Bay

I watch another delivery man walk in with yet another bouquet of flowers and shove a donut into my mouth to hide the smile I can’t contain.

I pretend disgust when he sets it on the counter and Dee signs for it, her eyes lighting up when she reads the next card.

“This one says “fool.” Is he talking about you or him?” she laughs, sighing when I grunt and shoot a glare at the flowers.

They’re gorgeous and I adore purple roses, but dammit, this has to stop. It started this morning at about ten with baked goods of every variety and then became flowers that haven’t stopped.

It’s two in the afternoon, I have a freaking wedding to finish up for two days from now, but all I’ve done since I walked into Rainbows was sit and stare as delivery after delivery arrived.

I have no idea what to think, what to say, or really what the hell Jones thinks he’s doing but I can’t lie to myself and say I don’t love it. I do. This is the first time in my life, ever, that anyone’s ever done anything like this for me.

It’s sweet and thoughtful and shows that Jones knows me a lot better than I ever thought he could. My favorite treats, flowers and–

The door opens with another delivery man strolling in, and I hear Jack giggle when he hands me a large box and asks someone to sign. I take it without a word, keeping my expression blank and look down at the long rectangular tube as Kim comes skipping out of the office, her bubbliness due to her wedding making the lack of honeymoon a mystery to me.

I somehow assume that her having her groom planted in the ground, literally, put all that pep in her step but with Kim, unlike me, the happiness could be her cooking up torture for someone.

She’s just special that way.

“Oh my God, what is it this time?” she asks, taking her life into her hands when she reaches for a donut. “Ouch! Bitch, share.”

I grunt and ignore her when she takes three of my little lovelies and pull the box open, gasping when I see my gift. It’s beautiful and perfect, and so…so right I feel my lip wobble before I can stop it.

“Oh God, he really does love you!” Kim gasps, getting herself a tit slap for trying to touch my precious.

Jack laughs, the sound of her humor echoing through the office when I close a hand over the baseball bat and lift it out of the box, hefting the weight in my palm.

It’s made of dark wood, made to exact measurement considering I am a girl and something bigger at this weight would overwhelm me. Simply put he either had this made or has been stalking me way more than I thought.

“Sweet.”

“Oh my God! Bayou, did you just give a little inflection there?” Jack asks, stumbling back dramatically and clutching at her heart.

“Dee’s a better actress,” I say, ignoring her facetious grin.

“Oh puhlease! I could so totally be a better actress if I could lie as well as Dee.”

“Which you can’t,” Dee trills proudly, fiddling with the flowers while I swing the bat around, my blood pumping with…

Something. I feel something that is frighteningly close to happiness and giddiness bubble up inside me.

“You realize he’s a stalker, right?” I drone, looking at all three pathetically in love losers while they look at me with varying degrees of excitement.

Even Kim, who would rip a limb off before she says anything sappy clenches her hands to her chest and sighs.

“Oh Bay, it’s so romantic. Even Sully hasn’t given me anything this thoughtful, and the man rubs my ovaries while I’m on the rag,” she sighs, making me shudder and do an immediate brain scrub.

“That is gross, please do not ever say it to me again. And this is not romantic, it’s creepy. This bat is exactly the measurement I wanted and only one person knows it. Me.”

“So! You’re weird. And you never smile. And you have some super vagina that lets out freaky pheromones that make men want you even if you’re dead inside. Give the guy a break,” Dee mutters in exasperation, eyeing the flowers before she just shrugs and picks them up to place on her desk.

“I think that’s stealing, Dee, and besides, I didn’t say I wasn’t weird, I said Jones is a stalker.”

“Semantics! It would take a man with a lot less sanity to even try to romance you, Bayou. Jeff obviously has a few more than one screws loose, so I say you buckle a little and give him a chance. For God’s sake, at least put out if he’s trying this hard.”

“I’ve tried. He won’t take the milk without the cow.”

“Well, good for him! And you are a cow if he does shit like this for you and you still won’t have him. Hell, Sully doesn’t do stuff like this for me, and he loves me,” Kim yells, stomping her polka dot heels in frustration.

“Kim, Sully still married you after you put a rattlesnake in his truck and had him drugged and buried in the backyard,” I point out evenly, almost laughing when she blushes with remembered joy.

Kim loves winning, and her idea of the ultimate victory was having him planted, only his head above ground for the wedding she didn’t even tell him about.

Granted, Sully did run out on her at the proposal party and he embarrassed her but it still jeebs me out that she’d get so mad she’d do something like that to her man. I asked her why she did it, and she said “Sully has been running from us for a long time. He pushes then pulls back when things get real, so now I’ma make them fucking real.”

It all boils down to my sister marrying a man who neither asked her nor knew it was his wedding day.

My mama calls that the ultimate shotgun wedding; she had the gun on the preacher and I agree.

“Oh pfft! He knows that was just me being romantic,” she scoffs, waving off the reality that she was pissed and forced him to marry her.

I mean the guy loves her, for some reason, but come on!

“You’re about as romantic as a serial killer.”

“Well, you have the facial expressions of one so there!” she sneers, making Dee sputter on a sip of herbal tea.

“That’s mean.”

“No, that’s true, and you know what, fine! Be creepy and scary because I like that I can take you to the shoe store a have it cleared out so I get all the sales. I love you, Bay, I do, but you’re so…alone,” she finishes, sounding sad.

“I am not. Just because you’re married now and he broke your feminist card doesn’t mean you get to judge me. I am fine.”

“You’re alone! You go out alone, you eat alone, you dance alone,” Jack cuts in, making me growl when she tears up.

“It’s just the hormones. Don’t mind me,” she wails, making me feel like a bag of shit because I hate her crying.

And I know it’s not just hormones. Jack’s been on me since she got married to give Jones a bone, just a chance to date me she said. I know I’m being a bitch just sweeping it under the rug but come on!

I have valid reasons here.

“Stop crying. It upsets me.”

“Yeah? Well no one can see that, Bjorn Cyborg!” Kim screams.

“Jesus, what is your problem today?” I mutter, offering her another donut which she shovels into her mouth while sobbing and sniffing in this gross way that sounds as if she’s hocking back her brain.

Nasty.

“I was supposed to get my period, but I didn’t,” she wails, making me cringe when a glob of half-chewed donut plops out of her mouth.

“Er, that’s good news, right? You and Sully have been together what, three months now? You’re married a month,” I point out calmly, making her wail louder and shove another donut down.

“Yeah! I wanted to wait. I don’t want these two hippos stealing my thunder when I give birth but now it looks like I’m going to have a baby around the same time, just a month or two later and, and I don’t wanna have a baby now. I like being hot and sexy. I don’t wanna look like I eat children three times a day.”

Jesus. Please. Spare me this.

“Oh, Kim honey, you won’t look like a hippo–”

“You do!” she yells at Jack, getting a hard slap for daring to insult her.

I cringe at the sound of Jack’s hand meeting skin and watch while Kim shakes it off and blinks.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome. So, you’re preggers?” she asks, carrying the donuts and tea over to the conference table and waving us all over.

“I think so,” Kim sighs, falling into a seat.

I grab the last cinnamon donut and eat it whole while she curses and takes vanilla.

“What do you mean you think so? Sore boobs? Mood swings? Period MIA?”

“Well, I mean my boobs are always tender since Sully has a fetish,” she says, smirking proudly. “And I am not exactly stable, so I can’t talk about mood swings. Period. Yes. I haven’t had it yet.”

“How late are you?” Dee asks, making a pig of herself with the cupcakes she brought in this morning now that her sickness has passed.

“Two days?”

“Oh, Kim! You can’t know that soon,” Dee huffs, rolling her eyes.

“You knew the day you missed yours,” Jack points out, laughing when Dee hisses.

“Because I already puked! And I start my goddamn period on the freaking hour. You know this.”

I wish I was like that. Some months I can bleed like I’m fit to die and then the next it’s a two-day thing that comes a week early or late. Don’t worry I’ve had my girl bag and fruit checked, it’s all normal.

I’m just weird that way.

“Yeah. Okay so maybe you could be pregnant. Have you talked to Sully?” Dee asks, around a mouthful of chewed cake.

Jesus, my family really needs to find some manners.

Kim rolls her eyes and her mouth twists with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“He’s the one who told me right before I puked,” she laughs, shaking her head thoughtfully. “My nipples”–

“Too Much Information,” I yell, shaking my head to clear it.

“No really! They go darker,” Jack says with disgust. “Cord loves it, but man oh man, it weirds me out. Mine are the color of meat,” She whines making us all sputter and laugh.

I can’t help it, it’s just so freaking gross and funny at the same time. They ignore my lapse and keep talking for which I am thankful because I really do not want to have another five-minute blank blinking contest with them when they are feigning shock.

That weirds me out.

“Mine haven’t yet, but it feels like I body surfed over a cheeses grater,” Dee grumbles.

Even I pull a face and grab my boobs. I’ve had period nipples before but nothing that harsh. Jesus.

“That is disgusting.”

“Just wait until it happens to you, Bay. I thought I’d be one of those glowing whores who doesn’t get gas or hormonal breakouts, but it just isn’t true. I found a zit under my chin yesterday, and I swear to God it took Cord like an hour to make me stop crying. It’s too gross and yet part of me is like, whatever,” she says airily. “Cord doesn’t even notice these things like he just doesn’t see them, but I swear to the Lord, I refuse to do piles!”

Kim gives her a high five and Dee just snorts.

“Have you had the fat bonnet yet? My doctor showed me pictures of when a woman’s bonnet gets all puffy and swollen. I puked all over her desk and Ky had to clean it up. It was that gross.”

I listen, storing up every single horror story to tell my ovaries later and watch as they all three clean out a dozen cupcakes, donuts, danishes and share a tub of leftover frosting that Dee brought in.

I refrain from even reaching out to try the stuff since the three feral animals might take my hand. I even offer them the brownies in my drawer, and they take them while swapping horror stories.

It takes them an hour solid to get through piles, thrush, and something I don’t even want to know about but keep fixating on, nipple chap.

I thought that shit was only for nursing mothers, but apparently, they have so much sex and all three of their men are boob men.

Thank God Jones is an ass and panty man–

No! Do not go there Bay.

Dee whips her head around as if she’s read my mind and I groan silently when she narrows her eyes.

“So? Jefferson?” she presses.

This time I do groan and close my eyes, searching for strength.

“Get over it already. We just don’t suit,” I tell them all, reaching for a cup to top up my coffee.

I can’t function without it, no matter how much I tell myself it’s bad for me to drink two liters of the stuff a day.

“You know, that is total bullshit. Jeff adores you, and I have totally seen the way you check him out.”

“Kim, I’ve seen the man’s cock. It’s a big one and I like his ass. It’s just window dressing.”

“It is not! You were checking him out one day when he was wearing those overalls while painting my house with Cord.”

I shrug because it’s true, the man is even hot in grey coveralls with not a hint of ass to make my eyeballs happy.

“I am not dating Jones. End of story,” I tell them, rising to walk into my office.

They all snort just when the door opens, and I groan and throw my head back. What now?