“When you invited me out for lunch, this was not what I had in mind.”

I carefully climb down from the front seat of Tara’s SUV and place my hands on my hips, trying to stretch out my back. I look up at the towering warehouse above me, and my eyes narrow in on the oversized Costco sign.

“Oh, quit complaining. We’re killing two birds with one stone. Your cute pregnant ass couldn’t make up its mind about what it wanted to eat, and I needed to get some shopping done for the monster squad. Costco has food samples in nearly every aisle. It’s a win for both of us. Then, when we're done, we'll head over to the Beehive Salon to wax that Bieber of yours.”

I smile at her monster squad comment and ignore the rest. She knows just how much I hate calling the female lady bits a beaver, so she's grown akin to calling it a Bieber. Fitting since both are hairy little pussies.

Tara’s triplet boys are in their ferocious fours and tear everything apart. Literally everything. Last week I walked in and found the inside fluff of her couch cushions scattered across the floor like a giant cloud because of a game of ‘Hot and Cold’ gone wrong. The small dinosaur figurine was hidden underneath the couch and not inside the back pillow like Jack had assumed. Tara has had many babysitters quit on her after one night because they can’t keep up with the F5 tornado that is Jack, Miles, and Wes. Mini monsters, they most certainly are, and it makes me excited about having a monster squad of my own with Jeff.

Just not three.

And not all at once.

Tara and I eat our way through Costco, stopping at nearly every single sample station for a taste. It’s surprisingly more fun than it sounds and they have a killer selection. The fried macaroni and cheese balls in the frozen food section have been my favorite, hands down—though I would never admit that to her.

My nose curls up when I sample some spinach artichoke dip that was secretly laced with habanero peppers. No doubt this kiddo will make me pay for that later.

“Quit making that face, Henley. This isn’t that bad.”

“What do you have against sit-down dining? When you sold me on a girl’s day out, parading around the aisles searching for bulk toilet paper and a bag of one hundred forty-four count nuggets isn’t at all what I had in mind.”

“Oh, come on, where else can you taste chicken fingers, cheese spread, fruit snacks, and a Swedish meatball all in the same meal?”

I love how she keeps reiterating this whole extravaganza like it’s fine dining. “Um, I dunno, any middle school cafeteria in the Kansas City metropolitan area?”

“Touche.”

This is what I get for having a free lunch on her. I really should know better by now. This is hardly lunch, and there is certainly nothing free about this experience. Judging by the contents of my cart, I probably have two hundred dollars worth of impulse food purchases here, most of which is in the form of fifteen different kinds of cookies. I really shouldn’t be shopping on a mostly empty stomach.

We make our way through a few more aisles in silence, pausing to toss in random basics like a gallon of mayonnaise and a jar of taco seasoning the size of my head. Whatever she plans on making with the contents of her cart, I definitely want to steer clear from.

“So how are things going with you and Cameron? I can only imagine how little time you two actually get to spend together with the boys running around all over the place.”

“Oh, you know. It’s the same old, same old. We’ve mastered the art of the five-minute quickie in the laundry room while the kids fight over their toys. It’s super romantic.” Tara grins. I know she’s happy and wouldn’t change a thing, but I can’t even imagine the chaos that is her life now.

“But I don’t want to talk about me today. Tell me what’s going on with you and Jeff. I’m really happy you found each other, and that things are working out better than you imagined. He’s a really good guy, Hen. I mean … shit. Imagine what your life would be like if you married that muscle-clad, limp dick, Tommy? Or Charlie? Or what’s his name? That tall drink of water with the thick-rimmed glasses? Ever wonder what happened to those guys?” She grabs a sample taste of a buffalo chicken egg roll as we walk.

“Not really. But I’m pretty certain Tommy turned out gay, and I’m sure that’s somehow my fault. Charlie was too busy getting high to get a real job and has probably entered some hippie compound where he’s busy fashioning organic bongs out of cow shit. And that tall, four-eyed drink of water? His name was Leo. And he was a Grade A cheese dick.”

Tara whips her head toward me so fast I’m pretty sure it’s going to snap off her neck. “Oh my gosh, Henley. Could you imagine having a dick literally made of cheese? Holy shit! That would be amazing. I might actually enjoy giving blow jobs for once. Hey — if Jeff had a dick made of cheese, you probably wouldn’t be harboring a bat up there in your bat cave.” She grabs a bag of string cheese and tosses it into the cart making a phallic and inappropriate gesture. Her expression suddenly turns serious, and she tilts her head like she’s about to say something thought-provoking.

“You know, whoever came up with the phrase ‘it is far better to give than it is to receive’ clearly wasn’t talking about blow jobs.”

Good point. Though I’ve never really minded them much. “Where do you come up with this shit?”

Tara shrugs and goes back to her previous thought. “I forgot his name was Leo. He headed out west for med school after breaking your heart, right?”

“First of all, he didn’t break my heart. He was just my greatest disappointment in spite of his supreme douchebaggery.” I give her a pointed look, trying to push his memory from my mind. After he took my virginity, he grew accustomed to calling me Fire Crotch, like it was a shock that my carpet matched my drapes, and I became so self-conscious that I didn’t sleep with another man until Jeff. Dating Leo was not one of my finer moments.

“But yeah, I think he ended up at UCLA. Orthopedic surgeon or podiatrist or something.”

“Huh,” Tara grunts as she hoists a bag of Swedish meatballs roughly the size of Montana into the cart. “You know, that idiot simply couldn’t see how incredible you were. Anyone that blind to your awesomeness probably gets off with braille porn pictures.”

“Is that even a thing?” I double over in laughter at the sheer stupidity of her last comment. I could totally see Leo finding amusement (and orgasms) in something like that.

“I don’t know, but it should be.”

I freeze mid-step, gripping the handlebar of my shopping cart until my knuckles turn white. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Tara whips around then piles on an oversized bag of mixed greens on top of her ever-growing pile of bulk food.

“I … I think I just peed myself.”

Tara fights a smile and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Don’t stress about it. All pregnant women pee their pants when they laugh. You get a child. You get some incontinence. Hardly a fair trade if you ask me.”

“Stop it. I’m being serious.” I wave her off, needing just a moment of space as I try to discreetly assess the damage. “Okay, I think I’m okay.”

After a few more steps, what I thought was a little trickle of pee turns into a massive gush that is usually reserved for Hollywood rom-com flicks and overdramatic junior high sex-ed videos to scare you into abstinence.

“Henley, that’s not pee. I think your water just broke.”

I stand stunned and speechless in the middle of the produce aisle. “Oh … my … God …” My voice is scarily calm, but my insides are running rampant. “What do I do?”

“Um, what do you think we do? You’re about to have a baby! We go to the hospital.” Tara abandons her cart and grabs my elbow, trying to pull me away from the scene of the crime, but I don’t budge.

“We can’t just leave … this …” I say, gesturing to the bodily fluids I’m leaving as a parting gift at my friendly, neighborhood Costco store.

“Um, sure we can.”

“No, that’s gross. That’s my … my … my stuff.” My eyes dart around the area frantically looking for something, anything, to clean up this mess.

Tara looks at me incredulously. “You’re overreacting, Henley. You’re about to have a baby, and you’re freaking out over a puddle in a bulk grocery store?”

“But that’s my puddle. Some poor high school kid barely making minimum wage is going to get stuck slopping up my amniotic fluid with a moldy, worn out mop. I can’t just leave it here.”

“Yes, you can. And you will.”

I look around again, hoping for a manager; for someone to flag down and profusely apologize. When I hear the splatter of fluid against the tile, my attention diverts back to the scene of the crime only to find Tara pouring an entire container of chicken broth on the floor, mixing it together like an amniotic soup.

“There. It’s not as bad. It looks like the carton just exploded. Which is way better than, oh say, your vagina exploding.”

“My God, does this ever stop?”

Tara grabs me by the elbow and tries to pull me toward the door. But as she does, her feet slip out from underneath her in all her cartoon-esque glory, and she lands ass first right into the mess.

She doesn’t even falter.

“Clean up, aisle two!” my best friend booms, and my face flashes crimson. I want to crawl into a hole and die.

“Okay, on that note, we can leave this mess behind.”