Baking and Babies

by Tara Sivec

  Silence fills the car for a few moments until a high-pitch, screeching noise hits my ears and I realize my fingers are still clutched tightly to the key in the ignition and I’ve continued to turn it in a daze even though it started twenty seconds ago.

  “Heh, heh,” I laugh uncomfortably, yanking my hand away from the key to clutch the steering wheel. “That’s hilarious, Molly. Good work trying to scare me out of doing this.”

  She laughs as I put the car in gear and pull out of the parking lot, her laughter letting me know she really was kidding and her father isn’t going to try and kill me.

  “You can’t blame me for trying,” she says with a shrug as I pull out into traffic and head in the direction she points. “My dad’s never taken a kickboxing class in his life, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Well, that’s good to know. If I couldn’t fight that little shit, Tommy Knittle, there’s no way I could take on a pissed off father who thinks I knocked up his little girl. I’m a baker, not a fighter.

  We both share a laugh until she suddenly stops and looks over at me. “But seriously, you can run, right? Because he really does have a gun.”

  I can still bake with a gunshot wound, right?

  Chapter 5

  – Thug Mug –

  Molly

  As Marco follows my directions home, I throw out a few random facts about my family on the way, doing my best not to freak him out too much. I mean, aside from the whole gun thing, but I feel like I would have done him a disservice by leaving that part out. It’s bad enough I let him think I was pregnant, even if was only for thirty minutes tops before my conscience got the best of me. I don’t want him to be completely blindsided by my family when he’s doing something so amazing for me, but maybe I said too much. He stopped talking and started looking like he might throw up about ten miles ago. Maybe telling him about how my Uncle Drew and Aunt Jenny never shut up about their sex life is where I lost him. Or it could have been when I tried to explain what a Brony is and promised him I’d never let Ava and her boyfriend Tyler force him to wear a horse tail. It was probably when I said that stupid shit about not liking PDA. Normally, I cringe if a guy tries to kiss me or hold my hand in public, but when Marco does it I want to rip his clothes off. Which is why it’s probably for the best that he stop doing it altogether. My family doesn’t need another reason to be freaked out.

  “Turn left at the next stop sign,” I tell him, twisting my neck to stare at his profile as he flips on the blinker and slows to a stop.

  He’s so good looking it’s almost sickening. With his Italian genes that give him a gorgeous olive complexion, thick dark brown hair he keeps short on the sides with a messy spike on top, and so many muscles it’s a wonder he doesn’t bust out of every shirt he puts on, it’s very hard not to drool in his presence. The fact that he told me he likes me should make me feel better that my crush isn’t one-sided, but it just makes everything worse. It makes me act like a girl around him – a stupid, giggly, shy girl who forgets how to speak when he smiles at her. I might be known as the quiet one in the family, but I’ve never been shy until I met Marco Desoto. Now, not only do I have to worry about what’s going to happen with my family in the next couple of weeks and if I’ll be able to pull this whole thing off, I have to worry about Marco witnessing all of it and hoping he still likes me when it’s over.

  My phone vibrates in my hand and I stop gawking at Marco long enough to look down and see I have a Facebook notification. Opening the app, I laugh out loud when I see what the notification says and who it’s from.

  “What’s so funny?” Marco asks, taking his eyes off the road long enough to see that I’m looking at my phone.

  Since he’s finally talking again, and no longer looks like he’s going to yak all over the dashboard, I figure I might as well share this with him and give him a good laugh to ease the tension of what’s about to happen.

  “So, remember that douchebag I mentioned at the diner? Alfanso D., the supposed cookbook author? I called him out in front of all of his adoring fans, and he just replied to my comment.”

  “HE WHAT?!” Marco shouts, the car swerving off the berm and onto the gravel before he hastily rights the wheel and gets us back onto the road.

  He gives me a quick look of apology and mutters something about a cat in the road before continuing. “There’s no way he replied. Are you sure? Maybe you’re confused.”

  I laugh, wondering why the hell he looks so freaked out when we’re not even talking about my family, but some idiot on Facebook.

  “I’m definitely not confused, and yes, I’m sure he replied. Here, listen to this,” I tell him, clearing my throat and reading the pathetic comment. “‘Dearest Molly, I am deeply sorry if anything I said angered you. Please accept my apology and know I will do my best not to make such offensive comments going forward.’”

  It’s even funnier reading it out loud so I do it one more time, but make my voice high-pitch and very feminine this time.

  “There’s no way this guy wrote that thing himself. I bet the comment I made about cutting the cord from his mommy made him go running right to the poor woman and he made her type this,” I chuckle.

  “His mother tries to text people using the TV remote. I doubt she’d know her way around Facebook,” Marco mutters.

  I look at him questioningly and he laughs. “I mean, I’m assuming that’s how his mother is. You know, because he’s a douchebag and all that…”

  Figuring he’s probably right and that the mother of Alfanso Douchebag has got to be as dumb as he is, I point out the next street Marco needs to turn down and which house is mine before looking back at my phone.

  “He even put a heart and smiley face emoji at the end of his reply. How sad is that?” I ask. “This guy definitely has a small penis. Or no penis at all.”

  Marco pulls the car to the curb, mumbling under his breath so quietly I can barely hear what he says. The only words I catch are anaconda penis and something about sisters wishing they’d never been born, but before I can ask him to repeat himself, I look up and realize we’re in front of my house. My hands start to sweat and my stomach flip-flops all over the place as he turns off the ignition and we sit in silence.

  “Deep breaths, it’s going to be fine,” Marco reassures me as he pockets his keys. “I’m going to be right here the whole time. You’re going to do great, they’re going to believe every word you say, and they’re going to surprise you by being happy and supportive and making this a hell of a lot easier on you.”

  I do what he says and take a few deep, calming breaths. I just need to keep my eye on the prize. A whole new set of baking utensils, a KitchenAid mixer, and ten percent of Charlotte and Gavin’s wedding money. That will be more than enough for a deposit on my own apartment so I can move out of my parent’s home and finally have some privacy. Privacy that will hopefully include a lot of naked time with the man next to me, as long as he hasn’t changed his name and fled the country after dealing with my insane family for the next few weeks.

  “And if things start to heat up, I’ll just tell them about my incredibly huge penis, and how I’m without a doubt decent, dependable, desirable, daring and delicious,” he says with a smile, leaning across the console to give me a quick peck on the cheek.

  He’s out of the car and around to my side, holding my door open for me before I can do something stupid like cradle my cheek in my hand and vow to never wash it again after he kissed it.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stop doing stuff like that?” I growl, pretending like I’m annoyed instead of two seconds away from asking him to take his pants off on the front lawn.

  “Well, stop having such a kissable cheek then,” he replies easily.

  Marco continues to tell me how everything will be fine as we make our way up the sidewalk and onto the porch. I start to feel a bit more confident until I open the front door. The quiet peacefulness of the neighborhood outside is immediately ruined as we step into the foyer and
the sounds of screaming, arguing, and cursing coming from the living room explode through the house.

  “What in the hell?” I murmur as I start to move down the hall to the direction of the noise, the sound of Marco’s shoes on the hardwood echoing behind me as he quietly follows.

  When we’re a few feet from the living room and the noise has reached ear-piercing level, Charlotte suddenly flies out of the room and around the corner, sliding across the floor in her stocking feet and quickly latching onto my arms to stop herself from slamming into me.

  “What is going on in there?” I ask her when I can finally make out one of the shouting voices and it’s my mother’s, who just told someone to “Shut the fuck up before I fucking make you shut the fucking fuck up, you fucking fuck!”

  Not her cleverest of curses, but certainly not one I haven’t heard before.

  “What are you doing here?” Charlotte whispers frantically. “I sent you a text! Didn’t you get my text?!”

  The shouting in the other room goes back to blending all together into one big noise as I pull my phone out of my back pocket and see I did indeed miss a text from Charlotte.

  “Sorry, we were talking on the ride over and I missed it. Oh my gosh, wait until I tell you about the douchebag who—” I stop mid sentence when I open up the missed text and see what has Charlotte in such a panic and World War III happening in our living room.

  THEY KNOW! OMG THEY KNOW! TXT ME ASAP!

  I look up at Charlotte in sympathy and awkwardly pat her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Obviously the adults aren’t taking it very well, but what did Gavin say? Are you guys okay?”

  She winces and shakes her head back and forth. “No! They know about YOU, not about me!”

  “Would you guys just shut the hell up so I can think? Drew, go get my gun. And the brass knuckles. Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t look at me like that. A coffee cup with brass knuckles as the handle does too count as actual brass knuckles, so you can fuck right off.”

  My dad’s voice is loud and clear over everyone else’s this time, and I hear Marco whimper softly behind me. I wish I had time to remind him again that my dad’s bark is usually worse than his bite, but I have more pressing concerns right now.

  “What do you mean they know? How in the hell did they find out?” I whisper-shout as Charlotte suddenly realizes Marco is standing behind me.

  Her eyes widen and she not-so-subtly jerks her head in his direction before moving her face closer to mine.

  “Oes-day e-hay now-kay?” she mumbles, still shooting worried glances over my shoulder.

  “Does he know?” Marco asks in confusion. “Does who know what?”

  Charlotte gasps. “He knew what I said!”

  “You spoke in Pig Latin, Charlotte,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “That’s not exactly a foreign language no one understands. And yes, he knows everything.”

  She clutches my upper arms tightly, jerking my body with each of her words. “Why would you tell him?! Before you know it, the whole world will know!”

  “I am not afraid to smack a pregnant chick, so let go of my arms,” I threaten through my gritted teeth, shrugging out of her tight hold on me. “In case you’re forgetting, this is my life too, and I will tell whomever I want, especially the guy agreeing to be your baby’s fake baby daddy that I’m now pretending to carry.”

  Can this get anymore confusing???

  “Can we get back to a more pressing matter right now?” I continue once Charlotte has the decency to look sorry for being an asshole to someone going through a hell of a lot of trouble to help save her marriage. “How did mom and dad find out already?”

  Charlotte winces and shrugs.

  “I told Gavin not to say anything, but I guess he mentioned it to Tyler, and you know Tyler can’t keep his mouth shut so he told Ava and she called mom and dad, thinking they already knew!” Charlotte quickly spits the words out in one breath. “But hey, look at it this way, at least you don’t have to come right out and tell them, and that’s the worst part!”

  A bright smile lights up her face, and if she wasn’t pregnant, I’d punch her right in the ovaries.

  “Really, Charlotte? THAT’S the worst part?” I scoff. “Do you even hear the shit coming out of that room right now?”

  “I don’t care if it’s been a while and I am NOT too old for Fight Club,” my mother yells at someone. “Claire, get over here and punch me in the stomach so I can get warmed up for that asshole responsible for this shit.”

  My eyes widen in fear. I’ve heard stories about my mom and Aunt Claire’s Fight Club and it isn’t pretty. Forget having Marco fear my dad’s gun, he really needs to fear my mother’s fists.

  “It will be fine once you get in there and tell them everything,” Charlotte reassures me. “They still think you got pregnant by a loser who walked away. I tried explaining how that was a misunderstanding, but they won’t stop screaming long enough to listen to me.”

  Charlotte looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Besides, I’m sure as soon as they meet Marco and see how sweet and nice he is, they’ll forget all about wanting to kill him.”

  Marco puts his hands on my hips and his face next to my ear, the heat from his body against my back making my brain short-circuit.

  “So, I’m rethinking that whole talk-about-my-huge-penis idea, and I’ve decided crying might be the best way to go,” he informs me. “They wouldn’t hit a guy who’s crying, right?”

  Sounds of a scuffle and something falling off a table and thumping to the floor comes from the living room.

  “Are you CRYING? There’s no crying in Fight Club!” my mother yells.

  “That HURT, you dick-nose slut-box! I HAD CANCER!” Aunt Claire responds.

  “Oh, fuck right off! You HAD cancer, you don’t have it anymore and you should be able to take a punch, you pussy!” my mother shouts back.

  Marco gasps and his hands fall from my hips. “Jesus Christ. They hit people with cancer? I’m a dead man.”

  He starts pacing nervously behind me and I ignore him, strapping on the set of balls I’m going to need to make it through this without killing my sister.

  “Marco, what’s the going rate for a convection rack oven?” I ask, talk of anything that involves baking taking his mind off of his impending doom.

  He stops pacing and comes to stand next to me, looking down at me while he contemplates my question as Charlotte looks back and forth between us in confusion.

  “For a good rack oven? I’d say around three grand, give or take,” he tells me as I look back at Charlotte and put my hands on my hips.

  “All the baking utensils at the shower, the KitchenAid mixer, ten percent of your wedding profits, AND a three thousand dollar bonus that you will hand over before you leave here tonight,” I demand.

  Marco whistles and Charlotte’s narrows her eyes at me.

  “Three thousand? Are you kidding me? Where in the hell am I supposed to get three thousand dollars TODAY?” Charlotte asks in irritation.

  “Hey, Marco, how much do you think an ice sculpture of a heart with two doves kissing on top of it costs?” I ask casually.

  Charlotte gasps and her hand flies up to her chest. “You wouldn’t?!”

  I’ve heard Charlotte and my mom talking about that stupid ice sculpture for months and how proud Charlotte was that she saved the money herself so our parents would have one less thing to pay for.

  “Would you rather have a block of ice at your reception that people are going to dare each other to lick all night long after they start drinking, or a reception that actually has a groom in attendance who didn’t freak out about being a father and head for the hills?” I demand.

  “What kind of wedding receptions have you been attending lately?” Marco asks in wonder.

  Charlotte stomps her foot and crosses her arms in front of her with an angry huff. “FINE! I’ll write you a check later. But I don’t want to hear one complaint out of you for the next four weeks.”

  I make a cr
isscross over my heart with my finger and then hold my hand up. “Cross my heart. I’ll be a better fake pregnant girl than a slutty college co-ed trying to trap her boyfriend into not breaking up with her.”

  Charlotte rolls her eyes, turns and stomps back into the chaos of the living room.

  “If this works and we both make it out alive in a month, you can have all that extra stuff she promised me. It’s the least you deserve for not running right back out the door as soon as we got in here,” I tell Marco as he tries to grab my hand, but I quickly jerk it away and roll my eyes at him as we head towards the shouting. “I was going to use the extra money to get an apartment, but I don’t care about ever moving out of this house as long as I have that rack oven.”

  Marco laughs as we pause in the doorway of the living room and takes in the scene in front of us. My mom and Aunt Claire are over by the couch trading punches to the stomach, Uncle Drew is sitting on the couch staring at them with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, Aunt Jenny is sitting on the arm of the couch filing her nails, and Uncle Carter is pacing in front of the fireplace. I find my dad sitting in a chair next to the fireplace, holding his hand out in front of him and admiring the brass knuckle coffee mug hanging from his fingers that says “Thug Mug” on it.

  “If I’m still breathing in the next twenty minutes, you can keep it all,” Marco whispers, finally responding to my offer of letting him have everything I’d negotiated from Charlotte. “The only thing I want in return is a promise that whatever happens at the end of these four weeks, you’ll keep an open mind no matter what I say to you.”

  His words confuse me, but I’m so happy and shocked he still wants to go through with this that nothing else matters right now.

  “I’d also like for you to remember at the end of these four weeks how brave it was of me to take a bullet for you and your unborn fake baby,” he finishes, flashing me that damn dimpled smile that turns me into an idiot.

  Instead of blushing and giggling, I go with the snark that makes me comfortable.