Chapter Twenty-Eight
THE ITCH
LAKE
I shook my head. “Baby.”
She rolled her eyes and tucked her leg under her as she sat at my kitchen table across from me. “A little red wine is good for baby and good for mama, that’s assuming you’re even pregnant. Please tell me you’ve considered the real possibility that you’re not actually pregnant.”
“I have, but I have this really strong feeling that I am.”
“Nausea?”
I shook my head.
“Overly tired?”
I shrugged. “Well, no more than normal.”
“Tender, swollen breasts?”
Head shake.
“Missed period?”
I rolled my eyes. “This just happened yesterday.”
“Exactly, honey. Feeling schmeeling. Take it from the expert.” Penny jabbed a thumb at her chest. “It’s not as easy to get pregnant as you think. If it were … I’d have twenty kids.” She smirked. “With twenty different fathers.”
“But we had it twice. That’s a lot of sperm and they can live in my cervical fluid for three to five days.”
“First, stop bragging about being nailed to the pantry door twice.”
I giggled, shaking my head.
“And second, I think you need to stay off the internet. Google porn, my-young-sexy-quarterback-screwing friend. Don’t Google the lifespan of sperm.”
I stared into my boring glass of water. “It’s so weird.
We’ve been dating for three months and we could be having a baby together.
My friend Lindsay will call me irresponsible.
She abides by the time rule. No insta-love.
Every event in life should be properly spaced on a timeline.
She doesn’t understand how coming so close to death changes all of that.
Time is too precious to waste. I don’t want to plan. I want to live.”
“I hear ya, honey. But be prepared … you’re both pretty high right now.
There’s nowhere to go but down. Try to bring yourself back to the surface before life does it for you.
Living comes with so much heartache, especially for those of us who really live.
” She winked. “But’s it’s worth it, even when you’re up late reading porn while your husband snores and releases SBDs, the kind that burn your lungs and make your eyes water. The kind you can actually taste.”
My nose scrunched. “No.”
“Yes, ma’am. Not gonna sugarcoat it for you.
Those pheromones that you crave? The ones that conceal garlic breath, armpit odor, and SBDs?
You become immune to their power, and then you’re left with one stinky son of a bitch.
Don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t mean that you don’t still love the stinky SOB, it just means it takes so much more than a look to wet your pussy.
It takes a full moon, a recent shower, a bottle of cologne, a gallon of mouth wash, and at least three glasses of wine …
oh, and a bottle of lube.” Penny sighed. “Damn hormones.”
“That’s so …” I grimaced because that was my “delusional” life with Cage. It only took one look, and I honestly couldn’t remember thinking he was stinky. I even loved—craved—his sweat after a workout.
“Life, honey. It’s just life. I never promised Rupert forever …
not even in our wedding vows. I think the chances of going to my grave as his wife are pretty damn good at this point, but if not, I know we’ll end it amicably.
I don’t really believe humans are meant to mate for life.
I think that behavior is for animals who survive on instinct, not reason. ”
“And does he agree?”
“Absolutely. After all, I’m his second wife.”
“I’m … speechless. My parents still do it like rabbits.”
Penny shrugged. “Maybe they’re the exception. Or maybe they enjoy recreational drugs.”
“I doubt my parents …” I bit my lip and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Hmm, you could be right.”
“Everyone has their own story.” She winked and I knew she was referring to my “story” with Cage. “Make yours memorable. That’s the best you can hope for.”
“And if I’m pregnant?”
Penny chuckled a bit before finishing the last of her wine. “It’s a crazy plot twist. That I can guarantee you.”
Were we ready for a plot twist?
After therapy with Penny, I did some laundry and packed for my trip to San Francisco to meet with Thaddeus for a new fitting. Cage texted every chance he got to see how I was feeling. It was sweet and a little unnerving at the same time. Could I handle nine months of constant checking up on me?
There was a soft knock at my door. I checked the peephole, blinking several times before seeing the pint-sized figure with pigtails.
“Shayna! Hi sweetie, where’s—” As soon as Jamie appeared at Everson’s door I squinted my eyes. “Playing cops and robbers?” I inspected his bandana-covered face, kitchen goggles, and vinyl gloves. “Or did you clog the toilet?”
“Have you had chicken pox?” he asked.
“Um … yeah. Why?”
Shayna pulled up her shirt, exposing her torso dotted with red, blistered spots. “I didn’t eat chicken.”
I smiled. “Of course you didn’t.”
“I haven’t had them. Haven’t had the vaccine either,” Jamie mumbled behind the bandana.
“A nanny who hasn’t had the chicken pox. That’s crazy.”
He shrugged. “Most kids are vaccinated. Flu vaccines are the most common request for my job.”
“It’s quite possible you’ve already been exposed.”
“I fear that too.” He sighed.
“I’m leaving for San Francisco in the morning.”
“I messaged Everson. He hasn’t had them either.”
“What? Jeez, were you both raised in sterile homes?”
“I can check with Penny.”
“Lake…” Shayna gave me her puppy-dog eyes and pouty lip “…I need you. I have a feeder.”
“You mean a fever?”
She nodded.
“I’ll owe you,” Jamie added.
“You always owe me. Everson always owes me. Something tells me I’m never going to get paid.”
“Hey, I’m keeping your secret safe.”
“What secret?” My brow furrowed.
“Your I-hate-football secret.”
“I don’t h—”
“You hate football?” Shayna asked.
He was blowing it out of proportion. Cage knew I didn’t “follow” football, but saying I hated it was just not good.
Jamie didn’t have to worry about chicken pox; I was ready to kill him on the spot.
“No. I don’t hate football. Go.” I nodded to Jamie. “Go home and scratch yourself. I hope you get a heavy dose of the rash on your t-e-s-t-i-c-l-e-s.”
“Testicles?” Shayna looked up at me.
My jaw plummeted to the ground. Jamie snickered.
“Forgot to mention we’ve been working a lot on spelling. She’s really smart.”
My lips twisted. “Hmm … yes, she is.”
“What are testicles?”
“A part of the body only boys have.”
“Like a penis?”
I sighed. There really was no use trying to do anything but be honest with Ms. Smarty Pants. “Yes. Testicles are close friends with the penis.”
She nodded with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“So … you’re good?” Jamie was halfway to the elevator.
“Peachy, just peachy.” I glared at him then smiled at Shayna.
Lake: Shayna has chicken pox. Neither Jamie nor Everson have had them so I’m not going to SF tomorrow because I have a little, itchy roommate for the next week or until she’s no longer contagious.
Cage: I heard. Banks is staying at a hotel for the night until his cleaning lady can decontaminate his place in the morning.
Lake: Pathetic. Have you had them?
Cage: Of course. How are you feeling?
I laughed. There it was.
Lake: Hungry. I have no food in the house since I was planning on leaving town, but now I’m not.
Cage: Got it.
A well-earned eye roll followed his text.
Lake: Please don’t send Flint to the store for me.
Cage: Why not?
Lake: It’s not his job.
Cage: His job is whatever I say it is for the day.
Lake: He doesn’t know what to get.
Cage: I’ll tell him.
Lake: You don’t know.
Cage: Marshmallows, bread, flax waffles, almond milk, chocolate hazelnut butter, green-tip bananas, ripe avocados, organic eggs, low sodium Spanish rice …
I know what you eat. ;) I’ll have him get itch stuff for Shayna along with hummus and carrots for her.
Banks said she eats a ton of it. Work calls. I’ll come by later. 9 ish.
Lake: Don’t forget to love me.
Cage: Impossible.
He knocked me over with his astute observations of my eating habits and the fact that Everson knew that Shayna loved hummus was a bit endearing as well. I knew he loved her.
“You feel bad?” I frowned at Shayna curled up on my sofa.
“I think—”
“Oh, sweetie …” I rushed to the sofa but not before she was bent over the side of it, vomiting. Luckily it missed my rug, staying confined to the hardwood floor.
“Lake …” Tears filled her eyes.
I grabbed a few tissues off the coffee table and blotted her eyes and then her mouth. “I know. It’s no fun to be sick.”
Three hours later Flint arrived with bags of groceries.
“I really appreciate you doing this. I know it’s probably not in your job description.” I started to take the groceries out of the bag as Flint walked over to the sofa and looked a Shayna sleeping.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Stuff for Shayna. Everything in that bag is for her: Baking soda, Epsom salt, brown vinegar, ground oatmeal, homemade anti-itch cream, essential oils, Jasmine tea, coriander and carrot juice with honey, and I upped the fruits and vegetables on the list Cage gave me. She needs to eat well to heal properly.”
Who was the guy in front of me?
“A ‘homemade’ anti-itch salve. Whose home?” I chuckled, looking at the amber glass container with no label, just ‘itch salve’ written in permanent marker on the white lid.
“I made it.”
I looked up at him with wide eyes. “You?”
He shrugged. “A simple internet search and a trip to Whole Foods. No big deal. I also emailed you instructions on how to use everything.”
Flint Hopkins was Mother Teresa in a custom-tailored suit. I imagined him concocting an itch salve in his kitchen, wearing a manly apron over his suit, maybe with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Thank you. I’m sort of … speechless.”
He held up his hand. “Really it was nothing.” He turned the door handle. “Call me if you have any questions or need anything else.”
I moved to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He stiffened like a board. Then I kissed his cheek. He cleared his throat as I released him.
“You’re a good man, Flint.”
He gave me a weak smile.
“Lake …” Shayna called with a raspy voice.
I rushed over to her, making sure the vomit bucket was within reach. When I looked back, Flint was gone.