“Colleen!” Carol snaps me out of my reverie and I move my hand, hoping she didn’t catch that little move. My eyes shoot to hers and I try to make like I’d been paying attention all along. “You’re pregnant!” She sounds surprised and somewhat relieved, like if I was pregnant, that would make sense of this whole marriage business. What is her flippin’ problem with Brad, anyway?
“Not yet,” I say and I want to crawl into a hole. “We’re,” I stumble over my words, “Trying.” I smile politely, nervously. She nods and asks if we’ll need to look for another house. I shake my head and inform her that we have a room for our baby when he or she arrives.
Our baby.
For a brief moment I wonder if I should be planning on tricking Brad into fatherhood after all. We’re supposed to be in this together. We said we would try but we haven’t been speaking. No doubt Brad would still be in if I told him; but then that’s like telling him I love him. I’m just not ready for that one yet.
Once we get all of the details squared away, I set out for my daily visit to the park not too far from the house. My first day as an unemployed woman, I went to the park just a few blocks from the house. I didn’t even think about the fact that anyone on the force could drive by and see me. I thought about that on day two, but by then it felt kind of good to be bad. I’ve never really been bad—not much anyway—and this small risk felt good. So I did it every day just daring someone to drive by and see me. It was a rush and I felt like a daredevil.
It’s pretty cold at the park, so I change out of my slacks and into my sweats. On day three, I gave up on the yoga pants. I’ve gained weight since getting married and the yoga pants don’t look the same. Not to mention that they are a little tight now. My ass is wider, my thighs are bulkier, and my hip bones seem to be disappearing. Even certain shirts are getting hard to fit in… my arms have gotten fat. So, sweatpants it is. To complete the outfit I put my Uggs on and a sweatshirt.
My bench is cold, but it’s where I sit every day, so I refuse to move. With my favorite mid-day snack in hand, I begin to munch. I didn’t bring any bread for the birds today, just my uncooked macaroni.
I’ve been at the park for nearly an hour when I hear it. “Aunt Colleen!” My eyes dart left to see Alex managing a pretty quick run for me. He’s followed by Darla who is pushing Fitz in his stroller. I grin at him and scoop him up in my arms when he crashes into my legs.
“Monster!” I wrap my arms around him and cuddle as if my life depended on it. Darla clears her throat and I realize what’s going to happen. I’m at the park in the middle of the day when I just told Brad that I would be leaving work early for dinner with his parents. Darla probably knows this. Darla knows all.
“Spill it,” she says bluntly and plops down on the bench next to me. Alex wiggles from my lap and stands up on the bench between us. He places his little feet on my legs and grabs onto my neck and starts climbing. Accidentally, he knees my chest and I hold my injured breast like it will fall off if I don’t. That really hurt.
“Alex,” Darla whines and yanks him off. Eventually, he relents and releases me, but manages to take some hair with him. I give him a dirty look and the little shit gives me one back. He definitely has Darla’s attitude even if he is the spitting image of James.
“I don’t have anything to spill,” I defend a little too guiltily. She raises an eyebrow and smirks. “I don’t,” I continue. “Why would I have anything to spill?” I bounce my leg. “Can’t a girl just sit around a park and snack in her sweats? Can’t she? Huh!” I’ve morphed into a jittery, nervous mess.
“You’re such a bad liar, I almost feel bad for forcing it out of you,” she muses while trying to wrangle the toddler on her lap. During a moment of weakness when she can’t quite get him to sit, I snatch him back and blow a raspberry on his cheek. He squirms and giggles.
“Uncle Brad,” he squeals and starts looking around for Brad. Alex equates raspberries with his favorite uncle. Darla laughs, not missing a beat.
“You used to hate those,” she says, verbalizing my very thoughts. Brad used to drive me nuts blowing raspberries on me and the kids. I couldn’t stand all the spit going everywhere. And now I’m doing it, too. “Man, he’s gotten to you good,” she shakes her head and smiles.
“I love him, Darla,” I look her dead in the eye and speak with confidence. She seems a little surprised that I’m so confident in my words but she’s classy enough to not call me out on my previous cowardly behavior.