Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelv e

Mothers should be often reminded that there are subjects other than their children that should be used in conversation.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

“ T his place is amazing,” Morgan sighs as she sinks onto the bed we’re sharing. Because this is Brit’s weekend, she gets the bedroom to herself. “I’m jealous that you got time here by yourself.”

″J.B. convinced me. He said time by myself would be good, and he was right.”

Morgan grimaces. “I hate to admit it, but isn’t he usually?”

″Yes,” I mimic Morgan’s sigh. “It’s annoying.”

″Kids are okay with him? ”

″Loving it.” Quickly I tell her about Ben’s goal. Brit is in the bathroom, showering off the “flight smell” before our evening out so Morgan and I are able to talk about the kids without her freaking out.

Brit has already told us twice that there is to be no “kid-talk” this weekend.

″Yay, Benny. But Casey, this is exactly what I was afraid of. Carson is going to start talking and I’m going to miss it. I’ve already texted my mother four times since the plane got in.

″Without Brit noticing?”

Morgan grins. “I’m very sneaky about it.”

With perfect timing, my cell chimes an incoming FaceTime call. “You can’t be sneaky with that ringtone,” Morgan laughs as I fumble for my phone.

″Hi, babe.” J.B.’s smiling face greets me. “Is this a bad time?”

″No, it’s perfect.” I glance over my shoulder. Hopefully, Brit will be in the shower for a few more minutes.

″The kids wanted to say goodnight.” Instantly his face is replaced by my little angels squashed together with each trying to get the most screen time.

″Goodnight, Momma!” Sophie cries. She’s holding the phone, but only half of her face is showing. Ben and Lucy hover over her shoulders. “I love you!”

″I love you, Momma,” Ben says. His eyes widen with excitement. “I got a goal.”

″I know,” I smile, blinking back the tears that threaten at the sight of their faces. “I’m so proud of you.”

″I didn’t hit anyone this time,” Sophie chimes in. “But I wanted to because some kid tripped Lucy.”

″I tripped him back,” Lucy adds. “So Sophie wouldn’t hit him. ”

″What kind of soccer league do they play in?” Morgan laughs. I turn the phone to show her sitting on the bed.

″Morgan?”

″Morgan!”

″Where’s Carson? Did she come with you?”

″How come she got to come when we couldn’t?” Sophie demands.

″Because she’s a baby and we’re not,” Ben explains to his sister.

″Did you hear we’re having a baby?” Lucy cries.

What?

″What?” My shock echoes in Morgan’s expression.

″No one is having a baby. The only thing happening now is that you three need to go to bed,” I say weakly.

″Wait, I didn’t get to say goodnight,” Lucy shrieks.

Three rounds of goodnights and I love yous to me, a round of good nights to Morgan and many blown kisses later, J.B. finally takes back the phone.

″I didn’t tell her to say that,” he says quietly.

″I’ll deal with you later ,” I threaten. “Good luck getting them to sleep.”

″Have fun whatever you do tonight,” he says. “Morgan, keep her out of trouble.”

″We’re hitting the town tonight,” Morgan promises. “But first, we’re going to have a little chat about this baby thing.”

“It’s not a thing,” I mutter. I say goodnight to J.B., and blow him kisses, as affectionate as the kids were. As soon as I end the call, Morgan is staring at me with accusing eyes.

″Are you pregnant?” she hisses.

″No.”

″But Lucy says– ”

″Lucy wants a baby. Apparently, all the kids do.” I take a deep breath. “And so does J.B.,” I announce dramatically, with a glance over my shoulder at the door to make sure Brit isn’t within hearing distance.

Morgan leans forward. “When did this happen?”

″The day after Brit told us about this trip, so I’ve had a bit on my mind. I was going to tell you–”

″When we got home,” she finishes. “But J.B. wants one? Him, not you?”

″Yes, him . I’ve never even thought about it. Maybe I’ve thought it, but I’ve never said it,” I confess.

Morgan’s eyes light up with excitement. “Are you going to have another? Because then Carson will be the big girl to someone!”

This makes me instantly regret telling her. I want someone to tell me I’m crazy, not get me excited enough to toss out the birth control pills when I get home. “I don’t know.”

″It’s a no-brainer. You love kids, Casey, and if J.B. wants more too–”

“I don’t know. I’m used to three, but four seems a lot. And what if–?” I flop face-first on the bed.

″You have triplets again?” Morgan finishes for me.

″Exactly,” I say as I roll to my side. “It’s something I really have to think about because it’s a pretty good possibility that I’ll have more than one. I can’t say anything to Brit about it because she’ll have a fit and say my kids are ruining her weekend.”

″Then we better keep quiet because the water has stopped.” She beams at me. “Another baby.”

″You really think it’s a good idea? You don’t think I’m too old?”

″You’re not even forty-two. Gwen Stefani was older than that. And so was Halle Berry and…You’re not thinking of that book again, are you?”

A Young Woman’s Guide to Impending Pregnancy had been my bible since my mother passed it to me in my twenties. It has a lot of great tips and advice, despite being written in 1942 by a quack of a doctor who believed women over thirty-seven should not conceive. It caused a great deal of stress when I turned thirty-five, but some could say it was the catalyst to me getting pregnant. It sounds better than saying a drunken night and an expired condom got me pregnant.

I don’t have time to answer Morgan before Brit bursts out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel and frowns when she sees Morgan and me still on the bed where she left us. “Aren’t you ready?” she cries.

″You’re not,” I point out.

″Five minutes,” she promises.

To give Brit credit, nine minutes later the three of us are standing on the terrace with glasses in our hands watching the Bellagio fountain rise and fall in a rainbow of colours. The setting sun is a beacon for the lights of The Strip to come alive.

″I’ve never seen anything like this,” I marvel.

″Glad you came?”

I glance over, the setting sun softening Brit’s face. She worked wonders in those nine minutes, reapplying her makeup, and a quick fix of her hair. Her red pencil skirt and sleeveless blouse are a little formal for me but does a great job highlighting her figure. No extra baby weight there.

″I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I push away any thoughts of my earlier reluctance. J.B. was right once again. I need to be here.

″I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Brit admits in a low voice. “It would have seemed wrong if you weren’t able to come.”

Touched, I lean my head on her shoulder, vowing to give my oldest friend my full attention. The kids are fine tucked in back home with J.B. This is my time–mine and Brit’s–to celebrate her happiness .

″To us,” Morgan says loudly, holding up her glass. “To having fun and leaving responsibilities at home.”

It’s like she can read my mind. Morgan’s good like that.

″To us,” I second, clinking my glass against hers.

Our first stop in Brit’s Weekend to Remember–my name for it, not hers–is the first of many bars in the hotel. It’s called The Study with a casual, library vibe which I love, but Brit dismisses. We have a glass of champagne and the waitress tells us about the other bars in the hotel.

″You really don’t have to leave the hotel,” she says. “There’s so much to do here.”

Next stop is dinner at Estiatorio Milo.

″This is nice,” I say as I glance critically at the tables. “Good space, but Thrice has a better atmosphere; a few of the mains dishes can compare to what Cooper can do at Thrice , but the wine list here is amazing.” I make a mental note to help J.B. with that.

When I work at the restaurant, it’s as an unofficial sommelier. Before the kids came along, I used to supplement my teaching salary by working in a wine store, so even bartender J.B. admits that I know my stuff.

Brit scoffs at my blasé comment. “You’re seriously comparing this place to Cooper’s restaurant? This is a world-class place in Las Vegas.”

″And Thrice is number six of Toronto’s top restaurants; Toronto is also a world-class city, in case you haven’t noticed. I think Cooper would do well for himself here. ”

″I can totally see J.B. behind the bar at that Vesper bar the waitress told us about,” Morgan cuts in.

”He’d love the James Bond vibe,” I agree. “He’s teaching the kids how to make martinis. Says it’s a life skill. Lucy says–”

Brit sets her Lychee martini on the table a little harder than necessary. Once again, she’s matched her drink to her nail polish. “We’re not talking about the kids tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next night. This weekend is for the over-eighteen crowds only.”

Before I can comment with words I most likely will regret, Brit continues, turning to me with a vulnerable expression that I don’t normally see. “I want this weekend to be like when we were younger. After we graduated when we didn’t have responsibilities. When we could do whatever we wanted and didn’t have to explain ourselves. Before boyfriends, or husbands, or kids. When it was just the three of us.” Brit turns to include Morgan and then back to me. “Who knows when we can do this again? I want it to be just us this weekend, just like it used to be.”

I meet Morgan’s gaze, both of us surprised at Brit’s pleading tone. “I don’t remember a time before boyfriends,” Morgan says. “You two never had anyone serious, but I had Anil for years–”

″I can’t believe you let him come to your wedding after they broke up,” I accuse Brit.

″I can’t believe how you ruined my wedding by getting into a fight with his new girlfriend,” Brit shot back at Morgan.

″She started it.” Morgan grins. “But I definitely finished it.”

The moment passes and we start talking about Brit’s weddings–never her marriages, but the memorable parts of her wedding days. Like during her second wedding, when her sister Sierra smoke a little too much weed before the ceremony. It was like a remake of the wedding scene from Sixteen Candles , where the sister takes the muscle relaxant and chats to the guests on the way down the aisle. Sierra did more than chat; she touched, she hugged, she grabbed the crotch of one of Brick’s friends.

Brit’s third wedding was smaller, with only Morgan and I as attendants.

″I haven’t heard much of your wedding plans,” Morgan says as we’re served our first courses. “What more do you have to do?”

Brit picks up one of her oysters and slurps it down before answering. “Not a lot. I’ve been focused on this weekend.”

″What’s Justin doing for his bachelor party?” I ask, taking a fork to my shrimp but eyeing Brit’s plate. I forgot how much I love Rockefeller oysters.

″We’re not talking about Justin because if we talk about him, you’ll start talking about J.B., and that will lead back to the kids,” Brit says with an edge to her voice. ” Just us. ″

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ll make sure I don’t mention him if you give me one of your oysters.”

″Get your own oysters.” Brit slurps down a second one.

″Trade you for two of my shrimp,” I offer.

″Deal.”