NOT What I Was Expecting

by Tallulah Anne Scott

  NOT What

  I Was Expecting

  By Tallulah Anne Scott

  Copyright © 2012

  All rights reserved.

  NOT What I Was Expecting is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously.

  This book is dedicated to Mrs. Adelaide Odom and her girls, Betty Lee, Lucy, Peggy, and Anne. They are truly the most exceptional women it has been my privilege to know and love with all my heart.

  CHAPTER 1

  CeCe and I automatically looked toward the entrance as the sound of the tinkling bells on the front door of the Big and Blessed Maternity Shop filled the room. My death grip on the box of tissues loosened when Fry arrived. I knew this meant it was very likely the poor, expectant mother in the throes of a hormone induced hysteria was about to feel better.

  My name is Maggie Eastman, and I co-own the Big and Blessed Maternity Shop with my cousin CeCe DiNardo in beautiful downtown Oakman (that’s just outside New Orleans for those of you frantically consulting your map). Fry, an old friend from high school and part-time employee/lifesaver at the shop, has an uncanny, mystical way with expectant women. It seems no matter what he says to them, he always strikes just the right chord. We’ve come to rely on him more than we probably should, but in situations like this, we usually cross our fingers and hope his gift is working at full capacity.

  I juggled tissues and the rejected outfits while CeCe held the five outfits still being considered. Our red-faced, tear-streaked customer swore she was not really as big as she looked right now.

  “It’s the humidity. It makes me puffy. I hate Louisiana. I should never have agreed to move here,” she wailed. “This state makes me look fat. But what can I do?” she asked us desperately. “I’m stuck – just plain stuck in an unflattering state. It’s hopeless.”

  CeCe and I tried to encourage and comfort, but our goal at this point was to hang in there and keep from losing ground for these last few critical moments now that our Go-to Guy had arrived. True to form, Fry announced his arrival as soon as he stashed a Piggly Wiggly bag he’d brought in with him behind the register.

  “Ladies,” Fry greeted as he approached. “I hope you are all having an awesome day because I just – whoa. What up with the tears, gorgeous?” Fry glanced quickly at both stacks of outfits and gave his head a small shake, accompanied by a sigh. He continued without waiting for our Puffy Patron to respond (she was still staring at Fry in a trance). “Sometimes things just blow your mind, am I right?” he inquired. “It’s like it’s way too much. That just happened to me, so I totally relate to your pain. I’m Fry, short for Fritz, by the way. So tell me how I can help?”

  CeCe and I stood perfectly still, waiting for our Puffy Patron’s reaction. She chewed her lip for a few more seconds, sniffled softly, used one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, and extended the other to shake hands as she introduced herself to Fry.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Fry. I’m Patricia, but everyone calls me Patty,” Puffy Patty said with a little giggle thrown in for good measure.

  He did it again. Every time Fry succeeded with a woman on the edge like that, we told him one of these days he would get a jumper. He knew we were teasing him. It hadn’t happened yet, and CeCe and I believed it never would. We just wanted to keep him on his game.

  Puffy Patty told Fry how horrible everything looked on her, and Fry told her “no way” and she said “way.” Then Fry said he knew exactly what would be perfect for her, to which she replied “no way,” he said “way,” and they went to choose more outfits. Then she asked Fry about his mind blowing experience (never a smart thing to ask Fry), and he told her he had an altercation with the checkout girl at the Piggly Wiggly over a Three Musketeers bar. Puffy Patty said “no way” and Fry said “way” then they both busted a gut laughing. They laughed, shopped, talked, and laughed some more until Puffy Patty was satisfied with her choices and followed Fry to the register.

  “You are so making that up, Fry,” Puffy Patty laughed as she slid her charge card through the machine to pay for the outfits Fry had helped her choose. “Why would there be a conspiracy behind the new richer chocolate filling in the Three Musketeers bar?”

  “Don’t you see, Patty?” Fry explained lowering his voice so national security wouldn’t be breached if this information got out. “It’s all about the original nougat. What happened to the original nougat? Where can you go to get the original nougat? But that’s just it. You can’t get the original nougat. It’s gone. They ‘say’ they don’t make it anymore. So what are they trying to tell us they used to make the richer chocolate nougat? Think about it.”

  Puffy Patty had a pained look on her face, and I became a little worried that if she tried to follow Fry’s logic she might hurt herself.

  “Now Patty,” Fry said leaning over and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t flaunt your new clothes too much except for the Mr., because that’s okay. It’s just not fair to the other pregnant women.”

  “Oh, yes,” Puffy Patty said with a deadly serious expression on her face, “Those poor women.” Turning to CeCe she said, “Thanks for your help. I’ll be back in a few weeks to get a few more things. I just can’t get a lot of great looking things at one time. I’ve got a couple of friends who are pregnant, and they get soooo emotional. I just can’t do it to them, poor dears.”

  She turned, and gave Fry a smile that was truly radiant. Sometimes pregnant women really do glow. At least around Fry they do. It might have something to do with his blonde Adonis good looks – did I forget to mention that?

  Fry, short for Fritz, also described his unfortunate brain fry caused by the use of drugs during his teenage years. The drugs are gone now, but his stoner personal style has remained. Here at the Big and Blessed Maternity Shop, we accept him as he is. He’s always been a sweetheart, just perpetually unaware of what was going on around him due to foreign substances.

  About six years ago he had his appendix removed, and it changed his life. He developed a serious infection that required a week-long stay in the hospital and scared the crap out of him. When he left the hospital, he said the sun shone brighter, the food tasted better, and it felt like he was finally taking notice of the world around him. He liked the feeling and began to search for his place in life. This journey was made infinitely easier by a large trust fund left to him by his grandfather. CeCe and I had just taken over the maternity shop, so we gave him a part time job. As it turned out, his gift with those in a family way presented itself and he’d found his calling.

  After the happy customer left, still cheerfully commenting about “those poor women,” we embraced a rare occurrence for our shop – it was empty. The Big and Blessed Maternity Shop is a very homey place with wooden floors, golden walls, and white curtains that give it just the right coziness. Originally, it was an old Acadian style home that was transformed into a small grocery store in the 1960's and then a maternity shop in the 1980's. I wish CeCe and I could take credit for making the shop a success, but that’s not quite how it happened. We grew up working here during summers and after school since our mothers (who we affectionately refer to as “the sisters”) co-owned the store. We went off to college together to experience the glamorous big city life. We are small town girls to the bone and soon had more than enough of city life. We couldn’t wait to get back to Oakman after graduation, but expected to get jobs in New Orleans and commute like most people who didn’t work in one of the local industrial plants. We were surprised and deeply moved when the sisters announced our graduation present would be The Big and Blessed Maternity Shop, since they had decided to retire early and pass it on to us. Now at 29 years old, CeCe and I have been managing the shop fo
r about six years, and loving every minute of it.

  You might think we’d be sick of each other by now, but we still like doing things together. As a matter of fact, we grew up doing everything together. My mom and dad split up when I was seven, and not long after that CeCe’s dad passed away. Our mothers decided to combine households, so we moved into my Aunt Shirley’s house. That was probably one of the best decisions my mother ever made. I’ve never had a lonely moment since, and I ended up with CeCe becoming more like a sister than a cousin. Of course, since we are cousins rather than sisters, our shape and features are very similar, but our coloring is like night and day. We both top out right at 5'6" and gratefully inherited our mothers’ generous curves. We also both wear size four. Because of the genetic donations of our respective fathers, CeCe ended up with brown eyes and light brown hair while I have blonde hair and blue eyes. My hair is stubbornly straight, so I often find myself wishing I could borrow CeCe’s wavy curls the same way I commandeer her clothes.

  CeCe, Fry, and I all leaned against the big wooden counter and stared out of the large glass window with a great view of Main Street. Oakman is a town where people don’t move away when they grow up. Instead, they just buy a house down the street. There’s an oil refinery and two industrial plants in Oakman that employ a large portion of the town’s people, as well as residents from the surrounding area. When the day shifts are in full force at the plants, their total employees outnumber the population living within the Oakman city limits. Thirty five years ago, when the sisters were settling down with their respective families, downtown possessed only one traffic light. The booming metropolis Oakman has become now boasts of four traffic lights keeping us honest at intersections. Can a subway be far behind?

  I let my mind wander as I continued to stare through the front window of the shop, which seemed like a good way to relax. The process of easing out of bed on this Monday had seemed brutal, so some down time was a good thing.

  I was admiring the golden leaves on the oak tree across the street which reminded me it was already October. If I was hoping to do Christmas shopping early, I should have started yesterday. My mind was probably working on my letter to Santa or something when it was rudely sucked back to reality as Fry yelled, “Son-of-a-bitch!”

  I heard CeCe’s loud gasp followed by the SLAM! She plopped Swear Bear down on the counter before I had a chance to ask what happened. Swear Bear is a foot tall, brown, teddy bear bank dressed up in a little devil costume that CeCe found online.

  “OH NO WAY!” Fry said not believing it should count because of what he’d just witnessed.

  “CeCe’s right,” I agreed. “Everything counts. Any swearing on the premises means money for Swear Bear, so pony up.”

  “Oh, come on,” Fry protested. “Didn’t you see that selfish, small-minded dude throw his coffee cup out of his car window? You know something deep inside me rebels against people destroying the planet.”

  Swear Bear got a nickel every time one of us used inappropriate expletives in the store. We found this necessary after an unfortunate incident a few months ago. Fry had just had a similar run-in with yet another litter bug and was a little hot under the collar about it – hot enough to use slightly more colorful expletives than today’s outburst. Unfortunately, his few choice words sent the minister’s wife flying out of the shop a little undone. She was a bit short in stature which blocked her from his view by a clothing rack. We knew this would never have happened if he had seen her. His charm would have kicked in, and everything would have been fine. We just couldn’t take any chances.

  “We know,” I assured him. “But you’ve got to learn when you can let your ecological conscience explode and when you have to rein it in, temporarily anyway.”

  “Damn litter bug!” Fry yelled at the window, throwing in a fist shake for emphasis.

  “Hey!” gasped CeCe, “That’s . . . .”

  “I know, I know,” conceded Fry. “That’s another nickel, but it was totally worth it, and I feel better now. No worries ladies. No more swearing on these premises. Oh, I almost forgot. I have to tell you guys about my amazingly awesome evening.”

  When Fry thought of something, I could almost see the light bulb go on above his head.

  “Do you remember Luke Becnel?” Fry quizzed.

  “Your friend from high school who had the same focusing problem you did?” I asked.

  “That’s him. You remember, CeCe?” Fry asked anxiously.

  “I remember him as cute, skinny, and wasted,” CeCe answered.

  “Oh, good, you both remember him. Well, it turns out he’s moved back to town and is living with his Uncle Barney over in the Timbermill subdivision. I went there last night, and we caught up on everything. We’ve been trying to set up a time to get together for a few weeks, but we kept missing each other. Either he was working late, or I was booked up. It was so cool to hang out with him again. He’s a stoner no more. He was in the military for a few years and then the Peace Corps, so he really hasn’t lived here since before graduation. He started out doing the volunteer thing in the Peace Corp, but then they hired him as a whatever-you-call-it. He was the guy in charge of the volunteers in his area where they were doing construction. Anyway, he just got back. Man, he’s not skinny or unfocused anymore. Luke is the man, and his Uncle Barney’s a kick and half. Barney made the most stupendous tacos. He definitely has the soul of a Mexican. He’s way cool. He makes up these stories in his head, so it’s like watching a movie when he’s describing stuff. He was telling us about how Andy Griffith was working on his investments. Apparently that’s his accountant – Andy Griffith! How cool is that? Of course, it wasn’t the real one, but to Barney that’s just easier than remembering his accountant’s name. Anyway, his story was awesome, and I hope my mind gets all creative and shi — stuff when I’m his age.”

  “I’d say you have a better than average chance at it,” CeCe assured him as she shot me a smile.

  I had to laugh as it went right over Fry’s head.

  “I know, right? It would be so cool. Luke and his Uncle B invited me back tonight. They’re gonna barbeque, so I’m there!” Fry sighed deeply and shook his head slowly as he contemplated it. “You two can head out if you want. It’s slow, and we’re closing in a couple of hours anyway. Just leave everything to me. I’ve got it.”

  We gladly called it a day. Fry really was a first rate employee and an even better friend. Once you understood him, it was all gravy. For example, we figured out early on that he worked better in short spurts. If he was in the shop more than a few hours in a row, you could see his eyes start to glaze over. This worked out well for us, whether he gave us a few free hours during the day, or came in later, and we left a little early. Either way – sweet.

  Since CeCe rode to work with me, we used the drive home to brainstorm about what to have for supper. Food was a topic near and dear to our hearts, so we always took these discussions very seriously. We went through the usual dance of reviewing what we wanted to cook versus what we actually had the ingredients to make. Then came the debate over stopping at the grocery for the missing ingredients, which led to the concern ‘if we’re stopping to shop, then driving home, then changing for comfort, then cooking, would we faint from hunger before there was food to consume?’ question. When all the options were weighed and the clear choice was made, we pulled into Dan’s Diner. In our defense, Dan’s cheeseburgers have been known to convert vegetarians. Yeah, they are that good.

  As CeCe and I slid into a booth in the back, I couldn’t help but notice all the couples. I tried to fight off the lump that had just lodged in my throat, since I felt I should be happy for all these people who’d found each other. I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself because there was no man in my life at the moment. Wouldn’t that make me somewhat self-absorbed? Aw, yuck. I hate those self-involved people who think only of themselves. I don’t want to be one of them.

  I should try to be more like CeCe. She doesn’t worry about the fact that sh
e’s infatuated with a guy she barely knows. She’s not sitting here thinking about him and feeling sorry for herself. She’s probably thinking ‘if it’s meant to be, it will happen’ and that is such a healthier attitude. I want to be healthy. I mean, how much harder is this for her? This has never happened to her before, since CeCe has always been the one being pursued. She is used to deciding who gets to catch her and who doesn’t. I looked across the table at CeCe. Here she is, secretly in love with a man who doesn’t give her a second glance, and she isn’t upset by all the hand-holding and games of footsy going on in this place. She’s sitting here smiling at me.

  “What?” CeCe asked, still smiling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Nothing. I’m not. Nothing,” I covered with my usual suave and finesse.

  “Okay,” CeCe giggled. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you something, and since your mind is obviously empty right now, I guess this is as good a time as any. I’m worried because I’m so in love with Deputy Ben, and he doesn’t even give me a second look. You know, I don’t want to be one of those people who sit around and say ‘if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.’ No, no! I want to be a ‘what do I need to do to make this happen’ kind of person. So I need your help. But first,” she suggested as she grabbed her menu, “lets order already. I’m starving.”

  I couldn’t help the surprised expression on my face but tried to hide the hint of a smile that came from finding CeCe wasn’t as patient as I thought. I tried not to let what CeCe thought of as a cute name for Sheriff’s Deputy Ben Simpson grate on my nerves. Somehow hearing him called Deputy Ben always brought to mind fingernails sliding down a chalkboard. Maybe it was because Deputy Simpson or simply Ben would make me feel less like I was living in some children’s TV show. Nevertheless, I was intrigued by this CeCe who was going to make things happen and couldn’t wait to hear how.