Tales of a Sibby Slicker (The Sibby Chronicles Book 2)

by Samantha Garman

  “Okay, okay, I know when I’m beat. Just don’t tell Caleb I lost my dude card today.”

  “Uh, you lost it last week when we watched While You Were Sleeping and you got misty-eyed.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sandra Bullock is so hot she made me cry.”

  I handed him the lotion. “You just volunteered to also give me a back rub.”

  Aidan took the bottle and sighed. “Yes, dear.”

  “Before we watch the movie, let’s play a game.”

  “Ohhh—”

  “Not that kind of game. Sorry.”

  He grinned. “What kind of game?”

  “Guess how many items were in my cast.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, gesturing for me to take off my tights, so he could rub my feet. “What do you mean items in your cast?”

  “The arm itched, right? So I stuck a pencil down there to scratch. Well, it got lost down there.”

  Aidan held back a smile. “What else was in there?”

  I flashed him a smile. “Aside from the pencil? Three bobby pins and a chopstick.”

  Chapter 29

  #Ifoughtthelaw #thelawwon

  “You wanna tell me why there’s a video of you peeing on the subway?” my mother asked.

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Your cousin Aaron emailed his mother, and his mother forwarded it to me.”

  Damn my cousin. And damn my aunt. And damn email forwarding.

  “Explain yourself, Sibyl Ruth.”

  “Lift the phone,” I told her. “So I can direct my answer to your face and not your boobs. And for the love of God, stop middle-naming me.” FaceTime with my mother was always an interesting experience. She’d had an iPhone for years, and yet she still couldn’t figure out how to you use it.

  “I can never get this angle right.” The screen shook, and then my mother’s face appeared. “Hello, there you are.”

  I waved.

  “So this video,” she began.

  “The train stopped. And there was no sign of when it would be on its way. I was hot, thirsty, and panicky. My bladder filled, and I had to pee. I had two choices. Pee in the Folger’s container, or soil myself.”

  “Well, when you put it that way—”

  “Exactly. I plan on releasing my own video to the masses to explain the situation.”

  “Remember to smile,” she told me. “And tone down the hostility. And tell people you are pregnant. People are forgiving of women who are pregnant. And you told the cops all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they still gave you a fine?”

  I shrugged. “City has to make money, right?”

  “Let me call Mel.”

  “Don’t call Mel,” I pleaded.

  Mel Silverman had been the family lawyer for as long as I could remember. He was on his third wife and fourth toupee. Still, he could get shit done.

  “I’ll just go to court, pay the fine, and be done with it.”

  “Court? You have to go to court. My baby’s in the system!” my mother wailed.

  “Ma, put some hemp oil under the tongue.”

  “I do not use hemp oil, Sibyl Ruth.”

  There she went again, middle-naming me. She only middle-named when she was vexed with me.

  “Where’s your lavender body mist?” I demanded. “Spray that around and take a deep breath.”

  “I don’t need to spray the lavender.” She scrunched up her nose at me. “Let me say hi to my grandbaby.”

  Thank goodness for Pierogi’s distraction. I pressed a button to turn the lens, and then I directed it at my belly. My mother instantly lost the ability to speak in a normal tone and cooed nonsense at my stomach.

  “And that’s enough,” I said.

  “Five more seconds…”

  “Ma,” I warned.

  “Fine, I’m stopping, I’m stopping. Where’s Jasper? I want to say hi to my grandpup, too.”

  “Jasper is napping with Aidan.” I was jealous of naptime. Lately, it seemed harder and harder to get out of bed. I’d close my eyes at night, and it felt like only moments later I was waking up to a new day.

  Pregnancy was kicking my ass.

  “How’s he doing?” she asked.

  “Crabby. Which I guess is good because that means he’s healing, and he wants to get up and get moving.”

  “No heavy lifting for a while,” came my father’s voice, followed by his head popping into the frame. He still had a full head of salt and pepper hair, and it was combed off his forehead. Total silver fox material, or so my mother liked to inform me.

  Yuck.

  “You’re not going to lecture me, too, are you?” I demanded.

  He held up his hand. “Nope. But I really do think we should call Mel. What happened to you is atrocious.”

  “Uhm, they didn’t cuff me or take me to the station.”

  Dad shook his head. “A Goldstein mixed up with the law. We need to clear the family name.”

  I raised my eyes heavenward. “It’s no longer a criminal offense in New York City to pee in public.”

  “This is so embarrassing,” my mother stated. “What am I gonna tell Bubbe and Zayde?”

  “You tell them nothing,” I said. “Does Bubbe even know how to use a computer?”

  “She uses the Internet to search for flash mob scenes,” my father said.

  Dear. Lord.

  “Just say nothing, okay?” I pleaded. The last thing I needed was my German-accented grandmother calling me. Because apparently being unable to hold one’s bladder had brought shame upon the family.

  Mom shook her head. “First you can’t come for Thanksgiving, now this.”

  My dad looked at his watch. “Gotta get to the hospital.” He kissed my mom’s head and then saluted me. Great, he was leaving me to deal with my mother alone.

  “Blame Aidan’s appendectomy,” I said, returning to the holiday conversation. “He’s stuck in a bed.”

  “So you would’ve come to Atlanta for Thanksgiving if his appendix hadn’t ruptured?”

  Probably not, I didn’t say. I was exhausted. Before the appendix thing, Aidan was working all the time. Leaving town for the holidays was a luxury we weren’t able to afford—not as business owners. We didn’t punch in a clock or get paid sick leave. This was something my mother had never understood.

  “I’m getting an ultrasound,” I voiced, changing the subject. “Two days before Thanksgiving.”

  Thankfully, my mother took the bait. “I want a copy. I want to get it framed and put it on the mantle.”

  Somehow I held in an eye roll. “I’ll get the doctor to send it, okay?”

  I hung up with my mother and then went to the bedroom. Aidan was sitting on the side of the bed, his legs touching the floor. “I need a shower,” he said.

  “You just had a shower.”

  “No, I had a sponge bath. And it was two days ago.” He threw me a heated look. “I enjoyed it immensely.”

  Smiling, I approached him. “Yeah, I’m aware. A certain part of you definitely rose to the occasion.”

  “I can’t wait for the doctor to clear me. I’m ready for some more invigorating exercise.”

  “Horn dog.”

  He grinned and pushed off the bed to stand. “Come on, I’m ready to try my hand at standing in the shower.”

  “Mind if I ogle your wet naked body.”

  “Ogle away.” He took a small step away from the bed and turned toward the bathroom. “But please don’t let your ogling get in the way of making sure I stay upright.”

  I left Aidan in Mrs. Nowacki’s care while I met up with Stacy. She lived in a two-story, two-thousand-square-foot loft in an old warehouse in Bushwick. Her other roommates were the typical nine to fivers, so we had privacy.

  The second floor was her studio space. Though there was a ton of natural light, she had light stands and interchangeable backdrops. As Stacy did my makeup to ensure I was camera ready, she asked, “Are you sure this is a good
idea?”

  I frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

  She gently tapped the end of the makeup brush to the furrow of my brow. “Don’t frown. You’ll get wrinkles—and then you’ll get Botox, and then it’s a slippery slope.”

  Laughing, I let my forehead smooth out. “You speak like you know that’s how it’s gonna go.”

  “I’ve met enough people in my circle and trust me, plastic surgery is like regular maintenance for them.”

  “Duly noted.”

  She held up a hand mirror, and I had to admit I was impressed. I hardly looked like I was wearing any makeup, but my skin tone was more even, and she’d hidden the bags under my eyes.

  “Uhm, can you do this for me every day?” I asked. “I feel pretty again.”

  With the thickening of my waistline, it was difficult to feel feminine. With a husband on bed rest who couldn’t get frisky, my feminine parts were feeling ignored.

  “I love dressing up other people,” she admitted. “So yeah, I would totally do this for you.”

  I gave her a thumbs up. “Let’s do this.”

  “Okay, but you didn’t answer my question. Are you sure this is a good idea? Wouldn’t it be better just to leave it alone? Let the video die?”

  In the three days since the video of me on the subway went viral, it had only gained more traction. “I feel like I need to set the record straight.”

  She nodded. “I get it, but sometimes its better just to keep your head down. And if you apologize, it means you did something wrong, and I don’t think you did.”

  “And I’m hoping other people feel that way, too. This is the second time I’ve been in the spotlight—and not through any fault of my own. I call it Sibby’s Law. If there’s something to spill or mess up, it’s got my name all over it.

  “And my readers… I’m launching this book on my own. It’s more important than ever that I make good with them, ya know?”

  “Have you thought about being completely unapologetic?” she asked. “You’re a pregnant woman, and you were trapped on the subway. If you’re going to do anything, then you should be calling out the injustice of getting a fine.”

  “I don’t have an agenda, Stacy. All I want is to release my book, have it do well, and write my next one.”

  “But it’s complete bullshit!” she argued. “And you shouldn’t be penalized.”

  “I broke a law,” I said simply.

  “It’s not as black and white as saying you broke a law. You broke a law—but what about the guy that posted the video of it all going down? I’d sue. Defamation of character or something.”

  “I don’t think it works that way. My mother wanted to call the family lawyer.”

  She raised blonde eyebrows. “You have a family lawyer?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “No not everyone—oh, you’re kidding.” She let out a laugh when she saw my smile. “Why didn’t you take your mom up on the offer?”

  “Because I’m an adult? I don’t know. When my mom gets involved, things have a habit of spiraling out of control.” I told Stacy about my mother stalking me and the showdown in Starbucks.

  Stacy laughed so hard I thought her mascara would run down her face, but then I remembered she was a makeup queen, and her mascara was probably indestructible.

  “Can we do this video? I want to post it tonight.” Exhaustion was tugging at my eyelids. I’d already had my one cup of caffeinated coffee, and yet it seemed to do absolutely nothing.

  Stacy tucked a stray hair behind my ear and then said, “Yep. Sit in that chair. Let me light you.”

  Five minutes later, I was talking into the camera. Short and sweet. I wrapped up my heartfelt apology, the entire time Stacy’s words playing in the back of my mind.

  Did I really owe anyone an apology? Maybe not, but I definitely wanted to give my own version of the story.

  “How was I?” I asked when Stacy ended the video.

  “Honestly? A little fake.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t really sound like you. You sounded kind of insincere.”

  I stood up in a fit of frustration. “I was sincere! I am sorry for what I did!”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Are you? Because the way I see it? You have nothing to be sorry about, and I wish you hadn’t apologized. You’re a pregnant woman who couldn’t hold her bladder, and some asshole got your humiliation on video and posted it.”

  “Yeah. He’s a dick.”

  She laughed. “And what’s his handle?”

  “I dunno.” I shrugged. “Big tool?”

  “Monster wanker? Asshat? That guy’s account blew up, but you were the casualty. Your reputation was the casualty.”

  “You really think my reputation is a casualty?” I asked, biting my lip.

  “People think they know you because they’ve seen your clips on Instagram. It’s the same with me on YouTube. But they have no idea that we’re not always the face we show them.”

  “You sound like you’re sick of being in front of the camera.”

  “I am,” she admitted. “I’d much rather be behind it. What about you? Do you like having your life on display?”

  “I like it—making the videos, showing people that I’m clumsy and ridiculous—because that is who I am. I don’t feel like I’m giving up anything by including them in my life.”

  “That’s good.” She smiled. “You’ve made a career out of being clumsy.”

  “The cork video. Yeah, you’re right.” I shook my head, remembering how this had all begun. Me pinging Matt in the eye with an exploding champagne cork. Someone else had captured that video of me, too.

  “I feel like you’re the viral video version of Lucille Ball,” Stacy said.

  “Best compliment ever.”

  “It’s bullshit, you know,” she said. “Thinking you owe anyone an explanation or an apology.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, kinda wish they could stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

  Chapter 30

  #regramthesonogram

  “Make no mistake,” Aidan said that night at dinner. “Mrs. Nowacki may come across as this sweet old woman, but she takes no prisoners. I lost twenty bucks to her in a few rounds of Pinochle.”

  “More green beans?” I asked, holding up the serving spoon.

  “Yes, please. They’re really good,” he said. “Food also tastes better because I’m finally eating at a table and not in bed.”

  Jasper was resting at our feet. I slipped him a piece of beef, loving that we spoiled him.

  “What do you think about inviting Mrs. Nowacki to spend Thanksgiving with us?” I asked.

  “We’re doing Thanksgiving?” He scratched his stubbly jaw—he’d shaved the beard, but had left the stubble—no doubt to drive my hormones insane. “Who’s cooking?”

  “I was thinking I could make Thanksgiving sides, some pies, and maybe we could just have turkey sandwiches.”

  He frowned. “Who are you and what have you done with Sibby?” He put a hand to my forehead. “Aliens have invaded, right? They sucked your brain out and now you’re one of them?”

  I waved his hand away. “What? Thanksgiving would be a nice idea, right? We’re not traveling anywhere. I’m not ready to make a real turkey. Maybe next year, but this is a nice lead up.”

  “I think so. Yeah.”

  “Caleb can come after he closes the bar at eight. Mrs. Nowacki will make it four. I can see if Stacy and her boyfriend are going anywhere. We could have a Friendsgiving.”

  “But I don’t want you doing all the cooking alone,” he said. “I can help.”

  “You’ll help?”

  “Sure. Just no heavy lifting—and since we’re not getting a turkey, no lifting is involved. I can peel, chop, dice, and talk you off a ledge when you realize you bit off way more than you can chew.”

  I laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Text Caleb. I’ll text Stacy.”
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br />   “This’ll be nice,” he said after he texted Caleb. “We’ve never done Thanksgiving on our own.”

  “Like a Bat Mitzvah, this is a right of passage. Every woman must make her own Thanksgiving dinner. It means she’s arrived.”

  “What are you even saying right now?”

  “No idea. I’m faint from hunger.” I reached for the spoon resting in the casserole dish of scalloped potatoes.

  “That’s your third helping.”

  I looked at him, eyes narrowing. “What’s that now?”

  “Just making an observation.” He held up his hands in defense. “You’re really sexy, by the way.”

  “Yeah, right,” I muttered.

  “No, you are,” he insisted.

  “My girl parts miss your boy parts.”

  “My boy parts miss you girl parts,” he said.

  “I think I’m revirginizing.”

  “You know that’s not really a thing, right?”

  “Tell it to my neglected hoo-hah.”

  Aidan’s gaze lowered, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Yeah, please don’t actually talk to my crotch.”

  We laughed. As I cleared the dinner table, I said, “So this is a slice of what marriage in our eighties is gonna be like.”

  “Great conversation and laughter, but no sex?” Aidan rested his hands on the table and slowly stood up.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d rather laugh with you than have sex with anyone else.”

  My eyes misted. Loading the dishwasher, I tried not to let him see I was on the verge of crying. Everything set me off lately. Just yesterday, I’d watched a Walgreens commercial and burst into tears.

  I didn’t hear Aidan come up behind me, but suddenly there he was. His arms wrapped around me. “You really are the best. You know that, right?” he asked against my ear.

  Sinking back into him, I closed my eyes and just let him hold me. “It’s all going to be okay, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Nope. But it doesn’t matter. We got this, Sibby.”

  I raised his hands to my lips and kissed them. “Go sit down. I’ll clean up the rest of this.”