“Sorry,” I whisper, “that kind of classified information just might get me arrested.” I’m totally alluding to the role-playing game Cruise initiated and give a private smile over to the sexy sheriff himself.
“You did!” She belts out the accusation, probing me with a hostile stare.
“Keep it down!” I grit it through my teeth.
“You know what that means?” She bares her fangs with a haughty little smile.
“No.” I panic. “What does it mean?” It so doesn’t mean anything. The only “mean” thing around here is Molly.
“It means we’ll be right back here in less than nine months, dumbass.” She jets out her leg in a defiant stance, awaiting my reaction to her oh-so-vague declaration. “Unless, of course, you were pulling double duty and made sure my poor sucker of a brother put a hat on it.”
I take in a quick breath. Back here in nine months? Hat?
He didn’t wear a hat!
He didn’t wear a hat!
I fight the sudden urge to run in a spastic circle as all out hysteria sets in and I’m not entirely sure why.
“Weren’t you listening during orientation?” She rocks back on her heels in disbelief. “Those stupid little pills are worthless.”
Dear God! Why am I such a dumbass? A question, I’m sure, Cruise will be asking in the very near future.
“No, I wasn’t listening during orientation. I was too floored over the fact you weren’t getting a refill, remember?”
She scoffs at my gynecological misstep. “The pills are worthless until after the first solid month. You may as well be downing tic-tacs. So, I guess I’m going to be an aunt.” She shoots an angry look over at Cruise as if somehow his penis just took down all three of our lives.
“You are not going to be an aunt.” I spit the words out, quiet as possible. “Cruise and I are responsible adults who understand the importance of basic protection. I also happen to know that seventeen is way too young to be experimenting with pills and penises. So, steer clear, missy, or I’m so going to sic your brother on that hypersexual boy toy of yours. And, trust me, there is nothing more embarrassing to bring to prom than one of your own relatives. Don’t think for a minute he’d ever let you out of his sight again.”
I try to bolt from her den of insanity, but she snatches me back by the elbow.
“You know what else he’s not going to take so well?” She sets her pretty little face in a snarl. “The fact his bimbo girlfriend let him put a bun in the oven because she doesn’t understand the basic principles of procreation!”
I seize at the thought before yanking myself free from her evil little clutches. Technically, I totally understand the basic principles of procreation. I have the perfect letter grade in AP Biology to prove it. It’s the basic principles of the birth control pill that seem to have eluded my good senses, and suddenly, I’m virally pissed at the entire pharmacological industry. I might just fire off an angry email to the manufactures, who may have unwittingly assisted in the conception of my first child, and suggest they outfit that pretty little compact they gave me with a fucking skull and cross bones. I’m a visual learner. And, after years of institutionalizing myself in all things scholastic, I’ve practically trained my brain to mentally checkout during an orientation of any kind.
I stalk off to crash on the sofa.
She is so not going to be an aunt.
Is she?
Cruise’s mother managed to break her leg in three different places—spiral fracture of the Tibia and Fibula and a clean break of the Femur. The orthopedist took us to the back and showed us the X-rays. He even let us assist in wrapping the gauze before he set a cast over it. He was sort of an ass though, clamoring on and on about how he was itching to take his girlfriend to dinner and wasn’t expecting an emergency. So I kept reassuring Sam she did nothing wrong, even if the asshat of a doctor alluded to the fact she managed to have an ill-timed fall.
And after pulling a shift at the hospital, I sort of feel like a doctor now myself.
Cruise starts a fire while I shower and change.
“You know you kill me in that T-shirt,” he says as I saunter into the living room.
For most of my life, all I’ve ever slept in is a nice long T-shirt, so if Cruise thinks I’m doing it for him, all the better.
“I’m so sorry about your mom,” I say, circling his waist in front of the crackling flames. “They’ll take good care of her at the clinic once they move her.”
“She can’t go.” He swallows hard. “Insurance won’t cover it, and it’s thousands of dollars a day. We’d lose the bed and breakfast in a week.”