30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
“The excitement of a pregnancy often overshadows the exhaustion of the first trimester.”
A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood
Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)
I met with Brit and Morgan Monday night. The only thing I said to them about J.B. was that we had a talk and he seemed to be okay with the baby thing now. Morgan was happy for me, but of course, Brit started muttering about marriage and never finding another man. I was glad I hadn’t told them he actually proposed. If that’s what it was. Half-assed attempt, if you ask me. But still… it was nice to know I’m not alone in this now.
The three of us ironed out plans for Brit’s stagette. The wedding was a month away, and it was time to start the celebration. I just wished I felt more like a party.
A surprise party wasn’t an option since Brit made that perfectly clear back when she and Tom first got engaged. And there was not much to plan, since Brit knew exactly what she wanted with everything concerned with this wedding. I wondered if Tom got a say in anything. I know Brit suggested golf as a way for him to start his bachelor party.
Anyway, Brit came up with the idea for her perfect bachelorette party before she even got engaged. She wanted a whole day of togetherness, with the three of us shopping at her favourite stores in the morning; followed by a quick lunch at her favourite Thai restaurant; on to her favourite spa for facials, manicures, and massages; and then dinner at the private room at Coop’s restaurant, which isn’t quite her favourite, but she likes it and I do have some pull, which comes in handy making reservations for sixteen. She even has a guest list ready, with phone numbers and e-mails included.
We decided to have the stagette two weeks before the wedding—which was going to be on the Saturday of the Labour Day weekend—because both of Brit’s sisters would be in the city then. Lacey lives in Vancouver, and Sierra, the younger, had been traveling in Europe for the summer before she headed to graduate school.
I was officially sharing the role of maid of honour with Morgan when it came to planning the party, mainly because she’s so much better at it than I am. At least I had more of an idea of what Brit wanted than her sister Lacey does. Lacey is still quite the party girl, living it up in Vancouver, working part-time as an actress. She’s been e-mailing me for weeks with suggestions for the hen party, which is what she calls it.
Anyway, over the last few weeks, Lacey’s given me some of the more traditional ideas (male strippers), the supernatural suggestion (a coven of Wiccans will brew a love potion for Brit to ensure a happy marriage), and the exotic (some guy teaching us how to give the best blow job ever). Not that it would be useful for Brit, because in her words, and I quote, “There’s no way in hell I’m ever being caught kneeling between a guy’s legs. He’d have to go down on me for a good long time to have me be suitably grateful enough to do that.” So we were just going with Brit’s own idea. It’s always easier that way.
The day of the stagette arrived, and I met Morgan and Brit, as instructed, in front of Pottery Barn in Yorkville. We managed to do quite a bit of damage in quite a few stores. I was even pleasantly surprised by Brit allowing me to enter BabyGap. I couldn’t help buying something from the store, even though I was still days away from being three months.
It seems there’s this magical thing that occurs at the end of the first trimester for some women. All of a sudden they’re allowed to start talking about their pregnancy like it’s just happened. Sure, I understand about the threat of miscarriage and everything and I’m definitely not going to start telling the world even when I’m eight and a half months along, but the way I look at it, I’m pregnant and very happy to be so. I’m going to enjoy every moment of it, and if something happens, God forbid, then I’ll deal with it then. I don’t want to be afraid to be excited about my baby.
Anyway, I ended up buying a little sleeper from BabyGap with little yellow ducks and a hat to match. It’s very gender-neutral. Right now I was very ambivalent about finding out the sex of the baby, but that might change.
Brit spent an absolute fortune in a very short time (not in BabyGap though), and Morgan didn’t do too badly either. Of course, it’s not that difficult when you have their salaries. I was in a buying mood despite my much smaller bank balance, but it was really frustrating wanting to buy a pair of end-of-season Capri pants, knowing I wouldn’t be able to fit in them for much longer. I bought them anyway. There’s always next summer, right? Brit’s new gesture of tolerance and acceptance did not extend to browsing in maternity wear. But it was a nice day even though I used the lunch break to throw up. The bathroom in the Thai restaurant was absolutely disgusting and made me vomit a second time, although I didn’t mention that to the waitress, who was very attentive to us when she noticed Brit’s mountain of shopping bags.
The visit to the spa that afternoon was to die for—I even enjoyed the manicure and the pretty pearly pink my nails were painted. And my toes had never looked so nice. I was cleansed, exfoliated, something wonderful was done to my pores and then I almost fell asleep under the firm administration of Olga, the masseuse. One of my recurring fantasies involves Pedro, the horny massage therapist who can’t control his raging libido when confronted by my nakedness under the thin cotton sheet, but I was thankful Olga didn’t seem interested in making that fantasy a reality. But that’s way off-topic. There was no use thinking about Pedro or any fantasy since I had no one but me to scratch that particular itch. Despite the lackluster “proposal,” I doubted J.B. would want to come near me for a good long time. Look what happened last time!
After the spa, I was almost too relaxed (read tired) to continue with the evening, but Brit and Morgan were raring to go. I drove—since I was the only one who was guaranteed not to be drinking. I don’t like being the DD. I’d never done it before. We headed to Coop’s restaurant Galileo to meet up with the rest of the party. As soon as I left the parking lot where I’d left my car for the day, Brit grabbed her cell phone from her trendy little purse and called Tom, who was having his own bachelor party tonight.
″Is Anil there?” Morgan demanded as soon as Brit hung up, first making Tom say he loved her and promised to be good.
″Of course. I’m sorry, Morgan, but they are friends.”
″How is he?” Morgan sounded a little too eager for news of Anil for my liking. I met Brit’s eyes.
″Why do you care?” Brit asked without an iota of sympathy .
“Because… because I don’t. I’m just curious. It’s hard not to wonder.” When I glanced in the backseat, I saw Morgan staring out the window.
″What happened with Derek?″ I asked warily, taking pity on her. She did spend years with Anil and was doing her best to get over him. “I thought you had dinner with him.” Morgan gave a sigh. “What happened?” I groaned. “I should have known my mother would pick a man with an asshole brother. I wish she’d never introduced you.”
″No, no, there’s nothing of an asshole about him,” Morgan protested.
″Then what—”
″Who are we talking about?” Brit interrupted.
“Derek,” Morgan and I said together. “The brother of the man my mother is engaged to marry,” I added, trying to stifle my distaste for the idea.
″He’s a great guy, nice and smart and caring and considerate,” Morgan told us eagerly. “And I can talk to him about anything and everything, and we talk all the time. The main problem is that he doesn’t want to be the rebound guy.”
″Well, he would be,” Brit put in bluntly. “You haven’t been with anyone since Anil. It’s like you’re stuck in a rut, just licking your wounds. I mean, there are a ton of guys—”
″Brit, it hasn’t been that long,” I chided her. “They were together for six years. How would you feel if you and Tom broke up?”
″Well, that’s not going to happen, since we’re getting married in two weeks,” she reminded me cheekily. “And I’d be too busy worrying about going to prison for murder, since I would plan on making the bastard suffer greatly if he ever treated me like Anil treated you.”
″So Derek doesn’t want to be rebound guy,” I said hastily, trying to get the subject away from suffering and Anil’s misuse of Morgan. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Morgan said shyly, and when I glanced in the mirror at her, I thought she was blushing a little, “Derek thinks we have a future together but wants to hold off because I may still have unresolved feelings for Anil.”
″And do you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
″I don’t know. Probably. Derek says I need to explore these feelings so that I can exorcise—”
″Exercise?” Brit interrupted again .
″Ex-or-cise. Rid myself of the ghost of Anil. However I need to. I’m supposed to do this, and then give it a try with Derek.”
″There’s something to strive for,” I muttered, wishing I could sound more encouraging.
″Is that why it’s suddenly all Anil, all the time? You haven’t mentioned him in weeks,” Brit demanded.
″I’m just trying to resolve my feelings,” Morgan said defensively. “Instead of trying to ignore he exists, I thought I would focus on Anil and try to talk myself out of being in love with him. If I still am.”
″That’s fine, that’s fine,” I told her. Interesting logic, I thought to myself. Not sure I’d go that route, but if it works, it might be something to think about to get J.B. out of my head. “Good luck. I’ll try to get over the nightmare of you resolving all over my possible future step-uncle.”
″No more talk of relationships other than mine!” Brit barked.
″Yes, sir,” I muttered.
″And no more baby talk. I let you talk enough about this baby this morning. Need I remind you tonight is all about me? Me, me, me!” she sang.
″No, you don’t have to remind us,” I grinned.
″Be nice, Brit, ’cause if you piss us off, the pregnant one is likely to throw a glass of water on you!” Morgan threatened with a giggle.
″Don’t tempt me. I’m still hormonal.”
″Well, if you try that tonight, you’re definitely out of the wedding party,” Brit said, and I could tell she was not exactly joking. How long is it until this wedding is over?