“What’s out of the question?” Brek ambled up to their table, a bar towel slung over his shoulder.
“Tuxedo condoms,” Velma said before taking a deep gulp from her drink. “I said I don’t think you’d wear one.”
Brek stopped mid-stride. He gave them a solid stare, the little crinkle what-the-fuck lines prominent between his eyebrows. He glanced from Velma to Claire, then at Heather and Marlee.
“I don’t understand women,” he declared.
He must’ve been talking to Lothario, because he was the only other male in their vicinity. Brek didn’t wait for Lothario to reply. He just turned around, walked back to the bar, and said something to one of the waitresses.
She sauntered over to their table, notepad in hand. “Brek says you’re my table now. How are you, Velma?”
“I’m fantastic.” Velma giggled. “We’re probably ready for another round.”
“I gotcha covered.” The waitress gave her a wink, picked up Heather’s empty glass, and headed back toward the bar.
“So, tuxedos,” Heather said when she was out of earshot. “Where were we?”
Yes, these were Marlee’s kind of friends. Less than twenty minutes into girls’ night, they were already searching tuxedo condoms.
Focusing on her phone, Claire’s eyebrows pressed together just like Brek’s. Well, the lines between Claire’s were not nearly as prominent.
“When did you use one of these?” she asked, tapping at the screen.
Um.
“You and Eli used the tuxedo condom thing when you were in Vegas?” Claire confirmed, the fun seeping out of her tone and getting replaced by strangely intense concern.
“That’s a tad personal, don’t you think?” Velma swatted at Claire’s phone.
“It’s not that private. I mean, you all know what happened there. So, yeah, in Vegas.” Marlee sipped at her fizzy ginger ale.
“I wonder if we get a discount if we order extra?” Heather asked, ignoring Claire’s concern. “I have some bachelorette parties that would go crazy for these.”
Heather’s cookie company had a solid underground following for penis-shaped cookies she called cockies. Marlee had been pretty certain within moments of meeting Heather that they were destined to be friends. Once she’d learned that little tidbit about the cockies? Their friendship was signed, sealed, and delivered.
“A bulk order of tuxedo condoms was not where I thought this evening was going.” Velma giggled against the edge of her palm.
Marlee should get in on that order, just for nostalgia. Especially since she and Eli were officially doing this—whatever this was—and she already knew he’d wear one.
Claire set her phone facedown on the table. She rubbed at her temples, her hands framing her face. “Marlee, when was your last period?”
“Okay, seriously, Claire. Stop.” Velma pulled Claire’s drink away from her. “How many of these did you have before we got here?”
“They were recalled.” Claire pushed the button on her phone so the screen lit up. “The condoms were recalled. Was it one of these?”
Marlee wasn’t really listening to what Claire was saying because she hadn’t had her monthly since a week before her wedding date. She’d been so relieved to have it over and done with so she wouldn’t have to deal with it on her honeymoon. Then her life fell apart and she hadn’t given it any thought. Stress had caused her periods to stop before. She’d assumed that’s all that happened and it’d show up any day.
Besides, one actually had to have unprotected sex to get pregnant.
One actually had to have sex at all, and up until very recently, Marlee did not fall into that category. Except…in Vegas. With a recalled condom.
“Oh my God.” The blood drained from Marlee’s face.
“Marlee?” Heather rubbed at her back. “Was it one of these?”
Marlee didn’t need to look to know, but she glanced at the screen anyway.
She nodded.
“She hasn’t had her period,” Velma said on a breath.
Marlee shook her head in a short, quick burst.
“Oh honey.” Velma grabbed her hand across the table.
There was a moment after one got unexpected news when it kind of just sat there, not sinking in. This was that kind of moment. The buzzing in the bar went quiet, everything muffled. Marlee’d had sex with a recalled condom, and she hadn’t had her period since.
It sunk in.
Her lungs constricted. She started wheezing.
Lothario barked at her. She grabbed her inhaler from her cleavage, taking a hit. The problem with her rescue inhaler was that while it opened her airway so she could breath, it also made her heart beat faster. Which in this instance wasn’t the best thing, given that it was racing anyway.
“Even if you’re not pregnant, you should probably talk to Eli about it.” Claire’s concern was the genuine kind. “I mean, I’m sure he’s clean, but you might want to have that conversation.”
“I…” Marlee opened her mouth. Closed it. “I thought my period stopped because I was so stressed.”
Lothario nudged her arm in chihuahua solidarity.
Claire leaned closer. “That might totally be the case. It’s going to be fine.”
“How do you know?” Marlee asked, her voice oddly calm given that her heart was beating about a zillion beats a minute. “Nothing’s fine. It’s like my life is one big ball of not fine. And every time I try to make it fine, it gets less fine.”
“Let’s go to the drug store.” Heather was already standing. “There’s only one way to find out for certain. And if it’s what it could be, you know you have options.”
Yes, of course, she had options. But this was Eli, and if she was pregnant with his baby…she couldn’t give that up.
“I don’t want it to say yes. But I don’t want it to say no. This is so confusing.” Marlee focused on one of the Bud Light signs on the wall. “We just had a whole conversation about taking things slow.” The neon flashed the tiniest bit every so often. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from it. “Eli talked about how he’s scared of having to take care of someone, but he’s willing to try a relationship with me.” She glanced between them. “Me. I mean, he’s opening up to me and he’s practically taking care of me already and now…”
He had his restaurant to buy. They couldn’t afford a baby in the midst of that.
“Eli is a great guy,” Velma said. “Give him a chance to be the guy we know he is.”
“Or maybe don’t tell him?” Claire rummaged around for her stuff, shoving everything into her handbag.
“You don’t think he’s going to notice when her stomach starts showing and then a kid shows up?” Velma asked.
“We don’t even know if she is.” Heather grabbed her purse. “Velma, you’re gonna have to drive.”
“I mean, if it is what it might be and you decide to do this, don’t tell him right away,” Claire continued, scooting out of the booth. “Give him some time.”
“Starting a relationship by not disclosing something like this seems like a really bad way to start a relationship.” Velma scooped Lothario up. Which was good, since Marlee couldn’t really focus on anything but a Bud Light sign.
Velma headed toward the bar, probably to tell her husband so he could tell Eli and Marlee wouldn’t have to. Eli who was supposed to arrive any moment.
Suddenly, Marlee understood why he’d run out of the room that morning. She wanted to do the same thing.
“Here.” Velma handed over a bottle of Dasani. “Drink up.”
“Huh?” Marlee pulled her gaze from the flashing neon.
“You’ve got a lot of peeing to do.” Velma glanced at the bottle of water and then back at Marlee. “Drink up.”
Oh.
“Did you tell Brek?” Marlee asked. For some reason, it seemed important to know who knew this information.
“Are you kidding?” Velma asked. “He stopped serving us because we were talking about tuxedos. If I
mention anything about babies, he’ll take off for a month with Dimefront. I mean, I only told him I was pregnant with Lily because I was pretty sure he’d figured it out before I did.”
“So, no.” Heather pressed against Marlee’s back, propelling her forward. “She didn’t tell him about our situation.”
Marlee paused. The way Heather said it was like Marlee wasn’t in this alone. Even when everything made it feel like she was.
“Thank you.” She tried really hard not to let the tears well up.
She failed.
“For what?” Now, Heather had the what-the-fuck lines between her eyebrows.
“For not making me do this by myself.” Marlee sucked in a big breath of air.
“We’re your friends.” Velma’s arm came around Marlee on one side, Heather’s on the other. Claire held the door. “You’re not doing any of this by yourself.”
“Except the actual peeing on the stick,” Heather added. “Just to clarify, that’s all you.”
Marlee hiccup-laughed. “I can handle that part.”
“I should clarify.” Velma dug through her purse, her hand emerging with a set of keys. “Brek was over the moon about Lily. If you’re pregnant, Eli will get to the excited part, too.” They reached Velma’s Prius, and Velma leveled her gaze right with Marlee’s. “No matter what any test says, I believe Eli cares about you. And I don’t think anything will change that.”
“He’s a good man,” Heather added. “I mean, he doesn’t really talk, so you think it’d be hard to know. I’ve seen it, though. The way he takes care of his friends. The way he looks at you. He’s one of the good ones.”
He was one of the good ones, and she was probably pregnant, and he’d probably run away. Marlee shivered, but only because it was autumn and nearly winter and it was Denver. The outside temperatures had dropped. That’s the only reason she shivered.
In other words, she lied to herself.
Kellie: Scale of one to ten, how sure are you?
Becca: No matter what you decide, you know we have your back.
Sadie: …
Marlee: It’s going to be fine, right?
Kellie: …
Becca: …
Sadie: …
The drugstore didn’t make buying a pregnancy test easy, that was for sure. Marlee’s head was about to explode with all the choices. She only needed a yes or no. Was that so hard?
Yes, yes, it was.
Marlee set Lothario on the polished floor so she could do a thorough analysis of all the brands. There were so many. All different prices. They said they tested at different times.
The elevator music coming over the speakers was not helping her focus.
Why was this so confusing?
“The digital ones are easier to read, but this one uses lines and says it’s more accurate. Also, cheaper.” Heather held up the two tests, one in each hand.
“I took, like, six just to be sure.” Velma started stuffing pregnancy tests in the red shopping basket she held on her forearm. “We’ll just buy a bunch.”
“Drink up.” Claire held another bottle of water for Marlee.
Marlee’s bladder was already through with this game of drink all the water. Could she just pee on something already? “Let’s just grab a couple. Whatever. The pink one, I like pink.”
Pink could be her lucky color.
Lothario, apparently feeling the stress of the day, started going to town on a cardboard tower display of Durex condoms. Which, Marlee might add, was a really stupid thing to have right next to the pregnancy tests. A not-so-gentle reminder that if you forget this, you’ll need that.
“Not the time, Lothario.” Marlee tried to pick him up, but he wasn’t having it. He scurried from her reach, attacking the opposite side of the display with gusto. Apparently, he was really into Intense, Ultra-Fine, Ribbed and Dotted Condoms with Delay Lubricant. Too into them. The cardboard display started to rock.
“No,” Marlee whisper-screamed.
There were moments in a person’s life when it seemed things just couldn’t possibly get worse. Those moments when their fiancé left them, when they woke up married to the caterer, when they were pretty sure they got knocked up by said caterer. In those moments, one should always remember that a chihuahua with a single-minded determination to defile a condom display can, in fact, make things worse.
For Marlee? That moment was happening in real time. Right then.
Lothario got going so fast the whole display tilted. She lurched to grab it, slipping on the polished floor and falling face first into the display.
Surprisingly, condom displays made for a fairly soft landing.
Not surprisingly, condom boxes went flying. Twenty-four count Durex flung clear down to the Hershey’s bars in the candy aisle.
“Shit.” Marlee scrambled to clean the mess, scooping boxes into her arms.
Velma and Heather scooped right along with her.
“Are you okay?” Velma asked. As if Marlee could even possibly answer yes.
She had an armful of condoms, a basket filled with pregnancy tests, and a dog who wouldn’t stop humping that particular box of Durex. “I don’t think I know what okay means anymore.”
Claire tried to get the cardboard stand to…well…stand. It wasn’t working. The thing was bent beyond repair from Marlee’s spill onto it.
“Try this.” Velma scooted a case of Pampers to hold up the display.
And, really, the store should thank Marlee for this illustration of what could happen if you didn’t go with the twenty-four count pack.
Now, there are moments when you’d really like to be alone. And then there are moments when you’d really like to be with your girlfriends. And then there are moments when you’re not sure what you’d like, but you absolutely know that the one thing that could make this moment worse was—
“This is my dream. I’m going to be a great-Babushka.” Babushka stood with her hands pressed to her cheeks.
Marlee’s lungs totally stalled out. She gulped for air. Lothario barked. She glanced at the abundance of condom boxes in her arms, Velma’s, Claire’s, and then she looked at Heather. Heather who held the red plastic basket brimming with pregnancy tests.
Apparently, Marlee had a full night of testing ahead.
Babushka’s hands were now pressed together like she was praying on Sunday. Two elderly women Marlee hadn’t met yet flanked either side of her. One leaned against a cane, the other held on to a walker with two bright yellow tennis balls stuck to the bottom.
“Babushka, hi,” Velma said like this were a totally normal situation.
Heather’s jaw went slack, and she dropped the basket. A dozen pregnancy tests skidded across the aisle. Not quite to the Hershey’s bars, but Heather hadn’t had the same running start as Marlee trying to catch Lothario.
“This is dream come true.” Babushka shuffled to Heather. “Ve vill move the vedding up. No vone vill know.”
“Nooo.” Heather shifted her gaze to Marlee.
Marlee shook her head in a disjointed sequence of quick jerks.
“Please,” she mouthed.
Heather’s eyes went softer. “It’s not official.” She squared her shoulders. “I just thought I’d be…prepared.” She squatted to scoop up the tests. “So it’d be great, fantastic, amazing if you didn’t mention this.”
Marlee wanted to hug her. Heather was totally taking one for the team. The team being all women everywhere who wouldn’t want a nosy Russian grandma to know their business. Marlee owed her, big time.
“We went through this same thing with Etta. Except she wasn’t really pregnant. Just a good pregnancy scare to round out game night that week,” tennis ball lady said.
“That was a crazy few days while we waited long enough for her to pass the test.” The other old woman ambled toward them at the speed of an eighty-year-old with a bad knee.
What kind of retirement home did these ladies live in, anyway?
“Heather has the glow.” Babu
shka grabbed one of the tests from the floor and scooped up a box of condoms. “I knew it. I am so proud of my Jase. He does good vork.”
“He sure does,” Heather said from the side of her mouth.
Velma held her hand out for Babushka’s haul. “I’ll put those away for you.”
“These are mine.” The old woman gave Velma a serious once-over. “Get your own rubbers.”
Velma’s lips parted.
Claire chuckled softly under her breath.
Marlee was just super glad she wasn’t sprawled on the floor anymore.
Babushka reached for Heather’s stomach and gave it a rub. “I vill check-in tomorrow.”
Heather looked like she was about to pass out.
“You.” Babushka zeroed in on Marlee.
For real, if Babushka rubbed Marlee’s stomach, she would probably throw up on her.
“Ve vant to decorate trees again. I need your number.” She dug through her oversized Louis Vuitton handbag, pulling out a legal-sized notepad and a pen with a fake flower taped to it with floral tape—like they had at the bank on Hampden Avenue so patrons didn’t accidentally walk off with them.
Marlee scribbled her cell number on the pad, the flower bobbing with each swoop of ink.
The other elderly ladies grabbed their own boxes of Trojan and Durex. Cane lady even snagged a box of ovulation test strips.
“Wha—” Velma started to ask, but then she smacked her mouth closed.
Marlee’s mouth wasn’t open, so she mentally slapped it closed. No way was she going to ask what those were for—besides the obvious checking for fertility.
They were for arts and crafts time at the retirement home. That’s what Marlee was going with, and that was the end of it.
“Ve vere never here.” In the smoothest of moves Marlee had seen in a while, Babushka directed her chin toward the cash register, lifting it just a tad at the end.
It was officially official, Marlee wanted to be Babushka when she got old. All who-gives-a-fuck and no-one-will-take-me-down. Hell, she wanted to be Babushka now.
She should begin Babushka training immediately.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 67