“Good choice.” Her sister has a cross for every day of the week, carries a rosary in her purse for emergencies, and has God on speed dial.
“Do they have the Godfather picked?” I walk with her to the table but keep my distance.
Rose chuckles. “Uncle Vinny?”
“Not that kind of godfather. Jeesh.”
“Oh, and my mom already reserved Petey’s backroom for the baby shower.” She stops with her hand on my door handle while I clunk my head against the refrigerator.
Pointing toward the bathroom, she sings in a ghostly voice. “Saaaaam. Pee on me. You know you want to.”
“Enough. Go. I promise I will, Tomorrow.”Or the next day.
All night long I dream of babies, but not real ones. They’re china kewpie dolls and they march like tin soldiers. Stiff legged, they climb my stairs, walk through the gaps in the railing, and smash into little bits as they hit the floor.
In the morning, when my alarm goes off, I pull the pillow over my head and eventually, drag my ass out of bed.
“Do not judge me.” I shout at the coffee maker while making a miniscule cup. When done, I gulp and lap every last drop.
Catrina cocks her head at me. “Mew?”
“Et tu, Brute?” I haven’t even taken the test and already, everyone has an opinion.
After dressing in a daze, I manage to sleepwalk to work. There, I realize my socks don’t match and as I set up the pastries, my reflection stares back at me from multiple mirrors. Apparently, a drunken monkey escaped from the zoo and drew on my eyeliner this morning.
To top it all off, Mrs. Nardo comes in, claiming she needs to change her appointment which she could have easily done by phone.
“How are you feeling deary? You look like death warmed over.” She shouts this across the parlor to where I stand at my station.
“All good.” Waving back, I avoid eye contact pretending no one heard, and if they did, they won’t connect the dots.
“Sam’s pregnant and I’m going to be the godmother.” Mia announces this to the entire room, everyone stares, and not for the first time, I consider murdering her.
Using a southern drawl in Brooklyn will aide in my insanity plea. “Y’all need to mind your own beeswax!”
Rose snickers, her sister joins her, and soon the whole place is belly laughing. The few with continence problems fight their way to the bathroom.
While all this is going on, Joey walks in with his little girl on his hip.
“T’anks, Marion.” He sets the toddler on the floor and she wobbles over to my boss with pudgy hands outstretched for a hug.
His daughter settled, he sticks his head out the door, looks right and left, then sprints off, suspicious as hell.
The seniors ooh and aww as Kimmy blows them kisses but I’m just glad they’re easily distracted and I’m no longer the center of attention.
That is, until Mrs. D’Angelo yells at me from under her hairdryer, “Did you get our bingo money back?”
I’m not sure how we’re supposed to carry on a conversation when she can’t hear but I nod as if it’s perfectly normal.
“Why me?” I look at them all for support and find none.
“It makes Ned feel important, dear.” Mrs. Nardo adds her two cents while chatting with my aunt near the register.
“Okay, but this time you need to pay me, and not in cards or quarters.”
My boss glares over her half glasses with a look that says I will accept whatever compensation they offer if I want to keep my job.
Resigned, a heavy sigh escapes me. “Fine. I’ll stop by later.”
