“Oh my god,” Dottie gasps, slamming her glass down on the table and I nearly jump out of my seat from the loud intrusion to my quiet thoughts.
“Fuck, Dottie, warn a girl before you have an outburst, will you? You could’ve forced me into labor just now.”
“I don’t think that’s scientifically possible. I have an idea,” my sister-to-be says, her eyes wide as saucers and glimmering with a menacing glow. “One last prank to take Earl down for good.”
“I can’t. The lawyer advised me to lay low and stop fucking with him. We’ve got a really good chance at getting full custody of the kids and I don’t want to take any chances.”
“But what if I told you this particular idea of mine couldn’t be traced back to you in any way? And if my gut is right, it may even help you in the long run? You could wind up with the best of both worlds. A nest egg for your kids and never having to see Earl Ellis Booth again.”
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical but curious.
“I’m listening…”
“Oh Loathsome Lilah,” Dottie says, calling me by the ridiculous code name Ivy gave me all those weeks ago. She picks up her phone and dials, propping up her phone for a FaceTime call and smirking like the cat who got the cream. “You are about to learn why it’s good to have rich, powerful, nosy men with nothing but free time on their hands in your life.”
The phone rings once, then a frantic, gorgeous man appears on screen. Taylor Swift is playing loudly in the background and I can hear the unmistakable sound of drunk-girl giggling.
God, I miss being allowed to get drunk. Maybe I’ll have a margarita in the hospital as my push-present.
“Dottie Girl,” the man on the screen gasps, running his fingers through luscious brown locks. I’ve been wavering on putting a label on my sexuality but I think I can firmly plant myself in the bisexual camp, cause I’d let this dude ride me like a tilt-a-whirl. “When are you coming back to San Francisco? You’re the only sane member of The Pussy Posse and I fear Kira’s power is growing too strong in your absence.”
“James, you can handle your wife and her friends without me. Now focus. I’m sitting here with Stephen’s sister, and we need a favor.”
“Anything. Everything. Just get back here and save me, please.”
20
MAJOR VAGINAL DAMAGE
IVY
The exam room at Delilah’s OB/GYN’s office is still cold as all fuck, but I have to admit, the room is much nicer than the sterile, bright white room I’m used to dropping trou in back in Nashville. Dr. Feld seems to want to curate a more peaceful, relaxing vibe for her patients. The walls are a soft green color, not quite mint but not grassy either. The lights are dimmable with a remote given to the patient upon entry to adjust them to their preferred setting. She even has a Bluetooth speaker in each room that we can connect to and play our own music during Delilah’s appointments. Today Delilah was in a 2000’s rock mood, so Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus is playing through the speakers.
The cherry on top is the aromatherapy diffuser, though. Not because it’s amazing, but because it’s not. It makes the room smell like eucalyptus, sure, but it’s not enough to mask the antiseptic medical smell, so the whole room smells like a spa that has been dipped into a vat of hand sanitizer.
Still, it’s better than the itchy, overstimulating exam rooms at the Planned Parenthood where I get my Paps done.
“Oh my god, it is a thousand freaking degrees in here,” Delilah huffs, pulling her hair off her neck with one hand and fanning herself with the other. The temperature in this room hasn’t changed a bit since our first visit all those months ago. Personally, I feel like a penguin waddling around the Arctic Circle, but I’ve learned not to argue with her over the temperature in the room. She’s right at the beginning of her third trimester and the humid Fox Hole summer hasn’t been kind on her body or hormones. Even in frigid air conditioned rooms like this one, it isn’t easy for Delilah to find relief.
It seems like the only time she isn’t complaining about being sweaty these days is when I’m between her legs, making her come. But even though the stirrups have her in prime position for some orgasms and I’m always down to deliver, Dr. Feld’s exam room is neither the time nor the place for that. Soinstead, I dig a hair tie from her giant tote bag and pull her curls back into a high pony, then press my palms to her neck. She sighs, sinking back into my touch instantly. Delilah has always said I have freezing cold hands, and they’re finally coming in handy.
“Better?” I ask, and Delilah hums her approval.
There is a knock at the door and a moment later, the tiny obstetrician enters the room, rubbing hand sanitizer in her palms.
“Delilah, it’s wonderful to see you. Thirty-two weeks, huh? Welcome to the final lap.” Dr. Feld sits in her little rolling chair, patting Delilah on the knee. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
The doctor does a brief exam, all the while explaining how the blood the nurse drew earlier will be used to determine the paternity of Little Bean. Sadie already had a cheek swab done earlier this week, though she doesn’t know the details as to why yet. That’s a conversation for later.
When she’s finished Dr. Feld moves on, squirting blue jelly over Delilah’s lower abdomen and rubbing over her prominent bump with the wand.
The sound of Little Bean’s whooshing heartbeat fills the room, and tears immediately spring to my eyes the same way they do every time we get a view at the baby growing inside Delilah.
“Holy shit Ivy, Little Bean is humongous,” Delilah laughs between tears of her own.
“I know. We really should start calling them Big Legume.”
“Look at that head. How can a fetus have a head that big? They’re totally going to destroy my vagina.”
