by Amelia Stone
“Thank you,” Hannah said, a smug grin on her face.
“Oh,” the girl said, her face pinging between Hannah and me comically. “Um, you look gorgeous, too,” she simpered, addressing Hannah. Then her eyes flicked to me. “It’s just, it was so awesome to see a pregnant bridesmaid. You were glowing up there.”
And then that bitch reached out and rubbed my stomach.
“The fuck?” I slapped her hand away, giving her a look that asked, ‘do you want to get cut?’ Because that’s what happened when someone I didn’t know touched my pregnant belly. Or someone I knew, but didn’t like. Or someone I knew and liked. Or when I wasn’t even pregnant.
Point was, don’t fucking touch me. Ever.
“I’m sorry!” she cried.
“You don’t touch strangers,” I admonished, slipping automatically into the same tone I used to tell my toddlers not to eat the gum they found on the ground.
“I’m sorry, it’s just, you’re pregnant, and-”
“That just makes it worse!” I braced an arm on the chair, setting the other on Hannah’s shoulder and heaving myself to my feet. Blonde chick was like half a foot taller than me, but that never stopped me. I gave her the glare of death as I took a step toward her.
“This is not an invitation for you to molest me,” I said, gesturing to my belly. “Like pregnancy isn’t fucking hard enough, I gotta deal with these putas putting their hands on me,” I muttered, looking to Hannah for backup.
She gave me a raised fist of solidarity, and I nodded in satisfaction. She and our other best friend, Jamy, had been my ride-or-die bitches since elementary school. Can’t buy that kind of loyalty. In fact, from the corner of my eye, I saw Jamy making her way over to us, her honey Sam (AKA Hannah’s twin brother) following right behind her. I gave them a chin nod as I turned back to the confrontation at hand.
Blondie looked hurt, putting her hand over her heart like she was the damn victim here. “Pregnancy is a miracle,” she breathed reverently.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, sure. I can’t fit into any of my shoes, water gives me heartburn, I have to pee every three minutes, I can’t get comfortable enough to sleep, and I haven’t pooped since yesterday morning. It’s a goddamned miracle.”
Blondie’s eyes filled with tears. “You wouldn’t think that way if you were in my shoes.” She swallowed roughly, looking away. “My husband and I have been trying for four years to get pregnant. We just found out our first round of IVF failed.” She looked back at me, her expression turning hard. “So maybe you should count your blessings.”
Well, shit. Now I felt like a real cabrón. How was I supposed to know this nosy bitch was infertile?
But me being me, I didn’t back down. I narrowed my eyes, taking another step toward her. “I’m really sorry for you,” I said, and I was. I knew from personal experience how urgent the desire to procreate was, and I could only imagine the heartbreak of not being able to do it.
But still. “Your problems are not my fault, though. The world is full of people who don’t deserve to be parents.” My voice went shaky on those last few words as I thought of my mom. That strung-out junkie had done exactly one good thing in her life – she’d given me mine.
Just then, I felt a hand sliding into mine, and I glanced to my right. My husband, Todd, was standing by my side, his body angled toward mine protectively. He squeezed my hand, giving me a tight smile as he looked down at me. Coming from him, that was practically a fucking pep talk.
In fact, when I looked around, I realized I was surrounded by the people closest to me. My husband, my two best friends, Sam, and now Hannah’s husband Brian and her cousin Sabine had joined us. I took a fortifying breath, knowing my squad had my back.
Then I turned back to Blondie. “But I am not one of those people. I may not enjoy being pregnant, but I will love this kid more than anyone has ever loved another person. Just like I love the two I already have.”
Just like I loved all my friends and family. I was suspicious of everyone, and stingy as fuck with my affections. I was an all-around hardass, really. But once you earned my love, it was for life. And I made sure you knew it.
Blondie shook her head stubbornly. “You should enjoy it, though,” she insisted. “It’s a gift.”
I closed my eyes, searching for patience. It was not something that came naturally to me, so I had to reach really fucking deep for it. If I had a dollar for every idiot who told me I should enjoy my pregnancy, I could pay someone to shut them the hell up for me. No one enjoyed being pregnant. The only reason anyone went through this fuckery was to get the kid.
But before I could say anything more, my husband spoke up. “You’ve made your point,” he said, his gravelly voice rumbling through his chest. “You should go.”
Blondie shook her head, giving me one last disgusted look as she pranced away. I watched her go, feeling uneasy. It was kind of an unfamiliar feeling, so I took a moment to process it, squeezing Todd’s hand for support.
I was pretty confident about basically everything I did. I picked a course of action, and stuck with it. If something wasn’t going right, I worked my ass off until it did. It was a quality that had made me a good lawyer, and a good mom. I made no apologies for who I was, because I was a motherfucking boss.
So it was pretty rare for me to feel like I’d put my foot in my mouth. And I found I really didn’t like the feeling.
Just as I was about to ask if I was in the wrong, Todd bent his head, and I felt his lips in my hair. “Love you,” he murmured.
I looked up at him, seeing all the love and affection I’d ever need reflected in his blue eyes. “Love you, too,” I whispered.
“And seriously, what was with that chick?” Hannah asked, patting my shoulder cautiously. I gave her a pass on the illegal contact, since I’d known her for more than twenty years.
“Fuck if I know,” I muttered. “Who even is she?”
“I think she’s my co-worker’s wife,” Brian said, sounding sheepish. “I don’t know them that well.”
I shook my head. “See, this is why you don’t bother with all this bullshit,” I said, gesturing to the room at large. I knew like maybe ten people here, and I’d been friends with Hannah almost my whole life. “If you have to have a wedding, keep it small.”
Hannah sighed, looking around at the crowd. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Brian grinned. “It’s still a good idea. Who doesn’t love a good party?”
“Me,” Jamy replied immediately, somehow managing to convey in that one syllable just how close she was to losing her shit.
“And just think,” I said, smiling evilly. “You still have to give a speech.”
And better her than me. I didn’t even want to be a fucking bridesmaid, let alone maid of honor. The only reason I’d agreed was because Hannah promised me she would take the older girls for a weekend once the new bambino was here. And you bet your sweet ass I was going to cash that shit in.
“Oh, God,” Jamy whispered at my words, all the color draining from her face.
Sam glared at me as he put an arm around her, rubbing her arm soothingly. “Not cool, Cee.”
I shrugged, my eyes following Blondie across the room. She was now hugging a doughy-looking dude, no doubt telling him all about the mean, ungrateful pregnant lady who yelled at her.
Fuck her and her grabby hands. I mean, best of luck to her with the fertility treatments. I hoped she got the chance to become a mom, because it obviously meant a lot to her. But yeah. Fuck her.
“What can I say? I’m on a roll today.”
Sabine chuckled. “Eh, you’re okay. She was out of line.”
Jamy shuddered. “Seriously. Who just walks up to someone they don’t know and touches them like that?”
“Fucking A. I’m surprised you didn’t kick her ass,” Sabine said. “That would have been a sight to see, a preggo throwing down.”
I leaned over for a fist bump. “And that is why I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Hannah said, sounding pissed that she was left out.
“And me,” Jamy put in, sticking her tongue out.
“What, no one loves me?” Brian objected, but his eyes crinkled in a smile.
“I do,” Hannah assured him, giving him a dopey smile.
“Jamy loves me.” Sam grinned like he’d won a fucking prize.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we all know that, bro.”
“Hey,” Todd said quietly, bringing my attention back to him. He smiled down at me. “Love you.”
“Holy shit, he speaks! And twice in one day!” Jamy joked, because yeah, my husband was definitely the strong, silent type. Emphasis on silent. At least with everyone else.
Before he could reply (or more likely, I’d reply for him), the MC called for everyone to take their seats, since dinner was about to be served. My stomach rumbled lustily, and I grinned, intending to waddle over to the dais as fast as my swollen legs would carry me. At least one thing was going right tonight. But then a throat cleared behind me, and I stopped in my tracks, looking around. Everyone’s eyes were on me, eyebrows raised expectantly, like they were waiting for me to say something.
“All right, all right,” I grumbled. “I love all you fuckers, too.”
There was a chorus of sarcastic “awws,” and suddenly everyone surrounded me in a sappy-ass group hug. Because they hated me, obviously.
“Okay, okay, get off me,” I shouted. “Pregnant or no, I will fuck your shit up if you touch me again.” I narrowed my eyes at Hannah. “Especially you, Bridezilla.”
They all laughed, and one by one they headed off to take their seats. Todd grabbed my hand, and we trailed behind them as we made our way to the dais.
He leaned over, murmuring in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear. “Will you fuck my shit up if I touch you later tonight?”
I grinned at him, swaying slightly at the heat in his eyes. We’d left my abuela in charge of the menagerie tonight, and rented a room in the hotel here. We rarely got the chance anymore to have time just for ourselves, and I was really looking forward to it.
Because one actually fun side effect of pregnancy? I was horny all. the. fucking. time. And luckily for me, I had a six-foot-two hunk of carpenter to fulfill all my needs. For too long now, we’d barely been able to manage fumbling quickies in the dark, after the kids were in bed and before we crashed from exhaustion. But tonight, we planned to take our time, to enjoy each other thoroughly. I could not fucking wait.
“You can touch me anywhere you want,” I whispered. Then I grinned up at him. “But don’t worry,” I promised. “I will definitely fuck you.”
I watched my wife shimmy out of her dress as I sat on the bed, loving the way her hips swayed and her ass jiggled. There wasn’t a sexier woman alive, pregnant or not.
When she was done, she paced the room, wearing nothing but her underwear. She rubbed the small of her back as she held her phone in front of her, talking to her grandmother.
“Sí, Abuela,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I know Rodrigo has pink claws. All the cats have pink claws.”
We’d gotten some of those little plastic claw caps for all three cats when Marietta, our oldest kid, was born. I’d been skeptical that they were worth the money, but they kept the little assholes from scratching our daughters, so it ended up being a sound investment. They’d gone through a few sets each in the three-and-a-half years since, and at first, we’d had different colors for each of them – blue for Rodrigo, purple for Selena, and orange for Hermione.
But as soon as Marietta was old enough to talk, she insisted on pink caps for all the kitties. Both our kiddos were obsessed with the color pink, and always had been. Almost everything in our house was Pepto Bismol-hued. My friends loved to rib me about it, but I didn’t mind. It kept our baby girls happy.
“But it’s a boy,” my grandmother-in-law hissed on the other end, perfectly audible thanks to the miracle of speakerphone. “It should not have pink claws. It’s not right.” Then I heard her mutter a prayer – or maybe a curse – in Spanish. I could picture her crossing herself, too, because she always did that when she thought something was ‘not right.’ My wife’s grandmother was just about as old school as they came.
Celia glanced at me, rolling her eyes. She’d had a talk with her grandmother many times about how love is love and gender roles are bullshit, but changing the old woman’s mind was like trying to get water from a stone.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, chiquita,” Abuela snapped.
I chuckled as Cee frowned at the phone. “How do you always know that?” she asked. “You can’t even see me.”
“Voodoo,” I mouthed at her, earning me a silent giggle from my wife.
“Because you are insolent,” her grandmother complained. “I don’t have to see you to know you are doing something disrespectful.”
Celia hung her head, breathing deeply. “Lo siento, Abuela,” she muttered meekly.
I shook my head, chuckling softly. Only Abuela could cow my ballbuster of a wife.
“Winston pooped in the laundry room as well,” Abuela continued, not acknowledging Celia’s apology. But then she never did. “I had to clean that up, because of course he does not live outside where he belongs.” I smiled, because Abuela was full of shit on that one. I was convinced she loved that dog more than she loved her own granddaughter. “And I think the hámsters are dead, mija. They haven’t come out of their little plastic castillo.”
“They just don’t like strangers,” Celia replied patiently. “They hide in the castle when someone new comes over. They’re fine.”
“What are their names?” Abuela asked. “I brought some mangoes from my tree for the girls. There’s extra. I will tempt the hámsters with a little treat.”
“Maui and Moana,” Celia replied.
Abuela sniffed, like she always did when she found something distasteful. “Maui and Moana? What sort of names are those?”
“They’re cartoon characters, Abuela. It’s a Disney movie.”
Abuela let out a string of Spanish again, and this time it definitely sounded like a curse. “Those girls watch too many cartoons,” she said. “Valentina would not even think about going to bed until she’d watched two episodes of something called Daniel Tiger.”
I frowned. We were definitely guilty of using the boob tube as a babysitter far more often than we’d like to admit. But in our defense, our lives were pretty hectic. Celia worked sixty hours a week at her uncle Ernesto’s family law firm, and my custom carpentry business kept me plenty busy, even though I set my own hours. Add to that a whole zoo’s worth of pets, Marietta’s toddler ballet classes, trying to potty train Valentina, and another baby almost here, and letting PBS lull our kids to sleep was just too convenient to pass up.
But we loved our family and each other, and we did our best. That was all anyone could ask of us, as far as I was concerned.
“So they got to sleep okay, then?” I asked, trying to redirect the conversation.
“Is that my Todd?” Abuela’s tone changed suddenly, sounding far more chipper than she had a minute ago. Almost flirtatious, actually. She loved ‘her Todd’, and I shamelessly took advantage of that whenever I could. Usually I did it to get my wife out of trouble, if only for a few minutes. Abuela was far more forgiving of me than she’d ever been of Celia.
“Hola, Abuela,” I said.
Celia shook her head at my atrocious accent, muttering “fucking gringo” under her breath. But she smiled at me affectionately.
“You watch your language, Cecelia Ana Pineda Ruiz,” Abuela snapped. “My Todd is a good boy.”
Celia let out another long-suffering sigh as she apologized again. “But everything’s okay?” she asked. “The fish are all good? The girls ate their dinner?” She was clearly trying to wrap up the conversation, and I couldn’t blame her. This was cutting into our adult time. Time alo
ne was so precious that we had to steal it in bits and pieces. I knew we both wanted to make the most of the few hours we had to ourselves tonight.
“Of course everything is good. The girls are always good for me.” She sniffed again. “When I get to see them.”
Guilt flashed over Celia’s features, and I was right there with her. Abuela lived almost two hours away. She’d moved to a small town just south of Tucson a couple of years ago to be near her brother, who had some health issues. Long car trips were a colossal pain in the ass with two toddlers, so between that and our busy schedules, we didn’t get down to see her as often as we’d like. We were lucky that she’d agreed to come to Phoenix for a couple of months to visit us. She’d be here when the new baby came, so she could help us out around the house.
“But never mind that. Mija, why do you have so much yarn?”
Celia frowned. “The yarn? What about it?”
“Yes, the yarn,” Abuela said slowly, like Celia was stupid. “I went to find a towel for their bath earlier-”
“There are plenty of towels in the girls’ bathroom, Abuela,” Celia told her.
“Not a clean one,” Abuela snapped.
Celia shot me a look that said, ‘kill me now.’ She and her grandmother always clashed over housekeeping. You could eat off Abuela’s floor. Ours, not so much.
“And don’t interrupt me,” the older woman continued. “As I was saying, I went to find a towel, and instead I found a whole room full of yarn.”
Celia rolled her eyes. “I like to knit,” she explained.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Abuela replied. “And that is ridiculous, Cecelia. Who needs that much yarn? You knit with what you have, then you buy more when you need it.”
Celia frowned. “I only buy it when it’s on sale,” she hedged.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Celia found ‘sales’ where there were none, all the time, on anything and everything. My wife liked to shop.
Cee glared daggers at me from across the room. “Besides, I make stuff for everybody in the family.”