ve seen enough diagrams to know how everything works, OK? I have no need to see the human exiting from my body. I certainly don’t need you to install a mirror to enhance my perspective OR to have me lean forward to see the baby’s head popping out of my hooha. I will be FEELING everything with enough intensity to ensure the memory will stay with me for the rest of my life.

  I swallowed slowly and took stock of the room. The wives all appeared to be severely traumatized by the carnage, while the husbands were baffled. Even my recently giggle ridden husband looked a little green. The only person who seemed perfectly fine was Bertha. There was a particular smugness to her now, as though she were well and truly satisfied that she had knocked us down to size with the fear of labor.

  Due to the traumatic nature of this particular video segment, I blocked out the rest of the class, including “Stage Three: Delivering the Placenta.” Believe me when I tell you the slip-n-slide of birth is a good stopping point. You really don’t need to hear the rest.

  Thirty minutes later, Louis and I exited the hospital, a little worse for the wear. Once outside the doors, Louis stopped to take a deep breath. “Well, that was an experience. What did you think, Syd?”

  While I deliberated the answer to his loaded question, I realized there had been no discussion of epidurals during the class. Why wouldn’t they talk about such an important topic? We had to hear about episiotomies, caesareans and every other complication under the sun, but they didn’t delve into the good stuff. Because one thing is for sure, from the moment I enter the hospital in labor, I will be given some kind of drug. I don’t care if it is a pill to pop, an IV in my arm, a needle in my spine or a freakin’ suppository in my derriere. There will be drugs!

  I leaned in close, grabbed the collar of his shirt and rasped, “Make sure I get the best drugs possible. That’s your job, Bluey. Above all else, you must accomplish this task. Please!”

  Based on the concern etched into his face, I was fairly certain I appeared a tad deranged. I decided it was best to let his concern linger. Those feelings would be instrumental to his getting the job done. Better he think I may harm the nursing staff if not properly medicated.

  As I slowly let go of his collar, a perfectly groomed elderly woman in a nurse’s uniform walked by and chuckled. “Don’t worry, honey, the husbands always get their wives the good stuff.Otherwise, they may lose a limb—and I’ll give you one guess as to which one is grabbed first.” She tossed a wink over her shoulder as she passed into the hospital.

  Louis and I broke into peals of laughter. We may have been recently scared out of our wits, but we were smart enough to know we were simply suffering from information overload—most specifically of the visual kind.

  I grinned at my husband. “Everything’s going to be alright.” As if to second my feeling, my little man changed positions. I grabbed Louis’ hand eagerly and placed it on my belly. His face lit up. “Bonjour, Luc!”

  I put my palm up. “We haven’t decided on his name yet.”

  Louis brought his forehead to mine. “You do not stand a chance, mon coeur. I will wear you down.” He kissed me on the nose and took my hand. “Let us get you home. I think a cup of herbal tea and Better Off Dead will vastly improve your mood.”

  I beamed at my husband. How anyone could not feel better after hearing Mrs. Meyer earnestly explain her French cuisine as “Frahnch fries”, “Frahnch dressing” and “Frahnch bread” was beyond me. It was just what the doctor ordered. Not a Nurse Ratched in sight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I woke the following Saturday morning with an immense sense of excitement. My parents were in California! Not only did I get to spend time with them for the next few days, today was the day we would celebrate Sam’s first birthday! I was so giddy, I literally bounded out of bed that morning. (Well, as best as a pregnant woman can bound. There may have been a small amount of waddling involved, but I maintain it only added charm to my stride.)

  I knew the entirety of the Wilson household would be knackered, Kate and Nick from endless party preparation and my parents from a late night arrival on the heels of a missed connection, so I stopped at Noah’s for bagels. My father was going to complain about the sorry state of West Coast bagels, but eventually he would quiet down, demand his smoked salmon and go on his merry way. Louis was granted a reprieve due to work responsibilities and would be joining us for the party this afternoon.

  I rang the doorbell, all the while bouncing on my heels. My little guy liked the motion and was doing his best to punch out a drum beat on my kidneys.

  I grinned. “Don’t worry, little man. You’ll get to meet them soon enough.”

  Kate opened the door and giggled. “Are you talking to yourself again, Syd?”

  I silenced my retort, since a) I do talk to myself quite often and b) nothing was going to put me in a bad mood today. Instead I gave Kate a big hug and handed her a few bags.

  She grabbed the warm bag of bagels, opening it and eagerly peeking in. “Oooh! Egg bagels! Thanks for bringing
breakfast, Syd.”

  I chuckled. “I guess party preparations make you hungry.”

  I followed her into the living room and promptly lost my breath. Kate had transformed the space into an animal menagerie of epic proportions. The lower half of the walls had been covered in murals of brightly colored jungle animals, catering beautifully to the point of view of the petite party guests. She had also painted a variety of trees, accenting the effect with fabric vines fitted with exotic flowers. As if this weren’t enough, Kate had hand crafted jungle themed t-shirts for each of the guests to take home, which she had displayed far, far away from the designated food table. My sister had crazy party planning skills!

  I took it all in and shook my head in amazement. “How in the world…”

  Kate put her arm around me. “You’d be surprised what you can do with a couple of reams of butcher paper, a few paint palettes, stencils, crepe paper, a bolt of fabric, silk flowers and a variety of tasteful stickers.”

  I put my arms around her and squeezed her tight. “Why is it I feel so woefully inadequate when I’m around you?” Seriously, she was the smartest, most creative, kindest AND best looking of all the Bennett children. Charlie and I had many impressive qualities as well, but Kate was in a class by herself.

  Kate snorted. “Please! There are plenty of things you can do that I can’t.”

  Now it was my turn to snort. “Name one.”

  She opened her mouth to answer when my dad walked into the room. Forgetting everything else, I handed over the remainder of my packages to Kate and ran over to him.

  “Daddy!” Laugh all you want. I’m twenty-eight years old and I still refer to my father as “Daddy” sometimes. I’m not embarrassed by my adoration.

  He held his arms out to me. “Duck!”

  I nearly knocked him over and burrowed into his warm chest. Ah. Being embraced by my dad was like being on the receiving end of the biggest bear hug of all time. It was pure heaven.

  Except something was different this time. I couldn’t quite find the right spot no matter how hard I tried. What happened?

  I heard my dad’s deep rumbling of laughter. “You’ve filled out a bit, haven’t you?”

  That was it! I rested my head on his shoulder and sighed. “I’m huge.”

  He pulled out of the hug and held my hands. “Let me look at you.”

  I smiled ruefully. “I keep expanding, Dad. He’s a hungry little bugger.”

  Kate chimed in. “Will you stop it! You’ve gained a perfectly reasonable amount of weight. You’re retaining water, Syd. It happens to all of us.”

  She may be the most impressive of the Bennett siblings, but she occasionally lacked tact at critical moments. At least when it came to her little sister.

  My dad put his hands on my shoulders. “I think you’re beautiful, Duck. I’m sure Louis thinks so too. That’s all that matters.” He kissed me on the cheek to finalize his point.

  “Thanks, Dad.” He had the magical ability to make me feel better at some of my worst moments.

  He winked at me. “It’s all for a worthy cause.”

  “Syd, is that you?”

  I turned to find my mother, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, carrying the guest of honor.

  “Diddy!” Sam reached for me insistently.

  After greeting my mother with a gentle yet enthusiastic hug, I scooped up my precious niece and laughed. Her difficulty in pronouncing S’s, coupled with Charlie’s spilling his awful nickname for me, produced this awesome moniker reminiscent of the musical icon, P. Diddy.

  I gently tapped her adorable nose. “How is the birthday girl?”

  She beamed. “Good! Mama make ’raffe!”

  I spent the next half hour listening to Sam’s lecture about her animal collection. By the end, I was famished, but very well educated regarding the residents of the Wilson Animal Preserve. My favorite by far was Ziggy the Zebra. He sure knew how to rock a fedora!

  Feeling sorry for her pregnant daughter, my mom whisked Sam away for more party preparation so I could have a quick breakfast. (Ahem, second breakfast.)

  I walked into the kitchen to grab a bagel and found my father talking to…himself, apparently. Not a good sign.

  “Dad? Are you OK?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be OK, Duck?” He paused for a sip of his morning tea. “I’m talking to Charlie.”

  My heart stopped. It’s finally happened. My dad has lost his marbles.

  “Sydie?” I started at the sound of my brother’s voice. Dear God, I’m having the same auditory hallucinations as my father. Life as we know it is over.

  My dad chuckled. “Face Time, Duck.”

  I walked over to my dad to find Kate’s iPad tucked behind stacks of children’s books designated for prizes in today’s party games.

  “Nice trick, Dad.” I sat down next to him and waved to Charlie. “I thought you preferred to have the iPad much, um, closer to your face. You know, for a more intimate conversation.”

  Charlie laughed. “Yeah, I was having the conversation with his nose, until I showed him how to view the image he was transmitting to me. He adjusted the position of the iPad pretty quickly.”

  I smirked at Charlie. “You’re luckier than I was. It appears he’s located his nose hair trimmer.”

  My father feigned indignation. “Oy vey! You just wait and see what kind of hair growth you have when you get to be my age.”

  “I can only hope to look half as good as you, Dad.” I turned back to Charlie. “How’s Zoe feeling?”

  He rubbed his temples. “Not good. She’s been getting much more nauseous, which makes her cranky, which makes me...”

  “Screwed?” my dad supplied.

  Charlie and I groaned in unison. “You’d better hope Zoe didn’t hear that.” I rolled my eyes to emphasize his poor choice of words and crossed my fingers for his sake. Zoe had the same bat-like hearing I did and pregnancy only intensified this ability. She also had the same raging hormones, which would result in a tirade even my father couldn’t laugh off.

  Suddenly we heard, “Charlie! Is that your FATHER? I have a few things to say to him!”

  My dad actually seemed worried as he quickly shouted, “Bye!” and frantically pressed the disconnect button.

  I laughed until tears rolled down my face.

  “I’m glad you’re amused, Syd,” he said dryly.

  I carefully wiped my eyes as my giggles quieted down. “You’ve finally met your match, Dad.”

  “Indeed I have, Duck. And I couldn’t be happier.”

  Three hours and a delectable matzo ball soup lunch later found us ready for party guests to arrive. Nick was putting the finishing touches on Sam’s “jungle hair” (a complex array of animal ponytail holders) while Kate did her final party check. She was making last-minute food modifications when she found me staring at her perfectly frosted animal cookies. When did she have time to do all this?

  Kate cocked her head to the side. “You’re still feeling sorry for Sam, aren’t you?”

  I bit my lip. I was actually wondering how in the world I was going to devote this kind of attention to my son, but we’ll go with her idea instead. The last thing I needed was her lecturing me about putting too much pressure on myself. Again.

  “Of course not, Kate. Sam is one lucky little girl. I mean, look at this gorgeous party. You really went out of your way this time.” Smooth, Sydney. Your squeaky squirrel voice isn’t giving ANYTHING away. Keep telling yourself that.

  Kate approached me slowly, twirling the plate of cookies in her hand. She made no attempt to say anything; she simply eyed me patiently.

  I regarded her nervously. “What? This party is amazing. A true Kate Wilson original.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.” She sighed. “Now stop worrying about my daughter. Sam is a baby. She’ll have no idea when she views the photos YEARS from now that the party wasn’t on her actual birthday.”

  I sighed. “I know.” What can I say? I have come a long way, but haven’t been a
ble to shake all my perfectionist tendencies. (Damn it! She managed to pull out thoughts I didn’t even recognize I was having. How does she DO that?)

  I removed a cookie from her tray, only noticing after the fact that it was shaped like an elephant. Poor choice on my part, but there was no putting it back now.

  Kate grinned at me. “You’d better eat that cookie before Dad comes along. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of your resemblance to that poor pachyderm.”

  Following her questionably witty comment, the doorbell rang and Sam’s birthday extravaganza began. Sam’s friends from Kate’s mommy group came, along with a few other friends from her music class. (A group of women who sit around singing off-key while their children gnaw on musical instruments. I HAD to sign my baby up for this priceless experience.) Initially, I thought it would be fun that I had met many of these women before; however, everything changed when my old friend Avery welded himself to my leg.

  You remember Avery, don’t you? He is the darling boy I was responsible for at Kate’s last mommy group. One look at his little face brought back the sights and, um, aromas from our last encounter. If I didn’t know better, I might say this was a case of baby attachment syndrome.

  While trying to make my way over to his mother, Sally, I felt a muscle in my back seize up. Not good. The pain began radiating down my right leg. I peered down at Avery. Please God, let this little demon release his hold on me. Wait, I could reason with him, right?

  I cleared my throat. “Um, Avery, sweetie? Would you please let go of my leg? I need to use the potty.”

  What? He has an older brother. He hears the word potty all the time. In fact, his brother’s need to use this marvelous instrument was the reason I ended up covered in green diarrhea AND the most acrid vomit ever during our last encounter.

  Avery gazed up at me and giggled. “Poop!”

  My entire body tensed. He was sitting on my shoe. Why had I chosen to wear my new gray SUEDE flats to the party? Probably because a) I wanted to feel pretty, since I am, unfortunately, starting to resemble an elephant and b) I wasn’t expecting any bodily substances to stain them. Quite the fail on my part in light of what happened the last time I was in the presence of this many youngsters.