CUM RAIN ON ME

One

Lani

The most ear-piercing scream tore my ass out of dreamland, and I gasped awake like I'd just been crowned Miss America, except my sash would say, “Most Likely to Drool on Silk Pillowcases.” The screaming was the kind that could wake the dead, the neighbors, and probably three satellites.

For five solid muthafucking seconds, I just laid there and stared at the ceiling, trying to understand what was happening.

Is that… a banshee? Do we have those?

My eyes widened when it clicked and humiliation gripped my core.

Oh.

Oh no!

The screaming was coming from my children.

My eight-month-old twins, Skylar and Daren, were going full opera in the nursery and they weren't cooing cutely. Those cries were definitely the feed-me-or-I-summon-the-ancient-one’s level screaming.

“Maybe if I pretend I'm still asleep, they'll go back to being theoretical children,” I mumbled to the ceiling, flopping an arm over my eyes.

I was too tired to move a muscle. Yuri, our nanny, had the flu and in the 12 hours since she called out, I'd discovered that finding an emergency nanny replacement at 3 PM was as realistic as finding a unicorn that does laundry. So, it was just me and my milk factories.

“WAAAAAAAAAAA!”

I launched out of bed like it was made of trampoline.

My hair was doing its best, mad scientist impression, and my satin bonnet was on sideways.

One of my boobs had already clocked out and was trying to escape my sleep shirt.

I tripped over a stuffed elephant, saluted a half-dressed Barbie and shoulder-checked the doorframe on my way out, dashing to the nursery which looked like a crime scene of cuteness.

Daren was red-faced and conducting an invisible orchestra of rage.

Skylar had managed to kick one sock off and was staring at it like it had personally betrayed her.

The moment they saw me, the pitch of their screams went up an octave.

“Okay! Okay! The dairy’s open!” I scooped Daren first because according to twin law, he who screams loudest gets served first.

Plopping into the glider, I got him latched to my left boob and exhaled in relief at the instant silence from him. Skylar took that as a personal attack and her scream escalated to vibrato.

“Girl, I have two hands and zero are available.” I told her, using my foot to drag the Boppy pillow closer. “File a complaint with management.”

After five minutes of Olympic-level maneuvering, I had both of them on each side of my titties.

I looked like a very tired and leaky Statue of Liberty.

The room finally went quiet except for slurps and my own wheezing.

I leaned my head back, staring at the glow on the dark stars my husband had spent a whole Saturday sticking to the ceiling.

I wished he was home, but somebody had to be the breadwinner and it sure as hell wasn't about to be me.

“Next time,” I whispered to the twins, “Could y’all wait till morning before screaming like that?”

Daren popped off my boob long enough to give me a milk drunk stare that clearly said no promises.

I sighed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

I was going to stack up on vitamin C and increase my nanny's pay because if this was 3 AM without backup, I was not going to make it.

By the time 7 PM rolled by, I was 3% human and 97% spit up.

I'd nursed, burped, changed, rocked, bounced, sang, cried with the twins, and somewhere in there, I think I ate a handful of dry Cheerios off the coffee table.

I smelled like sour milk and broken dreams. When the doorbell rang, I considered faking my own death.

Running down the list of who could be at my door, I came up empty.

My husband had a key and was most unlikely to lose it, so that ruled him out.

“Who the fuck is that?” I frowned, shuffling to the door like a zombie in fuzzy socks.

Opening the door, I came face-to-face with Paris Demetri and Mide Frost. Mide held her phone up before I could say go away, and clicked it, sending a flash straight to my eyes. She looked at the photo, then at me and back at the photo.

“Girl, I'm making this shit my new birth control poster,” she announced. “I’ma caption it ‘This could be you. Wrap it up, bitch’.”

Paris pushed past me before I could murder Mide.

“Are the babies still alive?” she questioned, toeing off her heels and making a beeline for the nursery like she paid rent here.

“Heifer, fuck you,” I croaked. My voice was gone from narrating Fiona and Shrek fourteen times. “Did my husband send you?”

“Nope,” Mide answered, grabbing my wrist and physically turning me toward the hallway. “This is a kidnapping. You’re the victim. We’re taking you to your bathroom.”

“I don’t need—”

“You smell like a diaper genie,” Paris yelled from the nursery. “And I say that with love!”

Mide was already marching me down the hall. “Listen, babe. We brought wine and takeout. You are going to shower, shave whatever’s still left, and put on real pants.”

“I am wearing real pants,” I protested, looking down at the leggings with mystery stains. “These are… lived-in.”

“These are evidence,” Mide rolled her eyes, shoving me into my bedroom and pointing at the bathroom like it was a penalty box. “15 minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’m coming in, and none of us want that.”

I braced a hand on the doorframe. “Bitch, I can’t just…what if they–”

“We got it,” Paris countered, reappearing with a twin on each hip like she’d been doing this her whole life.

Which was possible because she has six kids.

Skylar was gnawing on her designer scarf and she didn’t even flinch.

“You’ve been on shift for hours. You’re off duty. CEO of momming has left the building.”

“But the bedtime routine–”

“Is now our problem,” Mide physically pushed me into the bathroom. “Go. Scrub off the day. Pretend you’re a person again. We’ll scream if something’s on fire.”

I opened my mouth to argue, and the heifer closed the door in my face.

“Dibs on not doing the midnight reading,” I heard Paris inform Mide.

“Girl, we’re drawing straws. Short straw also changes the next poop.”

Rolling my eyes at their banter, I looked at myself in the mirror and cringed.

Yeap, my ass was really the poster child for birth control.

I turned on the water and for fifteen whole minutes, I didn't hear a scream that was mine to fix.

My skin was steaming by the time I stepped out of the bathroom and wrapped a towel around my body.

“Girl, what that actual fuck?” I gaped when I saw Mide sitting on my bed with a makeup bag the size of a carryon.

“Sit,” she commanded, patting the edge of the bed. “You look like a before picture. I’m about to make you the after.”

“I don’t need–”

“Shh.” Paris appeared in the doorway with Daren on her hip. My son was now wearing a fresh onesie that was not from my house. “We already fed them, burped them, changed them, and Daren just blew out a diaper so bad I considered calling a priest. Do not argue with us.”

I was woman enough to understand that fighting with them was a losing battle, so I sat and what followed was an hour-long headache.

Mide had a brush in each hand like she was defusing a bomb. “Stop flinching. This is tinted moisturizer, not garlic and onion.”

Paris played hype man. “Yes! Give her the cheekbones she lost 'cause of sleep deprivation.”

“I can hear you,” I mumbled, closing my eyes while Mide stabbed at my face with a Beauty Blender.

“You’re supposed to,” Mide sucked her teeth.

When they finally spun me to face the mirror, I blinked. The woman staring back had eyebrows that were sisters, not distant cousins. My lips were… actually a color. My braids were in a messy bun that looked intentional.

“Holy—”

“Yeah, I know. I'm the shit.” Mide threw a dress at me. “Put this on. It has no spit-up on it.”

Two minutes later I was in a black wrap dress, real shoes, and perfume that didn’t smell like Desitin.

“The car's almost outside. Let’s go,” Paris stated, looking up from her phone.

“Go where?!” I yelped, suddenly panicking. “I can’t just leave! What if Skylar—”

“Bitch, shut up,” Mide groaned, pressing a kiss to my forehead and physically walking me toward the front door.

We hit the porch just as a black Camry pulled up. Mide opened the back door like a chauffeur and literally bowed.

“Your chariot, madam.”

“Mide, I can't j–”

“Nope.” She pulled out her phone, holding it up and showing me the photo she took when I opened the door hours ago.

I looked a fucking mess with my wild hair, dead eyes and stained leggings.

“This is the before,” she tapped the screen.

“You are now the after. Go be an adult. Drink something that isn’t cold coffee and talk to people who don’t communicate in screams. Flirt with the bartender if he’s cute.

Heifer, go into the world and live.” She shoved my purse into my hands and kissed my cheek.

“Phone stays on, but on silent. We call only if the house is burning down. Or if the twins figure out how to unlock the front door. Either way, you’re not coming back for at least two hours. Doctor’s orders.”

My eyes misted at how serious they were. Looking after the twins was overwhelming and having my girls show up to lighten my load made my chest feel tight.

“I…thank you,” I swallowed, fighting the tears pulling in my eyes.

“Ew, gross. Bitch, you know I don’t do feelings,” Mide shuddered, shoving me gently into the Uber. “Now go. Before we change our minds and make you fold laundry.”

The driver pulled away when I shut the door. Looking through the window, I smiled at the way Paris was bouncing Daren and shook my head when I saw Mide waving a burp cloth like it was a victory flag. I snorted so loudly the Uber driver looked at me in the rearview.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“Rough year,” I responded.

∞∞∞

We outsideeeee!