Take now for example.
Fiona was approximately the same number of weeks pregnant as Janie, but her belly was much, much smaller. Maybe this was because Fiona was just over five feet and Janie was almost six feet, but still. Still!
Her hair was done in a sleek bob, she wore a fashionable turquoise maternity dress and strappy black sandals, and her skin looked fantastic. She’d made the lemon drops everyone was drinking as well as canapés.
That’s right. Canapés. Freaking canapés! Who does that while nine months pregnant? Ten days ago, she’d organized an impromptu dinner party at Janie’s apartment—so Janie wouldn’t be left out—and made everyone dinner.
I can’t even.
Janie, however, my dear friend, was a hot mess. Her wild red hair was piled high on her head in a haphazard bun, curls and tendrils snaking out in every direction. She wore black horn-rimmed glasses, she’d confessed that this was to hide the bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and she was wearing a tattered Wonder Woman bathrobe over Wonder Woman pajamas. Every so often, she’d stretch, her face contorting with discomfort, then close her eyes and sigh.
Fiona was too perfect. I couldn’t relate.
Sandra wasn’t finished. “Anal. Who has done it? Who is doing it? Who likes it? What is the deal with anal?”
Ashley, videoconferencing from her family’s home in Tennessee, shook her head. Ashley had moved back to Tennessee about six months prior and had been joining us via computer ever since. Tonight, Sandra placed a laptop on a stool so our friend could see us and we could see her. The brunette sat on an old mustard-colored couch, a big family room behind her.
“Sandra, no one wants to talk about being impaled via the rectum.” Ashley’s Tennessee accent only emphasized her dry humor. “It’s why I hated my emergency room rotation, folks coming in with light bulbs and such stuck up their B-hole. That’s not something they make a greeting card for. Sorry you’re a dummy who stuck a light bulb up your ass, hope you get smarter soon.”
Nico—aka Nicoletta, the only male member of our knitting group, and Elizabeth’s husband—snorted and then laughed loudly. “Oh man, that’s hilarious. You might see me steal that for the show.”
I also smiled, but kept my eyes on my knitting. I still hadn’t grown accustomed to Nico’s presence, even though he’d been attending knit nights whenever he could for the last two years. He didn’t do anything to make me uncomfortable. I was the problem.
The thing was, he was a famous comedian. He had a show on Comedy Central. He was down-to-earth, and funny, and insanely handsome, and charismatic—so charismatic—and everything wonderful. He was basically a Disney prince come to life, who also spoke Italian and had blind devotion to his wife. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have the tiniest crush on him, but I felt like it was impossible not to.
“Use it for your show, Nicoletta.” Ashley shrugged. “I ain’t using it for anything profitable.”
Not a second later, Ashley’s youngest brother, Roscoe, poked his head in the frame. “Are y’all talking about anal?”
This drew smiles and chuckles from all gathered except Ashley.
Usually, I would’ve remained quiet for the rest of the evening. First of all, her brother Roscoe was seriously, seriously hot. And he was in veterinary school. As far as I was concerned, he embodied walking kryptonite for the virtuous-minded.
Secondly, I didn’t know him. It wasn’t like discussing this stuff with the rest of the ladies (and I included Nicoletta in that). I knew them. I trusted them. We’d been through times together.
However, since I was on my third lemon drop, my uneasiness was eclipsed by a general sense of ennui. And the realization that I wasn’t uneasy had me pushing the rest of my lemon drop away. Alcohol made me braver; I knew this about myself. Which was why I only allowed myself alcohol when I was with my friends.
“Get out of here.” Ashley shoved her little brother to the side, but he didn’t leave, opting instead to join her on the couch.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She scowled at him.
He shrugged. “I think I’ll learn to knit.”
Elizabeth and Nico shared an amused look.
Fiona heaved an aggrieved sigh, likely unaware of Ashley and Roscoe’s spat. “Sandra—”
“Hear me out.”
“For man on man, it makes sense.” Janie rested her crochet on her stomach. She’d been treating her pregnant belly like a table for the past month. “Because men have the prostate and pressure on that area feels good.”
This was a very Janie-like thing for her to say. She seemed to know a little—or a lot—about everything, and when topics were raised, controversial or otherwise, she always offered a deluge of random factoids on the subject.