Gray

The hotel opening, despite Blay’s distraction and complete focus on Little Big and Tink, is a great success and I have no one else to thank for it but the two Evils and my Mari.

The place is elegant while maintaining a comfort that is welcoming and the freaking party that Mari put together was a cross between classy, serving lobster and good booze and ghetto with the fried food and imported beer.

Never in my life have I seen rich people actually eat food that way, not even the night of all Holy nights when Cece George met the Egan’s for the first time and those glorious bastards corrupted the elite of society.

Of course I had to invite Ro and ma since they deserve the credit for the interior designs that have two swanky magazines drooling for exclusive photos of the place.

And best of all, since my thrifty wife knows half the city-thanks to her family populating it so nicely-this party came in way under budget and had Tyson so happy he actually cracked a smile.

Penny pinching asshole loves to keep the coffers full.

But that was a week ago and since then my life has been up and down. First of all Mari has become a psyche patient. She pukes, she cries and then she goes nuts because according to her logic if she’s going to get fat the least I could do is take the puking and sickness.

I wish I could because I swear to God seeing her so miserable makes me want to kill someone. And then there’s Ro. The woman is breaking world records with the way she moves her little ass around town crowing about Mari’s miracle womb.

You don’t think that shit’s terrible yet because you don’t know why she’s crowing. Father O’Leary finally called Mari yesterday and let it be known that he draws the line at Ro sending his nuns into hysterics with her tales of my super sperm bringing Mari’s old dried up ovaries back to life.

I laughed so hard I didn’t even feel it when she threw a shoe at my head. Girl’s got good aim and I have the lump on my head to prove it.

And now this shit.

“I’m not doing it Blay. Mari’s sick as hell and barely hanging onto her sanity what with ma and Ro showing up at our place every day. I actually had to grab her mid swing when the crazy woman went for Ro with a butcher knife.”

I got hell for that one but like I explained to Mari, we live in the penthouse and getting a dead body out without detection would be a nightmare.

Nah, better to do it in her neighbourhood so the neighbours can give us a hand. Ro’s got enemies, that’s all I’m saying.

Rus and Ty find it funny as hell despite my glares, but Blay just shakes his head and gives me a tired shrug.

“Rus is tied up with the last details for the hotel, Ty’s on the Bahamas case and I can’t leave Tink right now. She’s still not fully recovered and with my baby being a ravenous glut and feeding at all hours we’re both stretched fucking thin Gray. I need you on this man.”

“Shit. Fine but you owe me you asshole. I hate leaving Mari alone, she’s fragile.”

They all snort and I feel my temper spike because they just don’t know. My baby isn’t good with illness and she doesn’t know how to take care of herself.

That’s my job. If I survive it, I muse, my lips twitching. I love Mari but the woman is crazy to the bone. Last week she actually called little Joe, the bastard, because as she puts it, she needs a do over.

I politely pointed out that having ‘Little’ Joe’s baby would be akin to getting a hippo out of her snatch and she got so scared visualising it she jumped me and made it up to me in the most delightful ways.

That’ll teach her to ever think about another man’s dick again.

Aaaand just thinking something so ludicrous makes me just as insane as she is, something that still makes me laugh. A lot. I finally copped to it when I got two blocks away from Joe’s butchery and realized I was going there to wring his fat neck. For Mari’s insanity.

That cracked me up and I spent a grand in that meat paradise buying meat and shooting the breeze with the kid. Suffice it to say Mari has been serving a lot of meat for supper.

And Ian and Lizzie really appreciated the brisket we sent them.

“Thanks, Gray, I mean it, I really appreciate this.”

I snort at that and toss my phone at him with a smirk.

“You’re telling my wife, fucker.”

*******************************

Mari

I should totally feel bad for cursing Blay the way I did but hell in a hand basket, the man seriously pissed me off. There I was, my head stuck in the toilet bowl, hurling so hard I felt my ass cramp from the velocity and that nube thinks he can just call me and tell me Gray has to go out of town on business?

I am viciously shamed by the curse I put on his balls because I distinctly remember Ginny saying she wants more children. I’d laugh but ma taught me the voodoo when I was younger and you can ask Vinny Castalano whose hair never grew right after she stole my crush in eighth grade, I am frighteningly good at the curses.

And now here I am, at home with ma and papa watching eighties sitcoms and eating ma’s soda crackers which are actually great for my queasy stomach.

Oh if only Lizzie Borden and Ro two hadn’t shown up to make me crazier than the hormones already are.

“Your hair is lank and lifeless. How you expect to keep a man if you look like hell?”

Screw you Lizzie.

“Must be all the puke I don’t have the strength to wash out of it,” I mutter, snickering a little when papa, who was kissing my head rears back with a loud shudder.

“For truth, Mari! You look terrible. What ever happened to pregnant woman glowing with life and vitality?”

Fucking ma.

“You tell that to the other eighty percent of us who get hormone acne and discharge and freaking gas and I guarantee you’ll be going back to Satan so fast your head will spin.”

Because yeah, I am gross right now and I can’t help it. I feel awful and my skin is just nasty. Gray of course still tells me I look gorgeous, a compliment that is absolute crap but sweet.

Okay, so I only think so now because I feel guilty after trying to pick his head bald. These hormone rages are brutal I tell ya.

Papa smirks a little when ma isn’t looking and winks at me, letting me know that none of ma’s crap is true. Yeah, the old hag probably looked like a walking boil when she was pregnant and she has the gall to give me lip?

“Mari, just take a bath.”

“No! I’m on strike. I want Gray to see the hell he left me in to go work in some tropical paradise where the woman are probably naked and have elastic legs.” I huff, scowling even as a pout tries to break through.

Ma crosses herself, as do Ro two and Lizzie and I hear papa cough to hide a laugh before ma sighs and throws her hands up in surrender.

“Do something with her Lizzie! She smells like a dead hooker.”

I so do. My pits are rank, my hair looks like dark brown oily weeds that are about to turn into dread locks and if I don’t put soap to vag soon the poor thing will detach and crawl into the bath by herself.

Can’t bath though. Want Gray to see the hard hand life has dealt me. His demon seed has taken over my body and turned me into a wreck. And he abandoned me with ma, the traitor.

“I’m not bathing. You can all kiss my reeking ass.”

“That’s it!”

Suddenly six hands are all over me and my theory that they aren’t human is confirmed when they effortlessly carry my struggling body upstairs and lower me into the bath, clothes and all before Lizzie starts throwing shampoo all over me while ma snaps on rubber gloves and yanks at clothes.

After the fight leaves me and I’m too exhausted to even blink I am treated to a make over that is beyond traumatising. No one should have these three touching, shaving or washing the places they go.

I especially do not appreciate the thorough exfoliation or the wax strips they bring out once I’m dry and prone on my bed. I definitely do not enjoy Lizzie taking those things to my poor innocent folds. Nor the gleeful way Ro two uses that tweezer on stray hairs.

And now I know exactly who these women are, I think as ma puts lotion in all my secret places and tuts over my dry skin. They’re reincarnated Nazi’s, they must be. Because never have I ever seen three people enjoy torturing an innocent victim this much.

“That’s gross, maaaa!”

“You think it’s gross? Try being the one to touch it young lady,” she huffs.

I’m pretty sure my ass crack doesn’t require moisturiser but I’m enjoying her shudders way more than I feel the shame so I just lay there and watch as she tries valiantly not to moan her horror.

By the time they deem me fit I feel so much better I almost say thank you. I don’t ‘cause where’s the fun in that I ask ya, but I feel the gratitude deep inside where my soul is hiding from the evil.

“Good God, Ro, your line is hirsute,” Lizzie wheezes, dumping the wax strips in the trash and falling into a chair with an exhausted sigh.

Hirsute? I bet I could cover a camel in the fur these three are packing but I keep it to myself and just bask as ma pants while dressing my prone form in a soft sweater and matching tights.

“Kiss my ass, Lizzie. I saw the hundred meters of cloth strips your poor waxologist used on you at the salon. What the hell did you have down there, a baby gorilla?” ma grunts, making me sputter out a laugh.

Lizzie sucks her teeth, that demon eye rolling as both Ro’s flop down beside me and groan.

“Yeah .A ginger gorilla from the looks of things,” Ro snickers, though God knows how she can throw stones since they’re all three sporting ginger pubes.

Lizzie grunts, scowling the whole time and I see ma grin.

“You got a nerve. Poor Mitch probably coughs up enough hair balls to produce a year’s worth of pot scourers.”

“Gross!”

I need to puke and this time it’s not the baby.

“Oh hush you. What? You think your ma don’t deserve good loving?”

“Maaaa!”

“I like the good stuff as much as the next woman and your pa’s a skilled man Mari. A real professional.”

That gets the three cackling and swapping stories while I feel around for ear bleeds and brain leakage.

“My Ian is the best. Last year on our anniversary he decided to research some of those edible panties-”

No! Oh God no!

I’m beat but I dig deep and find the strength to bolt off the bed and out of the room as they start comparing their husbands eating techniques. I hit the living room at a sprint and throw myself at papa, so shaken it’s a wonder I can talk at all.

“They’re evil. And lewd. They should go up in flames in church pa.” I whisper into his neck, shivering when their laughter floats down the stairs.

“What did they do to my baby?”

“The bad touch papa. They gave me the bad touch and then started talking about sex.”

My shudder is overrun by his chuckles and I groan my disapproval in anguish.

“You should listen to your ma, Mari, she’s got some great stories.”

“Sure. If I was looking for trauma counselling for the rest of my life.” I say, gagging for effect.

“But she was right punkin, you looked bad and smelled. Tell papa what has my punkin so down and I’ll fix it.”

The words make my lips twitch as warmth spreads through me and I find myself feeling like a ten year old again, coming to papa for shelter and being wrapped up in his strong arms.

I should totally not be okay with it since I’m a grown damn woman, but my papa rocks y’all! He’s always gonna be my knight in tightywhities and that’s cool because the E network logo blares on the T.V screen and then I am officially looking at photos of my husband. With another woman. A sexy, very hot woman who’s draped over him in the ocean like a second skin.

“Sonofabitch!”

Oh papa, I will so second that and throw in a dash of motherfucker!