31. Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

“An expectant mother can almost always be assured of being the centre of attention at a gathering.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

W hen the three of us showed up at Coop’s restaurant, Emma showed us to the table in the back room. That’s another reason I thought Galileo might be a good choice—the private room in the back. There was always the possibility (certainty with Lacey here) that a group of women could quickly turn obnoxious, especially when there were copious amounts of wine involved and the prospect of X-rated gifts. I thought if we were tucked away in the back room, it might be nicer for the other diners.

Most of Brit’s guests were already there, seated with drinks in front of them, and Brit was greeted with hugs and tons of gift bags overflowing with coloured tissue paper. It was a combined shower/stagette since Brit is vehemently opposed to the potential cheesiness of the traditional bridal shower. Her aunt Claudia threw her one last month, and I was invited. Brit got an amazing amount of presents (enough to make me want to reconsider my whole not-wanting-to-get married idea), but the shower games we were forced to participate in almost took all the fun away from the gifts.

″So you’re having a baby?” Brit’s sister Lacey asked me first off, plopping into a chair beside Libby. There was a great deal of skepticism in her voice. I preferred to think of it as skepticism rather than disgust. Lacey turned to Libby. The two of them are the same age and used to be quite close when they were young. “Is she nuts? Oh, I forgot, you popped out a couple too, didn’t you?”

″I have two, yes.” From the frosty note in her tone, I could tell Libby was not keen on renewing her past friendship with Lacey anytime soon.

″Crazy. Who’s the guy?”

″A friend of mine,” I told her, reluctant to talk about J.B.

″Sucks you can’t drink,” Lacey laughed, filling up her glass from the bottle on the table. “Is he hot, at least?” Lacey’s been living in Vancouver for the last ten years, but within five minutes in her company, I could tell she hadn’t changed a bit from the annoying teenager I remember. Still selfish and self-centered, and now that she’s over thirty, she’s even more juvenile. Her outfit was something I would never be caught dead in, but since I’ve been shopping with Brit for years, I had no trouble recognizing the expensive quality and designer names. And I never would have believed it possible to walk upright in heels that high had I not seen her stride across the restaurant, the last to arrive.

″J.B. is hot and with a body to die for,” Libby cut in. Knowing Libby and her competitive nature the way I do, her comment was more of a jab than a piece of gossip. She was basically telling Lacey that her big sister (me) could pull a better-looking guy than Brit (Lacey’s big sister). Nice of her to be so biased toward me (J.B. is way cuter than Tom, by the way!) but I’d rather have the topic of me and J.B. swept right under the table and stepped on by all of the obviously expensive footwear. But it’s not meant to be. Lacey has a bone and wants to gnaw on it for a while.

″Maybe hot but doesn’t sound too bright. And you! Brit told me you wanted to get pregnant? That this was intentional? What’s that all about?”

″It wasn’t intentional, but it’s not unwanted,” I said shortly. I really didn’t want to get into it. Unfortunately most of the table—there were sixteen of us—seemed to be paying rapt attention to the conversation. And Lacey couldn’t stop laughing. Like a hyena, I think the saying is, and it’s true. I could even see some fangs come out, if hyenas have fangs. They have sharp teeth at least.

″So is this someone you were dating or just some guy you pulled off the street?” asked one of Brit’s friends from work. Not that it was any of her business.

″Did he ditch you when he got you knocked up?” I think that was from her neighbour .

″Apparently J.B. wants nothing to do with the baby,” Brit told the enthralled audience.

″J.B. will do the right thing,” Morgan defended him. “He’s just…”

″Scared shitless?” Libby asked dryly. “I’ve always thought he was a great guy, but really, the way he’s treating Casey, he’s proving to be an ass. This isn’t all Casey’s fault. It’s not like she did it on purpose.”

″How old are you anyway?” Lacey demanded. “It’s all fixable, you know. If you don’t want it—”

″Don’t tell Casey that,” Brit cut in. “Remember, she wants a baby. I try to tell her there’s no way she’ll ever find a husband—you’d think unmarried mothers were still pariahs these days—but she won’t listen. And since she was sleeping with J.B. for quite some time, it was bound to happen sooner or later.” No wonder her sister was giving me the third degree if this is how Brit talks about me!

″Thank you,” I told her sarcastically, which was, of course, lost on her.

″Oh, so he’s some sort of friend with benefits thing,” Lacey said knowingly. She winked at me lasciviously. “I’ve got a few of those tucked away myself. Of course, I’m not about to let one of them get me pregnant. But I thought you were going out with a gay guy?”

″I’m not dating anyone, actually,” I replied slowly.

″I didn’t say she was ‘dating’ him,” Brit hissed to Lacey. “I said she tried to get back together with him.” What? Why? Why is it my life that is being spread out in front of the table like some sort of tasty treat? I had no idea how to change the subject as younger sister Sierra picked up the interrogation.

″Did you know he was gay when you started having sex with him?” Definitely sex-obsessed.

″No,” I told her between gritted teeth. “And I wasn’t having sex with him. David and I went out a long time ago and recently bumped into each other again. That’s when he told me he’s gay.”

″He was gay when you went out with him?” Lacey asked, with her blue eyes as wide as they could be. I’m sure some women look sweet and innocent when they do the wide-eyed thing, but not Lacey. She looks feline, if hyenas can be feline. Nevertheless, I was wishing we hadn’t waited until Brit’s sisters got home to have this stupid stagette.

″Apparently, since most homosexuals are that way since birth.”

″But he was still in the closest? Or did he have a guy on the side?” Lacey persisted. I could clearly remember why I always went along with Brit’s torture of her sister. We used to dunk the heads of her Strawberry Shortcake dolls into Jell-o, so Strawberry would turn into Grape Girl. I wished I could dunk Lacey into something now.

″No. Yes. Isn’t it time for presents now?” I asked desperately. Lacey only laughed.

″It’s not my fault your life got really interesting. For years all I hear about is all these guys you’re going out with and now this. I have to say, all I wanted was to be you when I grew up, all the guys, all the partying. You’ve sort of been my inspiration. And Brit’s been keeping me posted, but in person is so much better. So dish. Who are you bringing to the wedding?”

I looked around, hoping to avert this discussion. I’m her inspiration? Sure, maybe I might have been considered a little wild in my twenties, but I’ve grown up now and don’t need the reminder. It’s been years since I considered myself a party girl, and there’s no way I was ever anything like Lacey! I wonder how… my eyes fixed on one of the wine bottles on the table. If I hit her over the head with an empty bottle, would Lacey stop talking?

I shifted uncomfortably (full bladder again) in my chair and made a motion toward the bottle.

Libby grabbed my wrist. “No,” she whispered, reading my mind in that scary sister way. “There’d be too much blood.”

I laughed out loud. “Can you believe it?” Lacey asked, thinking I’m laughing at another one of her stories. I’d hoped she’d given up on me. She was doing her best to claim the majority of the attention tonight, which resulted in a silent battle of wills between her and Brit. Forgetting about me for the moment, Lacey started regaling everyone with tales of the acting jobs she’d been on and the famous people she’d met. Frankly I don’t think drinks with Jared Leto is much to write home about (according to Us, who hasn’t he had drinks with?), but the others seemed enthralled. Of course, they’d had a lot more to drink than I had. Lacey was always a brat, but she’s become so self-absorbed and materialistic she makes Brit look caring and considerate.

Speaking of Brit, before dessert was served, Emma (who thankfully for her, was not our waitress tonight) poked her head into the private room and asked if everything was okay, and commented the chef would love to meet the guest of honour. So then, in came the executive chef, Jonas, and his arrival shifted the attention from Lacey as the whole table (even Brit’s mom!) prepared to pay lip service to him.

I’d met Jonas a few times, and while unarguably he’s a kick-ass chef, he’s also an arrogant asshole. He truly believes he’s God’s gift to women, which from the reaction of Brit’s friends (even her mom!), he might well be. I’m embarrassed to admit I once found him attractive, and there’s a story about me and him in the freezer that Cooper loves to bring up when he really wants to embarrass me, but Jonas does nothing for me these days. Tonight, all of his charms are focused on Brit. Maybe she’s right. Maybe all men do find her irresistible. There’s a great deal of laughter and hair-flipping by her until Jonas reluctantly heads back into his kitchen, where no doubt, Coop is up to his elbows preparing food that Jonas gets credit for. Another reason I can’t stand him.

″Brit! You’re getting married in two weeks!” one of her friends admonished her after Jonas—with a last look at Brit that’s as hot as his entrées—leaves.

But Brit never got a chance to respond, since Lacey realized she’d lost her audience, and with impeccable timing, turned back to me. “So who are you bringing to the wedding, Casey?” She twirled the dregs of her red wine in front of my face, just to torment me, I’m sure. “What are you doing for sex? I mean, obviously, you’ve had some—” she pointed to my stomach, eliciting laughter from a few, “but who are you dating? You used to always have the hottest guys. But now…”

I instantly picked up on her assumption that no one—hot or otherwise—would prefer me now. And I couldn’t help but think she was right. Sure, I’m cute and bouncy when I’m not exhausted, but I can’t compare to Lacey. Here I am dressed in the same halter dress I wore to Coop’s party because my boobs seem to have grown overnight and most of the tops I would wear out are a little too tight around the bosom for my liking—and here is Lacey, dressed in this season’s hottest pants and a low-cut, sleeveless top displaying her golden shoulders and super-toned arms.

“I’m not into dating right now, so I’m not bringing anyone to the wedding.” I didn’t intend to, but I came across sounding like a bad case of sour grapes. I could tell Lacey thought so too because I saw her raise a perfectly waxed eyebrow at Morgan. I know she waxes her eyebrows because earlier, while we were waiting for the appetizers to arrive, she told the table how she waxes every part of her body, including her nether region. In fact, she went on to describe the almost pleasurable agony one receives from the Brazilian wax.

When I glanced back toward Lacey, I had this horrible thought that I was looking at myself. Or how I used to be. Even on my worst days, it was not possible for me to be the bitch that Lacey was capable of being, but the lifestyle she was living—that was the same lifestyle I was happy with not very long ago. Oh, sure, Lacey does it better with her designer duds and her Jared Leto lunches, but how she irresponsibly cavorts through life, the string of casual relationships, the drinking, the partying—that was me. That was all me.

If I was so condescending toward Lacey, did that mean I was demeaning my own life? Well, not now, since I have cleaned up in the last few years. But the way I was before?

Looking around the long table littered with sixteen women, with an average age of thirty-three, I was guessing all of them were either married or planned to be soon. Well, maybe not Lacey. It’d take a brave man to take her on. Libby was telling some story about Luke, and Brit was basking in the glow of being almost married. Everyone had someone. I’d never before felt the profound weight of being a single woman.

″Have you thought about throwing a paternity suit against the father?” one of Brit’s coworkers asked me suddenly. I was not sure if she’d just awakened or something, but the last thing I wanted was to discuss my life any longer.

″No,” I snapped. “Things are fine. J.B. is fine with everything—he even asked me to marry him.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to suck them back in.

The transformation of Brit was fascinating to watch. She was sitting across from me, so there was no way she didn’t hear me. Her eyes went huge, and she gasped loudly, almost like she was trying to inhale all of the available oxygen in the room. “Casey!” she exhaled. “You should be mortified that you are announcing your engagement at my party, but I’m just so happppeeee !“she shrieked. ” Omygod !”

″Why didn’t you tell us?” Morgan gasped, clapping her hands with glee.

″Why didn’t you tell me?” Libby demanded.

″I said no,” I whispered, wishing I could sink under the table.

“Whaaat?” Brit screamed so loudly I was afraid for the wine glasses on the table. “You said no?”

″Why?” Morgan breathed .

″You idiot,” Libby put in.

I threw up my hands. “I don’t want him to feel obligated to marry me,” I told them.

″But what if he wants to marry you?” Morgan demanded.

″He doesn’t. Maybe someday, but he doesn’t now.”

″How can you tell?”

″I just can,” I said lamely. “Can we please change the subject?”

Brit gave me a look like she was washing her hands of the whole thing, but I knew that was not possible and that this wasn’t the last I’d hear about it. “Well, I hope you’ll acknowledge your stupidity when you’re forty years old—alone–and pushing a baby stroller. Alone.” And luckily, that was the last she said about it that night.

But after dessert, when most of the girls were discussing going to J.B.’s club, I quietly said my goodbyes to Brit and Morgan, claiming fatigue and an overwhelming urge to throw up. I knew Brit wasn’t happy, but Morgan smoothed it out for me, giving my belly a pat and telling me there’d be time enough to party when I wasn’t pregnant anymore. Morgan didn’t say anything about my impromptu announcement, but she didn’t meet my eyes either. I could tell she thought I was making a huge mistake.

But I’m not, I kept reassuring myself. J.B. just got me pregnant—I’m not about to trap him into a marriage he doesn’t want. We don’t have to be married to raise a baby together.

Libby left with me, and as we walked to the lot where I parked my car, we idly discussed the evening.

″Lacey’s turned into such a bitch,” she exclaimed.

I had to agree. I was very glad the day was finally over.

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