24
24
CRAZY BITCH
O h Lord ! I was messing this up. I’m surprised Pete wasn’t throwing red flags on every play. I’m sure he was blaming it all on my pregnancy hormones. Gah! Pregnancy hormones: two words I didn’t want associated with me until I hit thirty. And had escaped The Academy. With Mikey. And now Andrew.
My chest burned with anger even as my stomach churned with anxiety. And morning sickness. Ugh. I crawled out of bed and stood watching the pale morning light settle on Pete’s slack face.
My heart squeezed with emotion. Tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to trace his face with my fingers, press myself into his warm, safe body, stay in bed and examine his marvelous mouth as it dropped funny clevers, and get mesmerized as his eyes sparked up when I laughed at his stories.
I held my breath as he stirred in his sleep, rearranging himself so that one of his arms was thrown above his head. His mouth was slightly ajar, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I knew if I curled up next to him that he’d automatically draw his arm around me and snuggle me closer so that his chest would become my pillow. And I would fall back asleep listening to his heartbeat and matching my breathing to his.
But I couldn’t afford to indulge today. Today was August 26, my birthday, and the last day of our vacation. The last day of—a sob broke loose, so I stuffed a fist in my mouth. I had a lot to do today and couldn’t afford to indulge. I scurried to the bathroom and stared at my sallow reflection and miserable eyes in the mirror.
This was not the face I wanted Pete to remember. I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. Then I slipped into one of his sweatshirts from the dirty clothes hamper and slipped into the kitchen. It was a sunny seven o’clock by the time my bacon and eggs fried in bacon grease roused him.
“Hey, birthday girl,” he greeted in that throaty morning voice I was going to miss more than the sunrise blooming behind our tree.
“Hey, yourself. Don’t get up!” I popped some bread in the toaster and poured him a cup of extra strong coffee doused with cream I’d warmed for him. “I’m comin’ to you.”
Pete folded a pillow over and stuffed it behind his head and watched me come. I had to turn my nose away because, inexplicably, coffee now smelled foul as a garbage disposal to my wonky senses. I handed him his cup with a generous smile.
“What’s all this?” he asked with an amused expression.
“Just a little cup of Joe.”
He took a sip. “Mmmmm. Just the way I like it. Come here, birthday girl, so I can thank you properly.”
I beamed at him and came in for a kiss. He beamed back and set his coffee on an architectural magazine he’d been flipping through last night. Something twisted in my stomach, but I kept my smile plastered. When I leaned over, he pulled me in and planted a long one on me.
“Mmmmmm. Just the way I like it,” I said.
He laughed and ran his hand up his sweatshirt. I was giggling until he touched a tender breast. I stiffened at the reminder and pushed him off. He frowned. Could not have that. So I fought back with a seductive smile, my hands roaming down to find that physiological burden of being a guy. Yep. His boxers were at full mast. I cupped him in my hand, eliciting a pleasure groan from him. His eyes closed, and he fell back into his pillow.
“You don’t have to,” he said so unconvincingly I had to laugh.
“I want to,” I said. “Yesterday mornin’ I was such a b—”
“Bi-atch,” he supplied.
My laugh sounded a little strangled. “I was goin’ for brat, but I think your word works better.”
His laugh turned into a moan while I kissed my way down his stomach. “Hey, Kate.” He pulled me up. “Take off your clothes—I want to see you.”
I stopped working his boxers down to make a face. “I’m already startin’ to get fat.”
He shook his head at me. “You’re already starting to get crazy. But not fat.”
“Hey!” I planted my hands on my hips. “Who’re you callin’ crazy?
He pulled me to him, running his hands up my thighs to cup my butt. “You.” He punctuated with a bruising kiss. “Never thought I’d be one of those guys who ends up with a crazy bitch!”
“You want one of these, right?” I reached for him again.
He grinned and pulled me into another kiss, flattening me against his chest until some of my firm resolve weakened. He slipped his hands here and there and everywhere, and the next thing you knew, we were doing it. He came inside me with a final growl and a shudder. Guess it didn’t matter now.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” He collapsed onto me. “I’ve missed this so much.”
“It’s only been three days,” I replied.
He rolled me over so that I was on top of him. “Still.” He smacked my bottom. “I feel like I’ve been tortured and abused.” He thumbed the goosebumps on the spot he’d just smacked, then ran long, tickling fingers up and down my back.
“Mmmmm. Feels like heaven,” I murmured, sinking into him. “I could fall asleep again.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I made breakfast for you and plan to serve it to you in bed to make up for bein’ such a biatch.”
“Shouldn’t it be the other way around today?” he interjected. “And you weren’t that bad yesterday. More like a frazzled kitty taking a swipe at me than anything else. Plus, you already apologized and were already forgiven. But if you want me to pretend to still be mad, so you can keep trying to make it up to me, then I’m all in.”
“Hmmmm?” I’d kind of fallen asleep during that whole one-sided convo. I was so tired; I really was.
He chuckled and rolled me over, covering me up with our love sheets. He stroked his hand from the top of my head to the bottom of my back a couple of times, just like a kitty. He kissed my head, then took his cup of Joe, his magazine, and himself to the kitchen to eat his cold breakfast. Meanwhile, I drifted back to sleep. Apparently, making a baby was exhausting work.
Crap! I bolted up. How long have I been sleeping? I examined the window shadows that doubled as a sundial. Aw, man! It was already well into the afternoon. I had so little time to prepare. I jumped out of bed. Please God, let him have left his laptop . I frantically scanned the room. Whew! It was lying on top of the desk. I nabbed it and fired it up even as I scrambled into the kitchen to find something to settle my stomach. I saw Pete had left a note for me on the island:
Went to go pick up a little something-something for the birthday girl. Be back around four.
XO Pete
I felt sick to my core and had to throw up. So I ran to go do that. Then dashed back to type in Pete’s password through tears: KatieKat123. Another sick pang, that wasn’t morning sickness, pummeled my abused stomach. I shouldn’t have told him about Ranger pirating my nickname; he didn’t need to know that. I really had been a biatch, to someone who didn’t deserve it less.
I drew in a deep breath, borrowed a notebook from my boyfriend, and spent the afternoon polishing off the last of the chips and salsa while taking diligent notes about our fantasy vacation. I started mapping our journey up from Mexico through San Antonio, working our way up in a straight-line north through Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, and Nebraska. I got us as far as Aberdeen, South Dakota, then stopped there, letting the trail end where imaginations would, hopefully, begin.
I Googled parks and campgrounds along the way and committed to memory seemingly insignificant details of our trip, like diners and landmarks we’d visited. I made phone calls on my burner to bed and breakfasts, asking for names and descriptions of employees and writing them down to commit to memory later. I clicked on a calendar and filled in dates, calculated travel times and expenses and fun little facts about each place we stopped. I transcribed it all in a tiny notebook I kept in my bag for grocery and to-do lists. Then I accidentally-on-purpose spilled Pete’s leftover coffee over it before laying it out in the sun to dry.
I was still on the phone to a front desk employee, giving our descriptions to plant a seed, when I heard the Jeep skid to a stop on gravel. Dang it! He was early. I hung up, logged out, shut down, snapped shut, slammed back, and just dove under the covers as the hup, hup, hup of happy feet on stairs could be heard.
“Birthday girl, I’m home!”
My heart felt like the one getting pummeled now. Pete burst through the door with an extravagant bouquet of pink tulips and a huge grin. My chest caved in, but I miraculously lifted my lips for the one that I loved.
“Hey there.” I tried a sleepy drawl that totally worked on account of my thick voice.
“He.” Pete’s smiled died on him. He tossed the bouquet onto the counter and came at me. “Are you feeling sick again?”
“No.” I sat up and pulled him to me. I hugged him and ran my hands across his shoulder blades and down his arms, breathing him in.
“Good,” he replied, giving me a swift kiss. He sat up and pulled me up with him. “Because I have a big night planned for you. This is a big milestone . . .” Pete petered out, after he got a gander at my face.
After I thanked him for bringing me my favorite flowers and we found a suitable jar that could double as a vase, we took a long stroll down our neighborhood streets, admiring the gracefully aged homes divided by toy-strewn driveways and trim hedges. The late afternoon sun bathed us in its glow as we leisurely made our way back to get ready for my big celebration. I hopped into the shower first, already knowing what my birthday wish was going to be: that this night would never end.