Thoughts of Mike and Dylan flooded her as she allowed that tiny little sexual thought to creep in. The pregnancy books talked about the magic second trimester, morning sickness gone and hormones aplenty making the mother horny. Laura got too much amniotic fluid and – bonus! – too much libido. Overdrive libido.
The kind that can only be satisfied by two men.
Leaving the bathroom, she was greeted by Josie. “Sheri had another patient. Said to schedule a follow-up in three weeks and not to worry.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Easier said than done, I know. Let's check out and get some lunch. How about Jeddy's?” Josie asked as Laura approached the desk.
“Pfft.”
“What? It's good food?”
“First I'm not your type, and now you want to drag me back there?”
The receptionist interrupted them, quickly scheduling Laura's next appointment. Josie held the door open as Laura exited. “Good food! Peanut butter cake...”
Any other day and Laura would have been all over it, memories of Mike and Dylan there be damned. The weight of the appointment's news felt like a lead burden spread through her body. Sleep was what she needed now, much more than good food.
“I'm really tired,” she said, handing her car keys to Josie. “Can you drive?” Josie grabbed the keys, climbed in the front seat, and moved the seat forward a good foot. Laura carefully twisted to settle into the passenger seat, moving it back a foot or so.
Deep breath. As Josie maneuvered the car from Wellesley to Somerville, she perked up, Energy came back. Suddenly, Jeddy's sounded really good. Besides, if she went home it would be her and the cats, and they just hid and wanted food. Josie was a marginally better conversationalist than Miss Daisy, anyhow.
“How about Jeddy's?”
“You bit my head off when I suggested it.”
“I changed my mind. Blame the hormones.”
“You never had pregnancy hormones before when you couldn't make a decision.”
“I'm milking this pregnancy for as many excuses as I can.”
“So does that include excusing why you're depriving this baby's father of the right to know about it – excuse me, her – and be part of her life?”
Ouch. Josie hopped on the turnpike and flew through the EZPass tollbooth. The little green light mocked Laura. Green for go. Go tell them. Tell them now.
They have a daughter.
Daughter.
Uh, no. One of them has a daughter. One.
“I don't know what to do, Josie. How am I supposed to tell them I'm pregnant?”
“You say 'I'm pregnant.'” They had been fighting about this for the past three months, ever since that day in her apartment when the test was positive. Josie insisted the men had the right to know; Laura insisted she needed more time.
“You don't understand.” Tall wooden retainer walls lined one side of the pike, while the commuter train moved in the opposite direction on the left, making Laura a bit disoriented.
“Understand what it's like to be pregnant? No. Understand that you are lying to them? Yes.”
“It's not...” Laura couldn't even cry about this anymore. Waiting had made it harder, each day, to consider telling them. She wasn't heartless. At some point she'd let them know. Then they could face the question of which man was the father. Cringing at the thought, she turned away from Josie and pressed her forehead against the cool window glass.
Silence. Laura tried to explain, her forehead flattening and the pain of pressing it, hard, somehow helpful. “After what Ryan did, I just figured I was damaged goods. That I send out vibes that draw demented jerks. And then here come Dylan – and Mike! – and it seemed too good to be true.”
Traffic slowed suddenly as they drove under the hotel that stretched, literally, across the pike. “So when the guys double-teamed me at Mike's place, and then seemed to laugh about it, it felt like I was being suckered. So I ran away, then I let them back in. God, they were so convincing.”
“Laura.” Josie's voice was so mature and wise it made Laura close her eyes. She knew what came next. Josie moved over into the left lane to get off the pike at the split. “You are Ryan right now.”
OK, not what she expected. “What?” she shrieked, outraged.
“Ryan kept critical information from you about a life-altering fact that made moving forward impossible.” Josie stayed left and kept her eyes on the road, though she sighed. “And you are doing the same thing to Dylan and Mike. They have no idea that one of them is going to be a father in four months. And you are making it impossible for the father of your daughter to go forward, to step up and do the right thing, to have a role in raising her.”
“I'm not Ryan!”
“You are totally Ryan.” Laura knew they were close to Jeddy's; she started drooling at the thought of their asiago cheese foccacia with chipotle maple sausage.
“Ryan,” Laura practically screamed, “lied about having a wife for nearly a year. He talked about marrying me. He created an entire relationship with me that was permanently hopeless and never, ever possible.” How dare Josie compare the two? In fact, she was the one who had been lied to again by Mike and Dylan!
“Look,” Josie said flatly, pulling into a parking space and rummaging for quarters. Laura opened the glove box and pulled out a roll, the paper unraveling from earlier parking jobs.
Josie interrupted herself. “Jesus, you're organized!”
“How hard is it to go to the bank and get a roll of quarters?”
Josie got out of the car and shouted, “How hard is it to tell the two men you were sleeping with that one of them might be the dad?”
“Uh, not even close?” Laura sputtered, grabbing the edge of the car door and hauling herself up and out. Two women walking a gold retriever stood, staring at her belly, mouths forming perfect little “O”s, one with short salt-n-pepper hair, the other with a shaved head and the wilted look of recent chemo treatments.
Laura wanted to crawl into a hole. Josie looked over, saw the scene, and came to her rescue. As well she should, since she'd dumped her into this fiasco. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at the women, throwing an arm around Laura, guiding her to the Jeddy's entrance. “Haven't you ever seen lesbians go to desperate measures to conceive?”
“Isn't that what sperm banks are for?” one of them muttered.
“Hater,” Josie threw over her shoulder, spiriting Laura in.
“Lame-o,” Laura said, shaking her head. “You're losing your touch.” Josie growled at her, baring her teeth. Madge appeared, looking older and shrunken, as if she possessed no fluid whatsoever under her skin.
From Laura's face to Josie's face to Laura's stomach, Madge took them in. Pointing to Laura's belly, she said, “Fat or pregnant?”
“Alien baby.”
Madge hacked out a laugh. “Which one?”
“Which alien?” Now Laura was confused.
“No – which guy? The Italian Stallion or the viking?” She led them to the only clean table in the place. It was slammed.
“Actually, the baby is mine,” Josie interjected. “New technology.”
“Yeah?” Madge rasped. “If any woman's got balls, it'd be you.”
“Can't be yours,” Laura protested. “I'm not your type, remember?” she said with a bit more snap than she'd intended.
Madge spun her hand in a circular gesture. “I ain't got all day. Same thing you ordered last time?”
“I want that foccacia. And everything we ordered last time.”
“Eating for two,” Madge mumbled as she poked her handheld device and sped away. Josie looked around and seemed to take in the crowded place.
“Nothing like it was in the early morning.”
“You can see how they stay in business,” Laura marveled.
“How does that old woman work midnight shift and lunch?”
“Not human.” Laura's stomach jumped as some odd muscle spasm took hold of her abdomen.
“You OK?” Josie asked, leaping to her feet. “You look like something ripped inside.”
“No, no, I'm fine,” Laura gasped. As she looked down to examine her belly she felt it again, a little spasm and then it was as if something in her moved. Kicked.
“Oh, my God! Josie! The baby. She's moving!” Laura pressed her hand to her belly and felt it, a little kick or a somersault that made the uterus feel slick and weird inside, as if a pocket of gas spirited itself from one side of her h*ps to the other.
Fluttering. Nothing. A flimmer, like tiny swimming flippers inside her, moving slowly.
Josie sat down next to her and planted her hands on either side of Laura's belly, frozen in place and staring at nothing, just anticipating. Then she shrieked, “I felt it!”, eyes wide and amazed. From a proud grin to tears, her face morphed into a mask of emotion, gasping and overcome.
“It's real.” Her eyes met Laura's and she flung her arms around Laura's neck, the two separated by the baby.
“It's been real for a while,” Laura cracked, her voice filled with emotion.
“Not for me. I'm not living it. This?” she said, touching Laura's belly, palm flat against it, waiting. “This makes it real.” Grinning like a fool, Josie wouldn't let up, her hands pressing to catch another movement.
Madge appeared with their coconut shrimp. She stared at their position. “Get a room, you two.” And off she went, speed walking.
Josie shouted, “That's what got her in this condition in the first place!” and abandoned Laura's belly. Coconut shrimp vs. feeling baby move? No contest, apparently.
And Laura had to agree. The shrimp was about as mouth orgasmic as you could get, and lately this was as orgasmic as she got. First trimester nausea had depressed her sex drive, but by week seventeen she'd emerged, scathed and emotionally battered by morning sickness, so grateful it retreated that she didn't care complain about anything else. Within weeks, though, the second trimester horndog impulse kicked in.
She needed to buy stock in Duracell. The baby's college fund would go to batteries at this rate. There were moments she weakened and wanted to call Dylan and Mike just to f**k them and then send them home, needing the satiety of having these urges and constant arousal expunged, even for a few brief hours.
None of the pregnancy books warned her that she would be engorged twenty-four/seven, that she would want to be touched and manhandled and f**ked and to come and come and come until drained, then bounce right back up and be ready for more, face flushed and tissues eager. Even in her late teens she'd never had a drive like this; if pregnancy turned her into the female equivalent of a sex-crazed eighteen-year-old boy by week nineteen, she was going to have a crater where her cl*t should be by the thirtieth week.
Or it would secede and go join one of the cat's bodies, claiming sovereignty and a new p**sy. Fucking anything that walked wasn't what she wanted; most nights she spent an hour after masturbating thinking about Dylan and Mike, wondering how it had all gone so very wrong, and brooding over what she knew she needed to do.
And now? It really was time to tell them. Her fingers sought out the photos of the ultrasound, stuck carefully in the outer pocket of her purse. Josie was right – this was real. Reality meant being the stronger, better woman she had deep within and doing what was best for her daughter.