Chapter 39
Vivian
Clinton is stepping out of the barbershop just as I’m stepping out of the bakery. We grin at each other.
“You ready to go?” he asks as he turns the key in the lock.
I nod and do the same, securing the cupcake shop for the night. “I’m ready.”
Today, we have an appointment at the clinic. We’re going to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I’m so giddy with excitement that I can’t even walk straight. Clinton comes and drops an arm around my shoulder as he caresses my little belly.
“Let’s do it.” He kisses my cheek. “And after that, dinner at Gallos?”
“Definitely.” Because when am I ever not hungry these days.
I’m headed for my car but Clinton pulls me toward his motorcycle. “We have the rest of our lives to drive in your sensible little Chevrolet. Let’s be adventurous tonight.”
“No!” I laugh, thrusting my car keys at him.
“Yes!” He stretches a helmet out to me.
I arch a brow and shake the car keys again.
He winks and wiggles the helmet in response.
My resistance is weak. I’m happy and I’m in love and I’d follow this man to the ends of the Earth. Let’s just hope my bladder keeps it together for the ride.
Clinton is helping me put on the helmet when Mandy’s minivan frenetically swings into the parking lot. Tires screech and she throws the thing into park. She hops out of the driver’s side and stomps around the front to yank open the passenger’s side door. Ernie climbs meekly out of the vehicle. His wife literally grabs him by the collar of his trench coat and drags him down the sidewalk toward the cupcake shop.
“I really can’t believe that I share DNA with that chump,” Clinton whispers out the side of his mouth. “And with a name like ‘Ernie’…”
I shake my head ruefully. “The poor guy never even had a chance at being a winner.”
Clinton was not pleased when we finally put two and two together and discovered that my cowardly ex-boyfriend is one of his half-brothers. It was actually kind of hilarious to hear him grunt and grumble about it.
Anyway, Mandy’s bickering with her husband as they approach. “…You are going to tell her that you didn’t mean any of those things you said to her and then you’re going to never set foot back on this side of town again,” she instructs him.
Clinton stands protectively in front of me. “Is there a problem here?”
Mandy folds her arms over her chest. “After reviewing the information on the tracking device I implanted in his boxers, I think my husband has a few things to say to Vivian. A few retractions and clarifications, if you will.” The furious woman glares at the spineless, little chump she married. “I’m waiting, Ernie.”
I pull Clinton’s arm around my shoulder and tuck my head against his chest. “We’re sort of running late for an appointmen—"
Mandy cuts me off. “Spit it out, Ernie. Or I’m gonna file for a divorce so fast it’ll make your head spin. I pushed three enormous Becker foreheads out of my birth canal and I’ll be damned if I don’t go down swinging!”
“Now really isn’t a good time.” I say it with a smile but Mandy keeps on hollering and threatening her husband. His eyes dart around frantically for the nearest hole to hide out in.
I tried to be polite but my patience is running on empty. I’ve had enough of them. “I’ve come to some stark realizations about the two of you.” I glare at Mandy. “You go around mean-momming her way through life as a means for masking your repressed ambition and your sexual dissatisfaction.” I turn my attention on Ernie. “And you? You’re so low on testosterone that I can even find a metaphor that would do your situation justice. And I just don’t have the gigabytes in my emotional data plan to deal with either of you today. So, excuse us.” Clinton takes me by the wrist and helps me mount his bike.
Mandy’s jaw drops in shock. “Bu-but I have some things I need to discuss with you…”
I look her straight in the face. "Apparently, you don’t understand. Okay, let me rephrase that for you. I've never given less fucks in my life."
Clinton jumps in front of me on the bike and I lock my arms around his waist. As we peel out of the parking lot and leave Ernie and Mandy in the dust, my man throws a hand into the air. “Middle fingers, bitches!”
And then we ride off into the sunset. Poetic as fuck.