“Wait, why do you get dibs? You've been in a birthing suite of your ownfour times,might I remind you. I've only had one baby, so it should be me,” Jaime interjects.
“I made her godmother, which neither of you has done for any of us, remember,” Elle shoots back.
“This shit again? You can't keep pulling this card, Elle!”
Their light-hearted bickering pulls a wobbly smile from me.
Jaime turns to me when she notices, “There she is. Just know if that fuckhead makes you cry again, I'll stab him with a rusty spork.” She affirms this with a decisive nod, making a laugh splutter out from my mouth.
“A spork?”
“Yep. A really rusty one. It'll be sharp and blunt at the same time, and either way, it'll hurt.”
Well, if not a father, this baby will at least have the most protective aunties in the world, that's for sure.
Elle saunters back into the room with a tray of chocolate molten lava cakes and vanilla ice cream. She's even brought a little bowl with a scoop of ice cream for Pickles.
“Wait,” I croak, “how long have you been in my house that you've had time to bake these?”
“They only take about forty minutes, including prep, and you know I have this down to a T by now.”
Max pulls out a bottle of wine from seemingly nowhere and starts filling the glasses that I've only just noticed are on my coffee table.
“None for me, bun in the oven, remember?”
She keeps on pouring, “Oh, I remember. This is non-alcoholic wine. We're forgoing alcohol with you in solidarity.”
“But only for tonight. Just to be clear. Don't want you thinking I'm not drinking for the next seven months. That would be crazy talk!” Jaime interjects. We dissolve into laughter and I thank my lucky stars again for gifting me such wonderful sisters.
The next three hours are spent watching car crash TV, drinking fun-free wine, and eating cake and ice cream. We may or may not also spend some time vilifying my baby daddy whilst we're at it, because we are but human and my emotions are still very raw.
Just as we start cleaning up for the girls to go home to their own children, there's a knock at the door triggering Pickles' howling bark – which is as adorable as it is annoying.
Who knocks on the door at ten o’clock at night??Psychos, that's who.
Jaime The Brave takes one for the team and answers, and when she turns around her eyebrows are so far up her forehead, I swear they might disappear into her hairline. I see why when Brad steps through the door a second later.
The backs of my eyes sting and I don't fucking want to cry anymore today! But also emotions. And hormones. And really hot, remorseful-looking manboy who knocked me up and is now crouched down to pet my first baby behind the ears.Damn it.
The girls are all just glaring silently at Brad, who looks like he'd rather have his dick stuck in a vice than be under this scrutiny. “Hey, Shari. Can we, uh, talk? Please?”
Sweet, soft, Elle takes pity on him first and turns to hug me. “If it gets to be too much, call me. I'll come and stay over and leave the kids with my parents.”
Max and Jaime hug me and Jaime deadpans, “Rusty. Spork,” and just before they all walk out together, she turns to Brad and quietly utters, “Just know that I've already planned how and where I'd dispose of a body.”
The door closes behind them and I can hear Max's muffled, “Wait, where and how would you dispose of a body?”
“The less you know, the better, my friend.” Jaime's reply trails off as they walk to their cars.
And with that sinister statement, Brad and I are left alone.
BRAD
“So, your friends are more intense than I remember.”
Understatement. The one with the bob isterrifying. Her icy blue eyes look like they could pierce a man’s soul with one look.
For some reason, this only makes Shari smile. It's small but definitely there, so I use the moment to really take her in. Her face looks pale, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are red and swollen. She's still beautiful, just...sad. And it guts me to realise that I'm the cause.
