My sister was too kind to get her in trouble with the higher ups and wouldn’t tell her off. So we waited. Celebrating over a couple glasses of bubbly was far less mean spirited than getting her canned, or so Soph claimed. She’d ended up missing our family Christmas last year because May had waited until the last minute, then pitched a fit when she was told she couldn’t have the holiday off because she hadn’t requested it.
Sophie has pretty great bosses and managers, but they were suckers for tears and May had been quick to both turn on the water works and claim that everyone was out to get her. You’d think she’d have picked one and stuck with it. Her last turn of the knife had been claiming that she wanted to take her kid on a vacation for Christmas and everything was already booked. Then she’d turned to Sophie and asked, “Could you take my shifts? You don’t even have kids. The holiday can’t mean much to you.” Of course she said this with her expensive mascara tracking down her cheeks along with her tears, according to Sophie.
I’d about lost my mind when my sister told me what she’d said. But she wouldn’t let me march down there and strangle the manipulative bitch. Out of anyone in my family, Sophie wanted children the most. She’d almost made it down the aisle, ready to start her family since she’d found the perfect man. And then he’d been killed in a car accident a month before her wedding. That was seven years ago and I swear it still haunted her. And we all still grieved with her.
In fact, I’d been worried about her recently since I was starting my own family, though not with that perfect white wedding. That was probably giving my parents some sleepless nights, even though they were being nothing but supportive.
“Thanks for inviting me for a sleepover,” Soph said, shouldering her own overnight bag and my work duffel.
This wasn’t unusual for us. Often it was all five of us, but I had a couple things I wanted to talk to her about so tonight it was just the two of us.
“Thanks for coming and bringing food,” I told her with a grin as we stopped by her car and she handed me a box filled with delicious looking pastries.
She gave me an inquiring look. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to eat them.”
I shrugged. “Me either, honestly, but I’m going to try.” My morning sickness was coming in waves right now. It was the weirdest thing. At lunch I’d been so ravenous, I’d pounded down a green corn tamale, two churros, and a glass of prickly pear lemonade. I hadn’t puked yet today and I was really hoping that I could keep it that way.
I was really getting sick of missing the lunches that Dutch made for everyone. He was such a good cook. Dutch was our self-proclaimed chef and made the majority of the meals for the whole firehouse. We’d given him the nickname thanks to his love of cooking—his full name was Dutch Oven, which was his most prized possession—but his wife swore it fit because of his habit of dutch oveningher. Had to wonder which started first, a chicken and egg problem. Rotten egg anyway.
All the guys found it hilarious, so it’d stuck. And for some reason Annie stuck with Dutch even though he relentlessly teased her. The man was a gas ball and thought farts were the best weapon to use against his family. Being a fireman, or just a man, he also thought farts were the height of comedy. They loved him. For some reason.
Then again, he was with us for great chunks of time too, thanks to their schedules. So maybe they just missed him when he was on shift and therefore put up with his shenanigans. My schedule had taken on a traditional nine to five once I’d become an inspector. I actually missed the old schedule. Theguys worked twenty-four hours on, and then had forty-eight off. It was nice having that much time off.
We made our way up the stairs to my apartment. My place was in a decent part of town, but the building was older. It did have an elevator, but I was trying to stick with the stairs as long as possible for the exercise.
“How are you feeling?”
“Decent for now,” I told her, shifting the box into one hand as we stopped outside my door. I dug in my purse for my keys. “I’m hoping that I’m coming out on the other side of this morning sickness stuff.”
She laughed. “You’ve had it for a couple weeks, Dev.”
“So?”
“For a lot of women it lasts the whole first trimester.”
I stared at her, my hand on the door knob. “You’re kidding.”
“And for others it lasts the whole-”
“Shut it!” I said, eyes widening. “Don’t evensay that. Don’t put that out in the universe. I don’t think I can handle it.”
Her eyes softened. “You can, but you won’t need to.” Her voice was firm on the last half of the sentence.
We went inside and I put the sugary goodness onto the counter before flipping open the lid. “Can I have a donut now?”
Her voice came floating out from my bedroom, where she was putting away both our bags. We had a routine. “Absolutely! Eat as much as you want.”
“What do you want for dinner?” I asked, then took a large bite of a chocolate frosted donut. I groaned as the sugar and chocolate melted on my tongue. “Sooo good,” I whispered to myself.
Even if it comes back up later, totally worth it.
“You sound like you’re having an orgasm in here,” Soph teased as she walked into the kitchen.
“May as well be.” I licked chocolate off my thumb. “I’ve missed this.”
“Chocolate, or orgasms?”
“Both.”
