5. Lucy
5
LUCY
T hat man is a real peach. And by peach, I mean the hard, sour ones that never ripen.
Grandma BeeBee compared people to produce all the time.
Skinnier than a string bean.
Bitter as a winter lemon.
Hard-headed as a coconut.
Do I really want to be saddled with that man for eighteen to life?
I need a friend or six. All I’ve got is an unborn child and Matilda. Neither one is a great conversationalist.
I’m thankful for something to do. After I fill the cups with milk and organize them in Court’s mini fridge, I have no excuse to hide from him. I sit in one of the chairs since the sofa tries to eat me.
Court is super useless, constantly on his phone, scowling at whoever is talking to him, as if they can see his displeasure. Disdain. Dislike. That man is all dis .
He’s moved to a round table in the far corner of his office because Matilda has decided his desk is her domain. I think it’s hysterical and haven’t stepped in to move her from her perch.
As if I could. Once Matilda chooses a spot as hers, just let it go. Make a wrong move, and she’ll butt you with her head.
Yeah, even girl goats get it on like that if you cross them.
If Court doesn’t like it, he can bite me.
Actually, I might like him to bite me. I was hit with a wave of jump-me-daddy within minutes of walking into his office. I wanted to dig my fingers into that thick hair and straddle him on that big office chair—and oh, here I go again.
The need is as swift and hard as an ocean wave tossing me on my back.
Like I wish he would.
I’ve heard pregnant women get wild and woolly with the hormones, but I haven’t felt it much until now.
And with all my chores done, the milk tucked away, Matilda clean and dry, all I have to do is sit in this chair with my feet propped up and watch him scowl.
It’s kind of hot, if you’re looking for a sulky bit of man-meat.
I might be.
Dang. I’m ramping myself up like I’m in heat.
And I’ve seen a lot of animals in heat.
Nobody acts right when they’re on the prowl.
I close my eyes to get his flashing eyes and perfectly trimmed beard out of my vision. My belly rumbles so loud that Court stops talking.
“I have another engagement,” he says abruptly and slams the office phone onto its base. He has no less than three of those phones in the same room. What a waste of resources.
“You didn’t even say goodbye,” I tell him, setting my feet on the ground.
He only grunts at that, rapidly typing on his phone. “It’s been an hour since Devin left. The natural food store is only a block away.”
“Maybe he ran for the hills. You’re as bad as the goats in rutting season.”
“I assume you’re referring to reproductive copulation.”
Did he really say that? Reproductive copulation?
I’m overcome with giggles. We already did that.
I can barely speak through my laughter. “I meant ramming each other with their heads.”
He pierces me with a blue-eyed gaze. Will our son have blue eyes? Or my brown ones? Blue is recessive, but Grandma BeeBee had them.
Thinking of her calms me. I can picture her in the Colorado foothills, pulling roots for home remedies. She was the best member of my family.
Court’s phone buzzes. “It seems he kept looking for glass bottles. I forgot to tell him I’d figured that out.”
“I love that they’re in ‘Dill With It’ cups. Appropriate.”
He turns his cell over in his hands. “Are you suggesting that it applies to our situation?”
“I was thinking about Matilda stealing your desk. But, sure. Maybe it does.”
He won’t look me in the eye. And I get it. My appearance is life changing. He hasn’t come to terms with it yet. And he won’t for a while. I was in shock for a week.
But then Court surprises me by leaving the table and dropping into the chair next to mine.
Matilda stares down at us from her perch like a great goat goddess.
He tucks his cell phone in his shirt pocket. “Why didn’t you let me know before you got this far along?”
Now he has questions. “Summer and April were going to raise him with me. We didn’t need you.”
He shifts in his chair, elbow propped on the leather arm, looking like the cover of a men’s magazine. Well, other than the chewed-up bit of the cushion. Dang it, Matilda!
“So in that scenario where you raised the baby with your girlfriends, I never needed to know.”
“Nope.”
“And what about the child? Wouldn’t there eventually be questions about a father?”
“Nah. Lots of kids have two moms. This one would have had three.”
“Were you in a… relationship with these women?”
“I’ve known them since we were kids. We were best friends.”
Or so I thought. I didn’t expect the sudden abandonment. My throat feels thick. I hate crying, but I’ve been doing it constantly lately. The emotions go too deep, like stepping off your porch after a long, hard snow and sinking in straight to your armpits.
Court observes me sniveling and wiping my nose like a toddler who dropped her ice cream. “You never struck me as someone who cries a lot.”
“You knew me for two hours, tops.”
“Fair enough. You were just so fervent in your beliefs. You didn’t leave any room for debate.”
The hard chair is making my back ache. I shift sideways. “I don’t allow for debate on my beliefs.”
“And what are your beliefs?”
That’s a question. “I don’t know where to start.”
He sits back, his hands steepled together. “Who influenced you?”
I get a sneaking suspicion he’s preparing to pick me apart. If I talk about the environment, he’ll talk about industry. If I talk about being vegetarian, he’ll bring up all the ranchers.
I’m not interested in getting into a fight with him.
“Was it your parents?” He won’t let it go.
I stall, making fairy braids in my hair, the kind that don’t need bands at the bottom to stop them from unraveling.
He watches my fingers deftly work the strands. The unanswered question looms between us, growing like a balloon about to pop. He’s good at silent pressure.
Thankfully, Devin returns with a load of brown paper bags. “I got four entrees, a sandwich, two salads, and two kinds of fresh-squeezed juice.” He stops short when he spots Matilda on the desk. “What’s happening?”
Court waves him to the corner. “Put it all on the table. I’m sure Lucy is starving.”
I give him my most stern look. “That’s it?”
They both turn to me. “You wanted more?” Court asks.
“No, no! I mean, that’s all you have to say to Devin?” I turn to the man. “Court doesn’t thank you for what you do?”
Devin shrugs and unpacks his purchases. “It’s my job.”
“But he can be courteous. It’s literally his name. Court. Courtesy.”
The two men exchange a glance.
This is ridiculous. I pop out of the chair, the smell of food drawing me to the table like a honeybee to a flower.
“I’m making a new rule,” I say, picking up one of the juice cups and popping the lid. It must have been a proper store, because the containers are all recycled cardboard.
“Are you now?” Court asks. “Do enlighten us.”
I take a sip and nearly swoon as unbridled sugar splashes into my empty belly. “Hold on a second.”
I drink more, trying not to gulp, bordering on a brain freeze as the icy juice invigorates my bloodstream. This is heaven.
When I manage to force myself to stop, I set the half-empty cup on the table. “The new rule is that every time you forget to thank Devin for performing a task, he gets an hour off. I’ll keep track.”
I peer into a paper bag, not missing Devin’s tight smile. He’s trying not to cackle. I can tell.
“I won’t agree to that,” Court says.
“I think you will.” I pull out a plump sandwich filled with hummus and greens and avocado on thickly sliced bread.
The men watch me as I unwrap the paper from a corner and take a big chomp. I can’t stop the low moan that escapes as I eat it. It’s so good. My belly quivers for a second. I’m so relieved to have it.
“And why do you think I’ll do anything you say?” Court asks.
I swallow my bite, contemplating taking another before I answer. But I don’t. I sit in a chair, spreading the waxy paper on the table to admire the sandwich.
When I turn to face the room, the men are watching, and so is Matilda, her nose in the air. She’s clearly trying to decide between leaving her favorite spot and investigating my meal.
I pat my thigh, and she leaps down, startling Court into jumping out of his chair.
The papers under her hooves fly behind her, catching on the waves of air conditioning and fluttering through the room.
I pull out a big leaf of lettuce from the bread and hold it down to Matilda.
As the pages settle to the floor, I tell them, “Because somebody needs to work on this fixer-upper. Everyone will support me on this.”
“What fixer-upper?” Court asks.
He genuinely doesn’t get it.
So I tell him.
“You.”