The Randy Romance Novelist (32 page)

Didn’t I fucking know it.

Fraggle Rock

ROSIE

The harmonious sounds of Delaney making friends with her toilet echoed through the room as the sun shined down upon me. Delaney’s couch was less than comfortable and definitely didn’t have the best smell either, which I tried not to let myself wonder what the smell was from. I missed the warmth of Henry’s arms, the comfort of our bed, and the silence of an early morning.

Delaney’s retching wasn’t doing it for me. It wasn’t doing it for me so much that I started to get the sweats myself, and before I knew it, I was trotting over to the kitchen trash can, expunging all the wiener bites I had last night.

Wasn’t morning sickness supposed to happen within the first few weeks of being pregnant? I had no clue how far along I was, but if I had to guess, it would be three months and I was cruising right along into my second trimester. I was too overwhelmed at the doctor’s office to even think about asking how far along I was or what I needed to be doing to take care of the baby.

I couldn’t deny this forever, though, so I made a mental note to call the doctor this week, apologize for sticking his head between my legs, and try to figure all this baby stuff out.

Just thinking about the baby made my mind wander. Was I going to be doing this alone? Last night wasn’t as successful as I thought it was going to be. I wasn’t sexy; I knew I wasn’t. I didn’t have a passionate desire for Henry to sniff my underwear . . . I was just trying to see if we could spice things up. Then once he denied the sniffing, I wondered if there was something so wrong with me that he didn’t want to bring my panties to his nose. If he asked me to sniff his boxers . . .

Nope.

My head went back into the trash can and I dry-heaved a couple of times before my stomach settled.

I couldn’t blame the man. Fabric crotches should be kept to one’s self, not shared with significant others, no matter how erotic it looked.

Still . . . he didn’t want me. But why?

He told me he loved me, he held me at his boss’s party, he made sweet gestures like my maid-of-honor penis. Why was he pulling away?

OH.

MY.

GOD!

“Delaney!” I shouted like a crazed woman, running through their apartment and straight into the bathroom, where Delaney was resting her cheek against the seat of the toilet, one of her boobs hanging out of her camisole and a pair of Derk’s whitie tighties being the only cover-up for her bottom half.

“Oh, dear,” I said, stopping in place from the sight in front of me.

“
Fraggle Rock
,” she mumbled, spitting into the toilet and running her finger along the edge.

Her makeup was smeared, her hair was greasy from a mixture of vomit, sweat, and last night’s activities, and I was pretty sure if you tapped her like a maple tree, you could serve up a keg of vodka for a frat party.

Cautiously, I knelt down beside her, tucked her boob in her shirt for her, and patted her forehead with a washcloth that was on the sink.

“Why are you mumbling about a live-action puppet show?”

“It was such a simple time,” she answered, her voice rough, like an eighty-year-old who’s given way too many blow jobs.

“I don’t quite understand, but I’m just going to nod my head.”

She blew a long breath of air out of her lips, foaming saliva and bubbles, not a very attractive picture for her at the time.

“Remember being a kid, when alcohol didn’t exist?”

“Alcohol existed when we were children. We weren’t raised during prohibition.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she sighed, pulling her body away from the toilet and leaning against the wall of the bathroom. “When we were young, alcohol wasn’t on our radar. We didn’t care about consuming it. We cared about
Fraggle Rock
and the Fraggles and the Doozers and what colored jellies we were going to wear.”

“Pink with glitter, always,” I reminisced.

“Purple with glitter. Remember how they used to stick to your feet when you walked, especially on a hot day? Such impractical footwear.”

“But stylish,” I pointed out.

“Nonetheless, they were simpler times. Times I can remember. Last night, I don’t even know what happened. Flashes of pink cocks and pubic hairs is all that crosses my brain. Did I act like Oprah handing out cock rings last night?”

“That would be an accurate statement.”

Delaney barely nodded, not wanting to shake too much. “Then you did your job, maid of honor. You brought out the inner Oprah in me. I couldn’t be more proud.”

“That’s an odd thing to say, but you’re welcome,” I laughed.

Delaney tilted her head to the side, taking in my outfit. “Why are you here right now?”

“Henry and I got in a fight last night. He wouldn’t sniff my underwear.”

Delaney winced. “Bad move, Henry. Rookie mistake.”

“We fought and I packed a bag and walked out on him.”

Sitting up and growing thoughtful, Delaney said, “That’s serious. Did you break up with him?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Wait a second,” Delaney took a deep breath as she eyed the toilet, but then swallowed and exhaled. “This isn’t one of those Ross and Rachel things where he thinks you’re on a break and then he goes and fucks some other woman when all you wanted was some time to think.”

I didn’t think about that. Did Henry think we’d broken up? Were we broken up? Did he go drown his sorrows in the “copy girl,” aka, Tasha’s breasts?

“I have no clue,” I said, my voice a little shaky with concern.

“I hope not, because that would be the most idiotic thing he ever did.”

Giving Henry the benefit of the doubt and wanting to ease my mind, I said, “I don’t think Henry would do that; he’s not that kind of guy.”

“Oh, he isn’t? Wasn’t he the one who got back together with Tasha after you two had sex?”

Once again, it didn’t even occur to me that he would do something like that again. He was upset at me then . . . he thought I was moving on, so he moved on as well.

“And here I thought he was terminally ill. He’s probably shacking up with Tasha again. I’m so stupid. I pushed him right into her arms.”

“Hold on.” Delaney held up her hand. “Let’s pause for a second. I want to get off this floor and I need some coffee before we get into conversations about terminally ill boyfriends. Help me up.”

The next ten minutes were spent peeling Delaney off the ground, washing her face, and brewing some coffee. I didn’t have any; I opted for tea instead. Caffeine and all, I was trying to be a good vessel for the growing fetus inside of me, even though at times it earned the name Beelzebub.

Once we were seated at her dining room table, she asked, “So, Henry is terminally ill?”

“What?” Derk asked, walking out of the bedroom and rubbing his eyes, his hair was sticking up, and he looked just as bad as Delaney. I knew it wasn’t from getting drunk himself, but most likely from having to take care of his very drunk fiancée last night. Both of them luckily took the day off from work. “Henry is sick?”

“Maybe, that or he’s back with Tasha.”

Derk groaned. “He’s not back with Tasha.”

Delaney turned to him. “How do you know that? How do you know he didn’t waltz on over to her house like a chipper Leonardo DiCaprio in that popular meme we always see, and fuck her against the wall?”

“Because, he’s not that kind of guy, and he loves Rosie.”

“He did it the first time they had sex.”

“Because she talked about going on a date with a guy when the condom they used was still warm.” Derk pointed at me.

Guilt washed through me.

“He’s got you there,” Delaney brought the cup up to her mouth and turned back toward me.

“Why do you think he’s ill?” Derk asked, steering the conversation away from insanity.

“It’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why he doesn’t want to be with me, but is still sweet.”

Derk sat down next to Delaney and shared her coffee, one hand on her thigh. “Did he actually say he didn’t want to be with you? That he didn’t want to be your boyfriend?”

“Not that kind of be with me. I mean in the sexual way. He refused to put his hand down my pants.”

“Maybe because you talked about how your vagina was purple for so long; shit like that is not appealing to men,” Delaney added. “Purple is too close to the color blue, and I think we all know what a blue waffle is . . .”

Everyone ignored Delaney’s comment. It was too early to get into blue waffle talk.

“Has he talked to you?” I asked Derk, whose eyes immediately grew wide.

Bingo!

“He has talked to you.” I pointed at Derk, who was trying to hide his face. Delaney clued in and forced him to look at me.

“What are you not telling her? Speak, my human sex toy, or you can kiss any sex we might have leading up to the wedding good bye.”

“I just know he was concerned about you, that’s all.”

“Concerned about me? Why? Because he’s going to go back with Tasha and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings?” I was ninety-five percent sure that wasn’t true, but I wanted to press Derk’s buttons.

“For fuck’s sake, drop the Tasha thing. Nothing is going on between them and nothing ever will happen between them.”

“Then tell me what he said,” I demanded, pounding my fist on the table.

“Tell her, Derk,” Delaney threatened.

The tension in the room grew thick as Derk looked between us, gathering his thoughts. Two she-beasts were staring him down, waiting, we weren’t about to let up now.

The attempt to get up from his chair was made, but Delaney stopped him and gripped his balls. Derk squealed and started to sweat.

“You tell us right now what he said to you.”

Derk moved very carefully and said, “He was concerned about you. He said you were acting really weird lately, kind of hormonal . . . kind of like you were . . .”

“He knows?!” I shouted, stunned that Henry would pick up on me being pregnant and I wouldn’t, even though it was my body in question.

“Knows what?” Delaney looked between Derk and me for answers. “Have you not told me something I should know? What’s going on?”

I glanced up at Derk, who had a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Henry knows?” I asked again.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Delaney asked again, frustration ringing clearly. “I swear to all the penises I devoured last night that if someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on right now, I will regurgitate them right here on this table, and I can promise you won’t like it.”

“That is revolting.”

“Well then, tell me what is going on.”

Derk nodded at me for encouragement. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m pregnant.”

“What?!” Delaney screamed, forgetting all about the atrocious hangover she was nursing. “You’re pregnant? On purpose?”

“No. Why would I be pregnant on purpose?”

“Well who’s dumb enough to get accidently pregnant these days? There are millions of forms of birth control. You’re on the pill, right?” I shook my head. “Jesus, Rosie. How could you not be on the pill? Were you just using condoms?” I confirmed, causing her to throw her hands up in the air. “And you thought, with the amount of times Henry was stuffing his junk in your doughnut that you weren’t going to get pregnant, because you were using a condom? My God, you are stupid. I love you, but you are stupid.”

I waved a hand in front of my face as tears started to form. This was all too much to handle, and I didn’t expect a sex education lecture from my best friend when I told her I was with child. I thought maybe she would celebrate . . . well not celebrate, but at least give me a hug.

“Babe, maybe chill a bit. Clearly, it’s big news for Rosie to handle.”

Ignoring him, Delaney asked, “How far along are you? Is that why your clothes haven’t been fitting? You didn’t need to go to the gym, you needed to learn how to take a simple pill once a day. Tell me, how far along?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, on the verge of tears. “But I’m guessing probably three months.”

“Three months!” both Derk and Delaney said together.

I nodded, stood up, and lifted my shirt so they could see my protruding stomach.

Delaney’s hand flew to her mouth as silence fell over the dining room table. Slowly, Delaney made her way around the table to me. She looked down at my stomach and then lowered her hands so they were pressed against my belly.

Once she finally looked up at me, she had tears in her eyes. “Oh, my God, Rosie. You’re pregnant.”

Before I could answer, she pulled me in for a hug and wrapped her arms around my back. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Maybe you’re pregnant too,” I laugh-cried.

“No,” she shook her head against mine. “I use birth control like every other normal sex-crazed woman. It’s common sense.”

“Now’s not the time for a lecture.”

“When the baby is born, we will go over proper protocol for avoiding having another.”

“Sounds good.”

She distanced herself and looked back down at my belly. “You’re straight up pregnant. Look at that little gut of yours.”

I wiped my tears. “I’m that person who shows up at the hospital, complaining about stomach cramps, and come to find out, I’m ready to give birth.”

“Yup, that’s you,” Delaney and Derk laughed. “Jesus, Rosie. Don’t you keep track of your period?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Derk held up his hands. “I’m going to hit the showers.”

“Wait,” I turned to Derk. “Henry knows?”

“He suspects,” Derk nodded his head. “If I were you, I would go have a conversation with him. Communication is key in a relationship.”

“Okay,” Delaney scoffed. “This coming from the guy who can’t even talk about an ingrown hair near his nut sac.”

“That’s private,” Derk shouted.

“Whatever.” Delaney picked up her phone and started dialing.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making you an appointment to see your doctor; we need to get an ultrasound going and figure this all out. First things first, that’s baby health.”

I couldn’t argue with her . . . she was right.

“But before we go anywhere, we both need to take showers because we smell like dead carcasses. Like, honestly, how can one person smell like sour milk so badly?” Delaney waved her hand in front of her nose and stood downwind of me. I sniffed myself and didn’t pick up any sour milk smell.