Well, techinically one of the blondes is pregnant too, but the joke doesn’t flow as well.
There’s a punchline there. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s probably dirty, and not because of the mud, though the feeling of it encasing my entire body is strangely … amazing. I just want to lay my head back, close my eyes, and soak, letting the thick goop suck away all my tension and worries.
Rylee and Stacey are in the baths to my right, while Skyler and Grace are to my left, seemingly out of reach of the mild freakout Rylee’s having right now. I’ve missed Rylee so much, but man oh man, I’ve never seen her so obsessed over something before. To be specific, she’s going on and on about all the things she’s found out that can go wrong with pregnancy, and… I’m not going to lie, it’s really harshing my vibe.
It’s also making me really reconsider the thought of ever having kids of my own. I really don’t want to be like she is right now.
“Did you know if you’re low on iron, you can start craving dirt and stuff?” she asks Stacey, her tone low but strained.
Stacey, on the other hand, is chill as hell. She’s resting against the edge of her tub, her hair in a towel, munching on a bowl of cucumbers I’m pretty sure are supposed to be for our eyes.
“Yeah,” she nods between bites. “I ate a handful of pot soil once when I was pregnant with Millie. Wouldn’t recommend. So crunchy.”
I shoot her an incredulous gaze, horrified and fascinated. She doesn’t notice. She continues being, well, as chill as a cucumber.
“Are you serious?” I ask, and she shoots me a teasing grin.
“Nah, I’m just kidding. I didn’t do that. I know it can happen, but you’ll be fine, Rylee.”
Rylee’s eyes are wide circles. “What if Iamone of the people who craves dirt? Like what if I wake up one day and I’m like… yum, backyard.”
“Rylee, babe, I’ll season it for you,” I tell her, trying to contain a serious face. “I’m not letting you raw-dog soil like some kind ofunsupervised toddler.”
She gives me a relieved giggle, the other girls joining along. “I’m so lucky to have you guys looking out for me. I read that the longest recorded pregnancy was three hundred and seventy-five days. How is that possible? Doesn’t that terrify you?”
Stacey waves her hand dismissively. “Beulah Hunter. Gave birth on February 21, 1945. That won’t happen to you, though. Don’t worry.”
What the actual fuck? Why does she just know that?
Rylee chews on her bottom lip for several moments before asking, “What about pooping during delivery?”
I screw up my nose in disgust, but I don’t say anything because I’m not exactly an authority on the subject. But good lord! Maybe I should look into surrogacy? It’s not like I need toreally think about that now. I’m not going to even consider kids until I’ve got my career figured out, and that’s a bit of a fucking mess.
And yet, I’m straining my ears to make sure I catch Stacey’s response.
She’s laughing. “You’re going to do a lot more than poop. That’ll be the least of your worries.”
This is like a car crash that I just can’t look away from. However, that’s not the worst of it. Rylee glances around like she’s too afraid to say the next thing on her mind.
“What about contractions? Are they really that bad?”
Stacey shrugs. “They feel like your spine is trying to exit your body, but it’s fine. You just breathe through it.”
“Breathe through it?” I exclaim. “Girl, that sounds like anexorcism.”
Stacey appears thoughtful for a moment. “Kind of… you are expelling a whole being out of you. That’s technically an exorcism.”
My jaw drops. “Fuuuuuck…I’ll never watchThe Exorcistthe same again.”
Rylee speaks in a horrified whisper, “You can tear from your pink to your stink.”
I choke, literally choke, on thin air and start hacking uncontrollably.
“Holy shit, Sutt!” Grace gasps, reaching over to swat my back, dripping mud across the floor. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah… yeah, I’m good,” I assure her, sucking air into my burning lungs. Turning my wide-eyed stare to Rylee, I rasp, “What did you just say?”
Rylee blinks back at me. “Uh… during delivery. You can tear, like, from one hole to the…”
