“So, about the sweats,” she says looking me over. I stick my chin out defiantly. “And the weight…” Her eyes grow wide and she pinches some flab on my upper arm. “How much have you been eating?” Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, I sit Alex in my lap to hide my fat thighs and bloated belly. She continues to inspect me, even going so far as to poke my stomach.
“Stop that.”
“Holy shit. Colleen, are you pregnant?” My eyes are wide with unshed tears. I wish I could blame the weight on being pregnant. If that were true, I’d be walking around showing off my belly, proud of my growing physique. But this is just fat.
Before I can stop them, the tears start pouring out and I’m whining/crying/filling Darla in on recent events. She listens and waits and gives me a look of pity that I did not want. I tell her that I quit my job but I make her swear that she won’t tell James or anyone else about this whole bout of unemployment. She agrees, but I’m still nervous about the whole thing.
“Chit,” Alex shouts but we ignore him, both having learned long ago that giving his potty mouth any attention only encourages him. He’s just like a little parrot, he likes to mimic. Besides, he doesn’t actually know what it means yet.
“You’re insane,” she says and then shrugs her shoulders. “But rock on, girlie. I’m not touching this one with a ten-foot pole.” A few minutes of idle chitchat pass as I absorb her words. Somewhere in the back of my head I know she’s shooting glares at me, trying to steer me away from my plan; but the other me who’s in control right now—the crazy one—hears that I’m a genius.
Eventually, Darla has to leave to pick up Lilly from kindergarten and reluctantly, I let my little monster go. She tries one last ditch effort to get me to tell Brad how I feel about him before I embark upon “Operation: Impregnation” as she has so fondly named it; but I can’t do that. I’ll just die if I’m not “it” for him like he is for me. I’d rather live in the dark, never knowing. Besides, I’m on a mission. If I tell Brad how I feel and he doesn’t feel the same, the chances for success with “Operation: Impregnation” are probably slim.
Back at the house, I pull up a little surprised to see Brad already there. It’s not quite five yet and dinner isn’t until seven, I assume. Emily always has dinner on the table at seven sharp. She’s just that good. I need a shower and decide that maybe the old Ball & Chain and I can conserve some water and shower together. Besides, we’re now a one-income household, he just doesn’t know it yet.
I walk in the house to find Brad engrossed in a video game with James. I tell them that I need a shower, but neither one of them get the hint. I make a few subtle comments about not wanting to shower alone which go ignored. Stupid baseball video game. This is how I’ve found my husband and stupid brother every night this week: parking their butts in front of the TV, playing a video game, ignoring me. When I’ve asked Brad about it, he shrugs and changes the subject. The last time James hung around Brad this much was after the whole Heather incident.
I hop into the shower and try to wash away the day’s thoughts of listing prices, nosey sister-in-laws and my own fat behind. When I get out of the shower, I wrap a towel around me and sneak off to our bedroom. Inside, I find the sexiest thing alive: my husband… and he’s doing laundry. He stops when he sees me enter the room. His frame in arched over the bed, his hands frozen mid-fold. He’s wearing a wife beater and basketball shorts. His toned arms are on display. And then I notice that he’s folding my laundry.
The man is folding my laundry.
Who does that?
Nobody.
And suddenly, my libido is back. I smile wickedly at him and turn off the lights. He smiles at me. I’m not sure what I would call this smile. It’s not predatory, and it’s not needy; he just looks happy.
I cross the room as he finishes his folding job and sets my top into a tidy pile. I’m practically panting at him, imaging that he’s folding tiny shirts and onesies and matching up baby booties instead. I wait until I’m right up next to him and I drop my towel. His eyes widen and now he gets it.
Slowly, carefully, we push and pull and fumble with one another. I’m hesitant to let him really see me until we’re under the covers, so I work diligently at getting him naked so his focus is elsewhere. I toss the tidy piles of fresh clothing aside while pulling up the blankets. He doesn’t pause to be upset; he just continues his assault on my neck. Suck. Lick. Nibble.
No words are exchanged, none need to be. He towers over me. We fall back onto the bed. I scramble for the blankets and cover myself up. He’s gentle, cushioning my fall with his hand and using his elbows to keep his weight off of me. Brad kisses my forehead before he leaves me. Crouching down on the floor, he kisses my ankles and slowly, affectionately, slides his hands up my legs. Making his way up my body, he peppers soft, chaste kisses along my legs. His hands roam, gently kneading my pliant flesh.