by Vivien Vale
“Nonsense, honey,” Mom says, sitting on my desk like she thinks she’s still a teenager or something.
That’s my mother for you. Mentally, she hasn’t aged a day since 18. Physically, her plastic surgeon does what he can.
“Muffins and I are here as a team, darling. We’re on a mission today, you see.”
I shake my head and take the bait. “And what might that be?”
“We have a date for you, honey.” She says it like I’m supposed to be excited—or surprised. I’m not. “Muffins picked her out special, just for you! Didn’t you, schnuckums?”
While my mother feeds her purse dog a doggie treat, I’m just trying to suppress a groan.
“Oh, dear, don’t look like that,” my mother reprimands. “This one, Danny—she’s a keeper. Nice, wide, childbearing hips—and, I only think she’s had three nose jobs, so you know she’s got good genes for Dr. Scalpel to work with.”
Dr. fucking Scalpel. My mother knows that I have no intentions of settling down any time soon, and she’s already planning my children’s first elective surgeries.
“That’s sweet of you, Mom,” I say cordially, “but I think I’ll pass.”
“You’re not getting any younger, Danny.”
“Not without Dr. Scalpel’s help, I’m not.”
“And you know how I’ve always wanted grandchildren…”
“You have grandchildren,” I remind her. “Fendi has four kids, Mom. Chanel has two. Prada just had twins last week, for fuck’s sake—and she’s barely even sixteen.”
“Ruff!” Muffins barks aggressively. Briefly, I consider tipping over the purse—but then he might shit on my carpet, so I think better of it.
“Yes,” my mother agrees. “And I’m sure that for as long as your half-sisters can find YouTube stars to have unprotected sex with, they’ll give me plenty more. But I haven’t done everything I’ve done for them, Danny honey. I did it for you. For us. You need to start thinking about your legacy, sweetheart.”
I have to hand it to my mother: she knows exactly where to twist the knife.
I never knew my father, but from my mother’s stories about him, I’m better off this way. She had me when she was the same age as Prada is now, and he left her without even bothering to stick around for my birth.
Ever since, Mom has been enterprising in the only way I think she’s ever known how. Her next relationships were calculated affairs with rich old geezers who took us in, fed us, clothed us, and taught me everything there was to know about their business empires.
Even once they knocked Mom up and the relationship soured, her ex-husbands always kept an interest in me. Put me through some of the top business schools in the country and—to my surprise—even named me heir to their fortunes over their own children.
Part of me feels like Mom screwed over my half-sisters for life in that regard. Can anyone really blame them for all their accidental pregnancies and the strip clubs they’ve inadvertently burned down?
They’re sweethearts, but she did name them after her favorite purses—one of which, from the smell of things, Muffin is shitting in literally as we speak.
“I’m not even thirty-five yet, Mom. I’ve got the entire fortunes of three of your ex-husbands to blow before I have to start worrying about who might inherit them.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “We both know that’s not true. You’ve always been a responsible boy, Danny. You’re smarter than that. If you don’t want to go on the date with the nose-job girl, that’s fine—but it’s high time you stopped fucking sluts on your desk and started thinking about finding one to give you a baby—one who’s worthy of being your wife.”
I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
She’s not exactly wrong. I care more about her ex-husbands’ resort chains than I do about what bimbo I’m currently bending over my desk—which is why I had six of them in here last night, all lined up and begging for my dick.
It’s why I keep a drawer full of condoms in my desk, too. I hardly need an army of bastards running around my city, considering that I’m a bastard myself.
“Just think about it, darling,” my mother implores me. “A wife and a baby—it could be good for you. I only want to see you happy, you know, and—awwwwww, did Muffins do a widdle poop? Did Muffins ruin Mommy’s expensive handbag?”
It happens that fast. Just as quickly as my mother blew into my day, she’s already gathering her things and meandering back out of it, cooing at her handbag and holding it at arm’s length as she goes.
“Have a good day, Mom,” I call after her.
“You too, dear,” she says. I can hear her stop at my secretary’s desk on the way out. “Oh, my! What a gorgeous necklace, sweetie! You absolutely must tell me where you got it!”
Then the door closes behind her, and I’m alone again.
I try working once she’s gone. It’s no fucking use. Maybe it’s the lingering scent of Muffin-shit in the air, or maybe she’s really planted the idea in my head the way she hoped.
I don’t want my mother worrying about me.
And I don’t want to see all my hard work go to waste.
A wife. An heir.
It sounds fucking preposterous is what it sounds like. I’m not husband material—and I’m certainly not worthy of being a fucking father.
I’m a loose cannon—a bad boy sowing my wild oats like my father before me, only I have the decency to be fucking responsible about it. My wild oats ultimately end up safely contained inside a condom—and then immediately dumped in the trash.
I look at the pictures on my desk of my half-sisters and myself. There’s one of Prada and me on her seventh birthday, just before she stabbed the party clown with the cake knife, and I had to talk him out of pressing charges.
There’s another of me with Fendi and Chanel at that underwater night club I helped them open, just before they hooked the oxygen intake tubes up to bottles of vodka and all the mermaid performers nearly drowned.
Admittedly, I don’t love the idea of those three taking over my empire if something were to happen to me.
Maybe I do need an heir.
But to have an heir, I need to find the right woman—and to find the right woman, I need to clear my fucking head.
“Cancel the rest of my appointments for the day,” I tell my secretary.
“Yes, master—I mean, uh, yes sir,” she calls after me.
“And no more bondage porn while you’re at work!” I shout over my shoulder—because, yeah, I fucking saw what was on her computer screen before she closed the window.
“Sorry, sir!”
I drive through the city until I see a place where I can clear my head. It looks like some shit out of a bad Lewis Carroll novel—but on the bright side, at least no fucking women will be approaching me, trying to get me to bend them over the Mad Hatter’s tea table for a quickie.
Inside, there’s a woman sitting at a table with her three very pregnant friends. Exactly the kind of woman I’d want to put a baby in, really—not that I’m genuinely considering that right now.
I don’t know if it’s because I feel a sort of solidarity with her after the talk I just had with my mother—or if it’s because she’s just so fucking gorgeous that I can’t help myself—but I shoot her a sympathetic look as I walk past.
She doesn’t even fucking notice—and when I walk into a room, women always notice.
Incredible. Today’s just not my fucking day.
I order, grabbing a table near hers. From the sounds of things, her friends are planning a baby shower.
Fucking inescapable, this baby thing today.
But if she doesn’t want to be the odd one out…
Rose
Alice’s Tea Cup is supposed to a fanciful, whimsical kind of place.
Actually, the place is called Alice’s Tea Cup Chapter Two, since the original location is downtown. All part of the charm, I suppose.
The tables are set low to the ground, surrounded by uncomforta
ble-looking stools—except for the coveted corner table.
Of course, my cousins somehow managed to score that spot, creating a boisterous little corner enclave surrounded by paintings of mushrooms, caterpillars, and a spiral-eyed Mad Hatter.
I hear my oldest cousin Katheryn’s brassy voice sailing through the air the moment I step inside.
“So, Lyle’s all like, ‘Uh, I don’t know...’”
“Wait, wait,” Sarah interrupts as I walk to their corner island. “Who the fuck is Lyle?”
“The party planner at the supply store.”
“Lyle? That’s his name?” Sarah laughs.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to make this shit up. Anyway, he’s all like, ‘Duhhhh, I don’t know about that.’”
Jenna’s the first to notice me as I walk towards the table, waving me over with her hand while my other two cousins carry on.
“If that’s what you asked for, he should get it for you!” Sarah shrieks.
“Tell me about it! Then Joseph, my own husband Joseph, backs him up.”
“What? No, he didn’t,” I yell, announcing my presence.
Sarah and Katheryn turn towards me and squeal in delight, waving me over. Jenna slides over, making room for me at the only padded booth in the tea shop.
I’m a little late to the planning party, but it’s not for me anyway. All three of my cousins are pregnant, making them the guests of honor at their three-way baby shower.
I’m just going to be a regular guest. Lucky me.
“Oh, he totally did,” Katheryn responds to my statement. “And I’m just like, ‘You’re my husband, bitch. Back me the fuck up, not this bitch-ass party supply guy.’”
“Damn right. And what did he have to say to that?” I ask, sitting down.
“Oh my god, he was all, ‘That might be reinforcing gender stereotypes―’”
“Oh, god,” Sarah interrupts.
All three of my cousins giggle with derision.
“I know, right?” Katheryn scoffs. “So I tell him, ‘Do you want me to get an abortion? Because if I don’t get a gender reveal cake, and the gender reveal cake that I want, I’m going to the abortionist this afternoon, and I’m sending you the bill!”
I shake my head and cringe at her bad humor.
As my cousins laugh, two waiters show up out of nowhere, carrying a bunch of Mylar balloons shaped like…smiling and frowning babies.
They’re still just planning, but the Alice’s Tea Cup Chapter Two staff knows my cousins so well that they’re getting their own little party today.
“Wait, this isn’t part of your job.” Sarah grins at the waiters.
“Only for today,” the tall, handsome waiter behind me says with a grin while tying balloons to my chair.
“Be careful,” Jenna tells the waiter. “Rose doesn’t have one in the oven—she might float away.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he says before walking away.
Huh. I don’t really know how to take that.
“Don’t worry about him,” Jenna assures me, patting my arm. “He makes a decent chai latte, but he doesn’t have much else going on.”
“Oh no, he doesn’t,” Sarah butts in. “Or at least not upstairs…downstairs, probably.”
“Hmmm. I don’t know about that.” Katheryn grins before taking a sip of her iced coffee.
“Watch it, Kath,” Jenna murmurs.
Katheryn nods with the straw still in her mouth, not letting up until well after she loudly slurps up the last few drops.
“Uh-huh.” With a self-satisfied smile, Katheryn leans happily back into her seat and pats her belly.
“What, you think little Hunter enjoys that?” Jenna asks accusingly.
“First of all,” Katheryn snipes back, “Hunter might be Chantelle. We’ll all have to see the cake before we know that.”
“Well, excuuuse me then.” Jenna rolls her eyes.
Unfortunately, while she looks ready to move past it, there’s no stopping Katheryn when she gets started. “Hold on, Steve Martin, I’m not finished...”
“Uhm, what kind of reference is that?” Sarah interjects, raising her eyebrows. Of course she doesn’t let Kath hog all the attention for long. “How old are you? Should you even be having a baby?”
“Hey, it was Jenna’s reference,” complains Katheryn.
“No, it wasn’t,” Jenna says quietly, giving me a quick, sly Don’t you just love our cousins? smile.
“I’m two years younger than you!” Kath is pointing, and her voice is taking over the whole tea shop. “And besides, I’m allowed up to two hundred milligrams of caffeine a day, and you bet your ass I’m gonna enjoy it.”
“Hope you and Joseph are setting up a Starbucks Fund for little Hunter-or-Chantelle. Kid’s gonna come out addicted!” Satisfied with her sass, Sarah lifts a humongous buttercream-frosted cupcake to her mouth and destroys half of it with a single chomp.
The little exchange all but forgotten at the sight of the cupcake, Katheryn asks, “Hey, are you making Marcos go to that cupcake ATM on the East Side?”
“Oh, hell yeah.” Sarah’s talking with a mouth full of cupcake, looking at the remainder of her treat with insatiable greed. “They’ve got fuckin’ whoopie pies there, too, now.”
“No shit,” Jenna remarks, eyes bulging.
“Yeah!” Sarah downs a gulp of chai latte, readying for her next bite. “I kicked Marcos’ ass out of bed at two a.m. last night to go get me one.”
“Just one?” Kath questions with a knowing smile. I notice she has a buttered scone on her plate.
“Well…he always gets extra.” Sarah’s ecstatically conquering the last of her cupcake without a care in the goddamn world.
“Oof.” Katheryn drops her scone and lifts herself halfway out of her seat. “My damn phone’s vibrating. I’m not used to keeping it in my pocket.” She reaches into her floral print stretch pants.
Wait, what?
Really, that’s what she’s wearing?
What the hell? This is a woman known to spend hours agonizing over which necklace to wear to a casual brunch, and here she is, out in public, and she just looks so...
Comfortable. And carefree. Like her pregnancy actually unburdened her of a lot of needless bullshit and stress while she focuses on what’s really important.
“Ugh, it’s just Joseph again, asking if I want or need anything.” Kath rolls her eyes.
“Want or need?” I ask.
“Yeah, he always specifies both, the old sap. Oh, look, he volunteered to hit up the cupcake ATM, too.”
“You’re making him go, right?” Sarah demands.
“I don’t know, I can’t go too crazy with the refined sugar. Maybe just some pickles, and bacon…and salt and vinegar kettle chips...”
“And lemons!” Sarah screams, prompting me to laugh loudly.
It takes a couple seconds for me to notice my cousins are not laughing with me, and they’re looking at me like I’ve gone batty.
“Lemons?” I ask incredulously to no one in particular. “Since when are you into lemons?”
“Ooh, good call, Sar.” Katheryn’s now typing the shopping list into her phone, ignoring me. “And maybe some dark chocolate with chili powder—not too much sugar in that…and…sent.”
Kath sits back down gracefully, knowing her husband is already on his way to fulfill her list of demands.
“Excuse me, ladies.” The tall waiter materializes from behind me, carrying a large plate. “These are compliments of the management, and I’d like to personally congratulate all of you on your three new bundles of joy.”
All of you.
What am I, invisible?
The tall waiter reaches over me to plunk a plate of chocolate-chocolate chip cookies on the table.
Okay, he’s forgiven.
“Why, thank you,” Jenna says gracefully.
“I’m sure you’ll all make wonderful mothers.” With that, the tall waiter recedes into the background. Katheryn and Sar
ah can barely hold in their laughter until he’s out of earshot.
“He’s so serious,” squawks Sarah.
“He’s always like that,” Katheryn discloses in a hushed, gossipy tone.
“I thought it was sweet.” My interruption causes my cousins to look at me.
“You just get used to hearing it after a while, Rose,” Jenna offers, shrugging.
Huh. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it gets tiring to hear people congratulate you and compliment you for months on end. I wouldn’t know.
One thing’s for sure, though: I would never get tired of walking around in stretch pants all damn day.
I mean, shit, nobody judges my cousins for it. They’re all wearing fucking stretch pants.
God, that sounds nice.
I can’t be too jealous, though. In any case, the tall waiter’s right―they’ll make wonderful mothers. In Jenna’s case, she’s already a wonderful mother to her son Jayden.
Would I make a wonderful mother? I wonder.
What’s stopping me again?
Oh, right. That whole significant other thing.
“I want a baby.”
My eyes go wide with surprise when I hear the words, even though it’s me saying them. It’s a thought that just came out, all on its own.
I’m not used to my three cousins, all of them my BFFs, silent and staring at me.
The stunned silence stretches out for what feels like forever, but I don’t retract my statement.
As my cousins stare at me, looks of delight dawning on each of their faces―I realize how much I really do want a baby.
The sound that comes next is like a chirpy, manic Greek chorus, with Jenna, Katheryn, and Sarah all shouting in unison.
“OH MY GOD!”
That exultant screech is followed my cousins excitedly trying to talk over each other. After a few seconds, they calm down just enough to yell fragments of advice at me semi-coherently.
Figuring that I might actually learn something from them, who all have at least some experience with pregnancy, I hurriedly dig out a pen and a small notepad I always carry with me.
“Hold on, let me try to get this all down.” This silences the three for a second, and I find a fresh page and ready my pen at the top line. “Okay, I’m ready.”