“Let’s see what Awful Brooke has to say today,” I tell Dexter, who’s standing with his chin resting on the arm of the couch, watching the crisps with great intensity.
My mobile rings. I pluck it off the couch cushion and see it's Nikki calling. Swiping the screen, I say, "Hey, girl."
"If you're not watching the telly, don't turn on the news right now."
"Oh, you mean the latest episode of Brooke the Incredible Shrinking Pregnant Woman Looks Down on Everyone Else in the World?”
Nikki laughs, then puts on a TV announcer voice and says, “Today, an inside look at Brooke and Blake’s twenty-two-bedroom mansion in South Valcourt.” Switching to her normal voice, she says, “But seriously, I thought we agreed you shouldn't watch this? On account of your rage?"
"Yeah, about that, reminding me of things I previously asked you to remind me of—not so good for my rage.” I take a handful of crisps and shove them in my mouth.
"Thanks for the warning. I’ll take that under advisement. Salt and pepper crisps for you today?"
“I’m living on the edge tonight. Jalapeño Cheddar."
I hear Nikki crunching as well. It's nice to have friends you can be rude with. "What are you eating?"
"Prawn Cocktail Crisps washed down with ginger beer."
"Ooooh, nice. God, I miss alcohol. So, so much. The great irony of pregnancy is that the time when you need a drink the most is exactly when you can’t have one.”
“So true. I’ve never thought of that, but somehow I feel like if you’d had a bottle of wine in front of you the past few weeks, you’d be much more chilled out.”
“My rage would be lowered by a factor of ten, guaranteed."
"The fact that you aren't drinking right now, with everything that's been going on, makes you my hero."
"Aww, thanks, hon." I take a sip of my boring cranberry juice, imagining there’s some vodka in it. "Good God, that's a gorgeous house. Look at the view out the nursery window."
"Is that..."
I gasp. "That's my house. Okay, that’s just weird.”
"Two things about that last statement—number one, that apalaceis what you call ‘your house’ is kind of mind blowing, right?"
"Very.”
“Second thing—it's a little creepy that she can see your house from her house, no?"
"Definitely. Shit. I think they just said my name."
I watch the screen closely as I hear Veronica say, "Now, not to get gossipy, but I'm afraid our Duchess of Wellingborne, a.k.a. the Cowntess of Camembert, as she's been so cruelly nicknamed, is not necessarily having what you would call an optimal pregnancy."
"Well, as much as I hate to comment on someone else, I do have to say it's important for those of us in influential positions to model healthy behaviours and habits for other people around the kingdom."
“Shut if off!” Nikki hollers into the phone. “That’s an order. Do not listen to any more of this.”
I scramble to shut off the telly.
“Is it off?” Nikki asks.
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Oh, I’d love to slap that smug look off her face.”
“Me, too. It would feel so good to take her down a few notches. Just really let her have it. Or have people finally see her for who she is.”
“If only.”
